byChrisWhite – 2025

This was a created to answer a flash fiction challenge using the word Stranger, in 500 words or less. These are fantastic exercises to keep your mind nimble as a writer. Many of my flash fiction challenges end up with a dark narrative, only because I feel I can be a bit more creative when I think about all of the nuances in writing about dark subjects. It’s my wheelhouse, and when you’re writing something in a flash, I tend to be more successful when writing dark genre. I hope you enjoy.

The stranger appeared just past midnight, stepping from the trees as if he had been waiting for the moon to pull him forward. At first, no one saw him. The town had long since tucked itself into quietude, windows shuttered, porch lights flickering against the damp. Only the wind stirred, shifting loose leaves in the empty street.

Miriam was the first to notice. She had woken suddenly, without knowing why, and gone to the window as though summoned. Below, the figure stood beneath the lamplight, still as a post, head tilted slightly, as if listening to the town breathe. He wore no coat despite the chill, his clothes dark, indistinct.

She should have looked away. Should have let him be. But there was something in the way he stood, patient, expectant, that held her gaze.

By morning, the stranger was gone. But a hush had settled over the town, an unease that slithered beneath the ordinary. Doors opened slower, conversations trailed off mid-sentence. Miriam watched as Mrs. Holloway’s hands trembled at the grocer’s till. Sheriff Dean sat outside his office, eyes scanning the street, boots tapping in restless rhythm.

By dusk, a whisper ran through town like a chill up the spine.

“Did you see him?”

“Said he was looking for someone.”

“No one comes here looking.”

And yet, the stranger did.

By the next night, he was there again. Same spot. Same silence. Miriam’s pulse quickened as she peered from behind the curtain. This time, others watched too. A lamp flickered in the Holloway window. The sheriff stood half-shadowed in his doorway. No one spoke. No one moved.

Then, as if he could hear their unspoken questions, the stranger turned.

Miriam’s breath caught.

His face was familiar. Not in the way of a neighbor or an old classmate, but in the way of something long buried, a half-remembered song, a scent carried on the wind that snatches you back years before you can name it.

Then he was gone.

The next morning, Mr. Avery packed his bags and left without a word. Mrs. Holloway, who had not stepped beyond her porch in years, was seen walking past the post office, her eyes fixed on something distant. The sheriff spent the day scouring old files, muttering to himself.

And Miriam? She sat at the window, waiting.

Because she understood now. The stranger had come for someone. Not with chains or force, but with knowing. With recognition.

The past was restless.

And it had finally found its way home.