Horror - Flash

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious and any similarities to actual persons, locations, or events is coincidental. This work cannot be used to train artificial intelligence programs.  No AI tools were used in the writing of this story.

All rights reserved. Oceanside Paradise Copyright © Eddie Generous 2026

OCEANSIDE PARADISE

The evening fell upon them under a pink sundown that danced a reflection over the ocean from across the street and beyond the beach. Jessabelle could not imagine living anywhere else. And that wasn’t an exaggeration. It was impossible, that part of her mind wiped clean. She faced her own slice of life heaven and would never give it up.

“Come on!” Micky shouted to Jessabelle.

He had already crossed the seven-by-ten-foot patch of yard and began mounting the stairs. It was the third Wednesday of the month and that meant they’d done something new. Classes, trails, exhibits, you name it, they tried it—within reason, Wopell River was just a small seaside town, so options were limited.

It was Jessabelle’s turn to choose and for two hours they’d sat learning the first steps of refinishing hardwood furniture. Micky was not enthusiastic about the idea. The mood destroyed any chance that he’d enjoy himself. Made worse that he’d forgotten it was the third Wednesday of the month and on his way home from work—later than normal—he’d popped the Viagra a co-worker gave him. It wasn’t that he needed the pill, but since he was into trying new things…why not spice it up some?

In his head, he foresaw a night of jungle-like, beastly, flesh-rubbed-raw, leg-trembling, breath-hitching debauchery. To take things back to how they were not so long ago.

Every time the old man teaching the course mentioned wood, or stroking, or rubbing, Micky’s hard-on reappeared. Done and home, he wanted to catch up while the pill still had some kick.

“Come on!”

Jessabelle stopped at the foot of the stairs and cast a glance back onto the tiny patch of grass. There was a foot-wide blob of brown amid the green.

—

Shadowboxing, dancing on his toes, big smile on his face, Micky led the trail home. It was the third Wednesday, and it was Micky’s turn to choose. Boxer training.

The idea for the course being that after the first class, the wannabes would sign up for additional training, two or three sessions a week. Micky was for it, but Jessabelle was tired and sore.

Micky ran the steps leading to the front door and celebrated as Rocky Balboa had atop the steps leading up to the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

“Getting strong now,” he sang, “Dun-na-na. Dun-na-na.”

“See! It’s growing!” Jessabelle said.

The spot tarnished her perfect paradise.

“It’s just some dead grass.”

But it’s not just some dead grass, she thought, it’s so much more!

Jessabelle followed Micky within. The imperfect patch followed her inside, weighing noticeably on her mood.

“You’re overreacting,” Micky said.

No, she was not overreacting. A bad spot on the lawn meant her perfect piece of the world was imperfect. If that could go sour, what else?

She spied Micky, suddenly suspicious.

—

“This is really getting to ya, huh?” Micky said as they walked back from the class on yard maintenance. “I don’t see the big deal.”

“How can you not see the big deal!”

The thing was huge, like a five-foot, oblong egg of brown death. The rest of the grass was vibrant green.

“It’s just some dead grass, there are worse things. You’re always freaking out. And for what?”

They’d been quick to break into arguments over the last month and a half. Micky typically barked first.

“Why are you shouting?” Jessabelle cringed.

“’Cause you’re nuts!”

The lawn and Micky both were not who she’d thought them, not anymore. And why?

“Are you cheating on me?” Jessabelle asked, certain that was where it all stemmed from. “You are, aren’t you?”

“Get bent,” Micky whispered from behind clenched teeth as he stomped through the door.

—

Jessabelle stared at the shape and knew it was a sign. The shape was definitely a person, a woman to be exact, and it would reveal the figure responsible for soiling her marriage.

It was the third Wednesday again and she was not about to give that up, but she was late and had to drive. Micky said he was no longer interested in the new experiences, not for now anyway: you go, clear your head or something.

He was so sure she had no proof, so certain there was no way to uncover the affair. What he didn’t see, or didn’t want to see, was that the lawn, though questioned at first, was really on her side. It would show her the truth. In time, that dead patch was going to reveal the woman behind the ruination of her marriage.

The pottery class left her hands dry and smelly.

“Bet this is how they’d smell if I dug a grave,” she said, envisioning coming home to find Micky with some bimbo.

Foot flattening the accelerator, she raced. Everything zoomed in streaming flashes. Not far now. Past a few lights and around some traffic. She weaved and honked. One driver flipped her the bird.

It was after 7:00 PM and what in the hell was Micky doing out on the lawn with some woman? There he was, clear in the dim light.

“You bastard!” she seethed, stomping on the pedal.

One hundred feet.

Sixty feet.

Forty feet. Onto the sidewalk.

“Sonofabitch, I’ve got you now!”

Twenty feet.

Recognition.

“Ho-oh,” Jessabelle mumbled and slammed on the brakes, yanked the steering wheel back toward the street. “Geez, geez.”

Teenagers—one of them lived next-door—were necking on her yard. Not Micky and his floozy.

The car thumped back onto the street and an oncoming vehicle blared its horn. Jessabelle reefed in the other direction.

Nine feet.

She heard nothing of the clanking crush as her car wrapped around a fire hydrant. She heard nothing of the scattering windshield as she took to air. Stress could make a soul forgetful, and safety belts existed for a good reason. Her body carved a dirty swatch into the neighbors’ yard and beyond.

“Jessabelle!” Micky screeched from the porch.

Jessabelle heard this as she stared down at the brown patch on the lawn where she lay, mirroring its shape. It revealed the monster behind the ruination of her marriage, her paradise. It revealed maybe a little more than that too.

XX