Here comes story number three in the “I woke up and found myself …” prompt series. We hope you are enjoying reading these great flash prompts. Thank you Ebony for your awesome story. Looking great!

The first two installments in the series can be found by clicking the “Summer Prompt 2016” category at the top of this post.


By Eboni Harris


I woke up and found myself back in the bathtub.

“Not again,” I sighed.

The faucet was running, liquid overflowing onto the floor, so I nudged the handle off with my big toe. As the echo of sloshing water receded into silence, I listened closely to see if I heard the sounds of anyone else in the house. Nothing.

“Not good.” Hoisting myself out of the tub, I gingerly stepped one foot onto the damp tile, and then the other. My nightclothes were in a pile on the floor. I scooped them up one handed, gingerly holding them out and away from me. They were drenched.

“Definitely not good.” I hadn’t awoken in the tub in months. Gingerly tiptoeing out of the bathroom and down the hall, I felt around in the dark. I knew it had to be there somewhere. I lived at the edge of a clearing nestled against the woods, rarely attracting passersby of any kind. It was the safest way to deal with my… sleepwalking. But someone must have happened past.


“There you are.”

I had tripped over the log of flesh in the dark, already cold and growing colder. Rolling the naked body over and pressing two fingers to the neck just to be sure, I sighed. No pulse. It was a man, a stranger with light brown skin and a light dusting of salt and pepper stubble on his chin.

“I apologize,” I said. Grabbing the corpse by the feet, I rolled him from his prone position in the hallway out into the living room, wrapping him up in the rug as I went. When he was fully covered, I dropped my blood-soaked pajamas in one end of the tube of fabric.  

Ten identical hallway runners were folded up in my closet, as were countless sets of plain black nightgowns. Bleach, rags, and towels were tucked away in every corner of the house. It was better to be prepared.

Grabbing the handles of the bucket I kept stashed behind the door, I rolled the man out into the dark night. Long ago, I’d dug a sunken fire pit behind the first line of trees, and in he went. He’d have company.

I pulled the gasoline canister from the bucket, emptying its contents over the pit before I lit the match and dropped it in. I’d clean up the rest in the morning. 


Eboni Harris

Eboni Harris is a twenty-something freelance writer who enjoys good coffee and better grammar. Her journalistic bylines can be viewed on websites like ‘Taste Talks,’ ‘Heroic Hollywood,’ ‘Lies About Parenting,’ and more; her short stories have been published in anthologies like the upcoming ‘Packing Heat’ by Less Than Three Press, where she writes as Daniela Jeffries:


For more stories like this one, buy New Zenith Magazine at