by Freya King

Ophelia stared at Grimgran’s sunken cheeks in the casket. The townspeople, who’d called Grimgran a witch and shunned her, attended like vultures.

Ophelia raged.

     “Ophio-cordyceps

     Ants in their pants

     Punish everyone here

     To their graves, make’em dance”

To her delight, this time it worked.

Fire ants marched up legs and toes began tapping. Mrs Moore did the Charleston. Mean old Mr Percival did the macarena and Mr Clopp, from the village shop, did the bop. Ophelia giggled.

Even as blood dripped and ants gnawed bone, the enchanted townsfolk boogied.

Ophelia flicked an ant away. More came.

She did say everyone.

Freya King

Freya King is a creative writer who is most at home exploring the dark and twisted nature of humans. She has won various awards for her short stories.