This was one of three stories written for Small Bites, an anthology of flash fiction to benefit horror author and editor Charles Grant, who needed assistance paying some hefty medical bills. Flash fiction is a story of 500 words or less. Strange as it sounds, writing shorter is sometimes harder than writing longer, because you have less words to fit all of the story elements in. Small Bites used three of my flash fiction shorts. This piece won a Derringer Award.

“I’m surprised you asked me here, Ralph. I didn’t think you liked me.”

Ralph grinned over the wheel. “Don’t be silly, Jim.” He cut the engines and glanced over the starboard bow. There was some chop to the sea, but the yacht had a deep keel and weathered it well.

“Well, we’ve been neighbors for almost ten years, and we haven’t ever done anything together.”

Ralph shrugged. “I work crazy hours. Not a lot of free time. But I’ve always considered you a good friend, Jim. Plus, our wives are close. I thought this would give us a chance to get to know each other. Belinda mentioned you like to fish.”

Jim nodded. “Mostly freshwater. I haven’t done much deep sea fishing. What are we going for, anyway?”

Ralph adjusted his captain’s cap.

“I was originally thinking salmon or sailfish, but it’s been a while since I went for the big guys.”

“Big guys?”

“Sharks, Jim. You up for it?”

“Sure. Just tell me what I need to do.”

“First step is getting into the harness.” Ralph picked up a large life vest, crisscrossed with straps and latches. “This clips onto the rod, so you don’t lose it, and this end is attached to the boat, in case you get pulled overboard.”

Jim raised an eyebrow. “Has that ever happened?”

“Not yet, but it pays to be careful. These are Great White waters, and some of those bad boys go over two thousand pounds.”

Ralph helped Jim into the vest, snugging it into place.

“What next?”

“We have to make a chum slick.”

“I’ve heard of that. Fish blood and guts, right?”

“Yep. It’s a shark magnet. You want to get started while I prepare the tackle?”

“Sure.”

Ralph went to the cooler and took out the plastic bucket of chum. Even refrigerated, it stank to high heaven. He handed it to Jim, with a ladle.

“Toss that shit out there. Don’t be stingy with it.”

Jim began to slop chum into the blue waters.

Ralph swiveled his head around, scanning the horizon. No other boats.

“So,” Jim asked, “what’s the bait?”

Ralph gave Jim a deep poke in the shoulder with a fillet knife, then shoved his neighbor overboard.

Jim surfaced, screaming. Ralph ladled on some guts.

“Not very neighborly of you, Jim. Screwing my wife while I was at work.”

“Ralph! Please!”

Jim’s hands tried to find purchase on the sides of the yacht, but they were slippery with blood. Ralph dumped more onto his head, making Jim gag.

“Keep struggling.” Ralph smiled. “The big guys love a moving target.”

“Don’t do this, Ralph. Please. I’m begging you.”

“You’d better beg fast. I see that we already have some company.”

Jim stared across the open water. The dorsal fin approached at a brisk pace.

“Please! Ralph! You said you considered me a good friend!”

“Sorry…wrong choice of words. I actually meant to say I considered you a good chum.”

It took a while for Ralph to stop laughing.