They shone in the moonlight, scattered all directions on the sand. Glistening with the borrowed shine of distant stars.
Author: Scott (Page 1 of 12)

“Thank you for coming,” he said, “I didn’t think you were going to.”
“I almost didn’t. You’ve been in a spiral and I was afraid of what you might do to yourself. You sounded really out of it on the phone. I’m worried about you.”
My words were kind but came out in icy whispers. I sounded distant and more heartless than I had when I practiced this in the car on the way here.

Season pass members can listen now, but for everyone else, “A Letter To My Husband, Jack” is on the NoSleep Podcast episode (S14E03) this Sunday and I can’t wait for you all to hear it. It sounds great! I’m scratchy datchy with how it’s come out! It gives me the squiggles.


I
“The day I first saw you, I knew that my life was forever changed. It was love at first sight. Life was always so hard before that, and in that moment that I first saw your face, I knew that things were about to be different. It’s hard to explain. If I didn’t know you as well as I do now, I would never have admitted it at the time. It was like magnetism. I was drawn to you.”
We bought the house at a county auction, my husband and I. We saw potential there from the moment we passed by. It was old, falling apart. Abandoned for many years. On a hunch, I did a bit of research on it. The taxes hadn’t been paid in a long time. The county seized it and would be selling it off with a few others whose taxes were derelict on a Thursday morning. The weather predicted sun, but that didn’t happen often in winter. That Thursday, years ago now in December seems just like yesterday. The sky was overcast, looming, and gray. There was Frost on the ground but no snow and the sunshine that the weatherman promised sunshine never showed itself through the low-hanging clouds… But this was our first home and we were happy.

They shone in the moonlight, scattered all directions on the sand. Glistening with the borrowed shine of distant stars.
Some came in their slippers. The majority forged their way through the howling dark in socks or the bare feet they rose with. Abandoning their beds in the quiet dead of after-midnight, the hordes of somnambulists shuffled through the drifts of New Mexican desert sand, painted black by dark. From every compass point, the masses shared one destination.