The Greater Good

Flash Fiction February (Day 7)

Feb 08, 2025

This Flash Fiction Story is set within The Chronicles of Clenchport connected universe. Please find a section at the end of the story to learn more.

Raymond Todd took pride in his work. For generations, his family had protected the secrets that slept beneath the town of Clenchport, Virginia. Well, one of the secrets, but certainly an important one.

Raymond carefully lit each of the candles spread throughout the room. Human bones were arranged carefully on every flat surface. Everything had to be just right. Not a single skull, nor femur, nor tibia out of place.

Raymond didn’t know if such set dressing was important to the ritual, but his obsession with order and structure would not allow him to deviate.

His latest victim, a vagabond he had found loitering outside the Smart Shopper, shouted fruitlessly through the ball of cloth that Raymond had shoved into his mouth.

His breaths came quick and furious through his nose as he struggled against the rope that tied his wrists and feet together.

It was clear from his thrashing body and wide eyes that he was afraid, but Raymond felt nothing while he watched the man struggle.

He didn’t know the man’s name. He had already burned all his belongings and his clothing. The vagabond would burn too, but not from fire.

After all, it’s for the greater good.

The hesitation Raymond felt in that moment was born from frustration, as opposed to any form of sympathy.

He needed the vagabond to understand his role. Not because it was critical to the ritual, but because Raymond liked things a certain way.

“I know you must be scared,” he said, softly stroking the vagabond’s hair. “You must think I'm an evil man, don’t you?”

The vagabond tried to speak through the cloth, but his words were muffled. Out of curiosity, Raymond took the gag out to hear his voice.

“You motherfucker, I swear, I’m going to—”

Raymond stuffed the cloth back into his mouth. He wasn’t sure what else he expected.

“Evil is a matter of perspective!” Raymond declared, walking around to the other side of the table.

He stepped up to the brick wall that surrounded the silver door of the cremation chamber and laid his head against the cold stone.

He could hear breathing. The slow and methodical respiration of the Thing That Should Not Wake.

Raymond spun around, pointing his index finger into the air.

“I may be evil from your perspective, but in my mind, I am the righteous hero. For, you see, I am ensuring the survival of not only our town, but our entire world!”

The words came effortlessly. After all, he gave this speech every time he brought in a wayward soul, a forgotten castaway, or in this case, a discarded vagabond.

“It has a discerning palette, you know. Not any sacrifice will do. Yes, it will reduce your flesh and bones to ash in the blink of an eye, but it still has the capacity to savor the flavor!”

Raymond casted his gaze to the vagabond. The rapid breaths stopped as cold dread blanketed the man’s naked body.

“I can see you’re coming to terms with your predicament! This is good, but do not accept your fate on my account. Instead, you may choose to rage against the dying of your light. This is your prerogative, after all. Either way, it makes no difference to me.”

Having made his case, Raymond approached a lever on the side of the sliding stainless steel table. He curled his fingers around the polished wooden handle.

“It must feed, so it does not wake! Rejoice, for your sacrifice will ensure its slumber!” Raymond said, pulling the lever.

The stainless-steel door against the brick wall flew open as the hinges whined. From within, a blast of noxious heat swept through the room. A pungent odor of acid and sulfur. The sliding mechanism that the Vagabond laid upon began to lurch toward the opening.

His muffled screams rose to a frightful crescendo as he inched ever closer to his fate.

From within the depths of where the cremation chamber should be, came a low, gurling rumble. Folds of teeth and flesh undulated with anticipation beyond the borders of that steel door.

As the Vagabond approached, the edges of the ropes began to singe. The heat coming from within that fleshy chamber rivaled even the depths of hell itself. Raymond could see the skin on the Vagabond’s body beginning to blister as his feet and legs crossed the threshold.

From within those depths, a barbed tongue emerged, curling itself around the vagabond. It pulled him down into its gullet in the blink of an eye. Raymond released the lever, watching the steel door slam shut.

He walked back over to the brick wall and listened once more. He heard a deep sigh of satisfaction that shook the foundations of the town, and he knew his work was once more complete.

A phone rang from the main lobby. Raymond exited the back room, locking the door behind him. He walked over to the phone and picked it up.

“Hello,” he said.

“No! No, Ray, we talked about this! You’re supposed to answer and say ‘Clenchport Crematorium, you bonk ‘em, we burn ‘em!’ Come on, that’s too hilarious not to use!”

Raymond grunted with disapproval. “Death and my duties do not hold quarter for comedy.”

“Yeah, I can tell! Anyway, I have another Toby I need to drop off. You can feed it to your weird pet, right?”

Raymond clenched his jaw. “This is not a landfill for the garbage of your mistakes, Armitage.”

“Yeah, yeah, I promise I’ll figure out a better disposal method, but for now you’re all I got. So, can I count on you?”

Raymond unclenched his jaw. “Yes. For now.”

“You’re the man, Ray!”

The line went quiet. Raymond set the phone down as the crematorium’s front door swung open. A man with shoulder length silver hair, dressed in a pristine suit and tie, approached the front desk.

Raymond felt an aura about him that was different from the people of the town.

An outsider?

“Can I help you?” Raymond asked.

The man nodded. “I’m Agent Durwood. I’m looking for someone.”

The man reached into his jacket and pulled out a photo. It showed a man with pale skin and black hair.

“Do you recognize this man?” Agent Durwood asked.

Raymond did indeed recognize him. It was the flippant man who had just called. Despite being considered evil, though, Raymond was not in the business of giving away information to strangers.

“I do not know him,” Raymond said.

He wasn’t a particularly good liar, but Raymond’s stoic expression and monotone voice rarely betrayed anything beyond the face value of his words.

Agent Durwood nodded. “Okay then. Thank you for your time.”

Raymond watched as the man turned and walked back to the exit. He felt a vibration beneath his feet. The typical settling of the thing that slept under the crematorium after it had been fed.

It was subtle, nearly imperceptible, but Agent Durwood paused.

He wouldn’t have felt that unless he was expecting it.

Agent Durwood turned back around. “Are tremors common here?” he asked.

“As common as anywhere else,” Raymond replied.

Agent Durwood nodded. “Thank you again for your time.”

Raymond watched the man leave without another word. The encounter had unsettled him, which was a foreign sensation.

Clenchport was a town that was predictable. Raymond’s cosmic duty, passed down from generation to generation, provided him with the comfort of familiarity, but if he was honest with himself, it had also become banal.

Raymond knew he was going through the motions these last several decades, but with the arrival of Agent Durwood, change was suddenly in the air.

Raymond cracked a smile for the first time in years.

He was intrigued.

America’s Smallest Town is Hiding Something…

The Chronicles of Clenchport is a new transmedia universe from the mind of Bradley Ramsey. It is comprised of an animated series, short stories, and a narrative podcast. Subscribe to The Writer’s Journey so you don’t miss new Clenchport announcements!