The Stoker Family’s Olde Sweet Shoppe


With trembling wrappers and chattering jars, huddled close under gloomy counters after the store is locked and bolted; after the fizzing lights dim and fade to black; all aquiver, as the midnight hour ticks round, the spellbound confectionery listens in awe to a frail, hushed voice that retells sinister legends that migrated from the old country when sweetmeats first set sail against a backdrop of dread and inexplicable massacres of entire communities  –  tales of a cowled, black-hearted, furry and fanged, Nosferatu lollipop, who swoops down at night on his jellied prey and sucks it dry as a husk.


This piece of flash fiction was written for Friday Fictioneers: a story in 100 words prompted by a picture that Rochelle Wisoff-Fields posts every Wednesday.  Here’s the link to the stories and this week’s picture is at the bottom of this post, copyright Kent Bonham; while the original Nosferatu peers down from the top of the post. Clearly, the resemblance between the two is… uncanny.