Flash Fiction

It was cold. It was rainy. I went to the library. In a dark corner was a little man with a pointy, grey beard. He was writing, scratching frantically. And the noise of his scribblings was deafening.

I turned to the librarian to complain. Annoyed, she pursed her lips.

"Shhh! Your head is far too loud for this establishment. Quieten it down, or we'll have it off with this axe."

I looked over but the little man had gone and through an open window the sun shone.

The noise abated as I felt the axe fall.