The Clean-Up Kiosk

For generations the kiosk has watched over the valley, serving the nearby residents in unusual ways.

This is for Fictionistas October prompt! I’ll share the prompt at the end of the story.

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On a narrow outcrop overlooking the vale perched a small kiosk. It had stood there for as long as anyone could remember, despite being almost always closed and only accessible via a small woodland trail. Sometimes, when the full moon shone and the sky was blanketed with stars, one could spot light from within, but it was rumoured no one had reached it before the shutters came down once more.

Most of the townsfolk considered it an eyesore that disrupted the stunning view of the forest. Others, mostly older women, argued it was iconic, a charming quirk of the area. Either way, the paperwork regarding the land's ownership had long been lost, so any proposals for demolishing it would open quite the can of worms.

Edith was one of the few people alive who had seen the inside.

In her teens, Edith and her friend Ingrid were inseparable. They had shared baths together when they were little, shared makeup as they grew older, and even joked about sharing partners.

Then Fenton arrived. He was a few years older than the pair, and was staying with a friend in town during his summer break from university. They met him while lurking outside a wine shop, and Edith had squeaked an awkward "Excuse me!" and asked him to buy them alcohol. Unlike their usual straightforward transactions, Fenton wanted to talk to them after he handed over their cheap bottle of wine. 

The man’s cocky attitude was intolerable to Edith, but Ingrid chatted to him with a girlish simper, and agreed to show him around town. Soon it was with Fenton, not Edith, that she shared secret in-jokes, and while at first Edith hoped it would be just a summer fling, it soon became clear she had fallen prey to his charms. She couldn't put her finger on anything bad about him, besides the questionable age difference, but, day by day, her friend's vibrant, playful nature was replaced by a timid, fragile disposition. 

Edith vowed to get him out of the picture.

One night, while the three of them were drinking vodka by the playground swings, Edith spotted the kiosk lit up and couldn't tear her eyes away from it. She had seen its light in the past, had even raced there before, but this time it tugged at her spirit.

"Look!" She pointed it out to her companions. Edith saw the kiosk reflected in Fenton’s eyes, as if they were standing right next to it.

"Oh. It's that funny little building you told me about." He poked Ingrid in the stomach. She flinched, then chuckled. 

"We should go there," Edith insisted, her heart thumping. "It's, it's... Well, it's a town tradition, isn't it? To see if you can reach it before it shuts again." She looked at Ingrid, who nodded meekly. 

"What odd little friends you have," Fenton told his girlfriend. Then, to Edith: "But fine. Lead the way."

The trio were sufficiently inebriated that it took them a while to find the right trail, and once they did, they relied on the pale glow from their flip phones to prevent them from tripping over the roots of overgrown trees.

To everyone's astonishment, the kiosk was still open when they arrived. Behind the counter stood a middle-aged man who resembled an old-fashioned circus performer, with a top hat, a multi-coloured shirt, and a wide, wide grin on his face.

"Hello, my darlings! My, what a winsome fellow you are," the man said to Fenton. 

"Winsome? What you on about? What do you even sell? Looks like the same shit I can get at the newsagents.”

The man's smile didn't fade, but a coldness settled in his eyes.

“Au contraire, my friend. I have a rare little drink here that puts spring in a man’s step, if you know what I mean.” The man gave an exaggerated wink and brought out a glass bottle filled with pink liquid. “I offer a free sample, today only.”

“Sounds quacky to me,” Fenton replied. He turned away and looked back down the path.

“Too chicken to try something new?” Edith asked. She glared at him with a practised sneer. Something had driven her to this spot, and she wasn’t going to turn back now.

Fenton shrugged and approached the counter, but the odd man opened the metal door to the kiosk to let Fenton into the booth. Ingrid moved to follow him, but the man met Edith’s eyes and gave the slightest head shake. Edith flung out an arm to stop her friend.

Fenton sniffed the drink. Then, making sure the others were admiring his bravery, he took a swig.

“Tastes like cranberry,” he said, his face twisting in disgust.

“Why, of course. Cranberry is excellent against unpleasant, tedious infections like yourself.”

For a moment, Fenton froze. Then his limbs jerked like a marionette, his face stretched, and something began protruding out of his head.

“Fenton!” Ingrid shrieked. She stumbled drunkenly towards the kiosk, but Edith held her back, firmly clasping her arm. Ingrid curled into her, trembling, but Edith watched the scene unfold with a savage satisfaction.

Fenton uttered not a word, but anguish was etched into every muscle of his face as his frame widened, his skin roughened, and a top hat burst out of his skull. Meanwhile, the man beside him shrunk, grew jowly, and peered at the pair with terrified beady eyes that were somehow familiar. Then, with an unnatural howl, the man vanished.

“Hello, my darlings!” The changed Fenton traced a finger across his cheek to his wide, wide grin. “My, what a winsome fellow I was.”

Edith grabbed Ingrid’s hand and sprinted back down the trail, never looking back.

Their friendship withered after that night. Months later, Edith came across a familiar face in an old family album. Next to her aunt, arm clenched around her bruised shoulder, stood the same short, beady-eyed man with a weak, weak smile.

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I thought I’d kick off my return to Substack with a prompt story, so I wouldn’t get too bogged down with working out what the “perfect” story to come back with was.

The Fictionistas October prompt was: “Do something with these words: vale, simper, fling, cranberry, kiosk, winsome, prey, quacky”. The story had to be under 1000 words.

Considering how varied the words were, this was a difficult prompt! I started off hating the word kiosk because it rooted the story in a modern-day setting, then I ended up having my whole story revolve around it. I think it all comes together fairly well - the “winsome” and “quacky” bits stick out though.

The word limit was the killer here - whenever I try to write flash fiction I always worry the story needs ~200 more words to do it justice. The title was tricky too. Let me know in the comments if you can think of a more engaging title!