I don’t like children which is unfortunate to my line of work…I call it work, but it’s torture really. If you are working a job that you hate, you always have the option of resigning…of opting out: of just deciding not to show up…
Category: Unsettling Tales (Page 1 of 5)
I’m suspended in the void, floating. Senses fail here, except hearing, which is fine because this is the nothingness; nothing to feel or see. It’s a quiet place–peaceful, like finding yourself adrift in space. Then a familiar voice reminds me to be afraid. I can’t see, but he speaks to me in harsh whispers near my ear, saying:
I just want to make one thing clear: I’m not sick. I think a sick person wouldn’t be able to recognize the difference between right and wrong. I knew what I did was wrong before I did it. I also knew there wouldn’t be any consequences, I suppose. Nobody was ever going to know.
My cousin Ronnie and I used to chase the ghost train on Granddad’s farm.
The whole family lived on the 174 acres; a railway goes through the center. Grandad said those tracks hadn’t been used in decades. That’s why nobody believed when we started on about the ghost train.
Later on Tuesday when we’d reopened the shop, Sheriff Matthews came by. The bell up front jingled as he sauntered through the doorway.
“Alice Tucker, I got a kinda disturbing call about you from your neighbor Jennie a little bit ago.”
When I was a little boy, I used to ask Mama when my magic would come, but Mama says it don’t work like that. Mama’s mama had it like she does but she says the swamp magic don’t come to all our kin.
Mama isn’t a bad person. It’s actually quite the opposite. She feeds every stray she comes across, gives to charity and she cares a lot about the environment. The environment is probably the thing she carries the biggest torch for. We have a delicate ecosystem down here in the Florida Everglades and it has to be maintained. I feel like that’s probably the best way to start this story; to remind you that she is good. Mostly.
The worst day of my life was not when I was quartered and pulled apart. Not when the dogs had torn my head away and ripped off my arms and legs.
That was a bad day…but not the worst day.
I think it is the nostalgia that brings me back now that my brother has died, to that crumbling shack in the woods.
Now that he is gone I have nobody left. I feel drawn back to that place to shed the grief that cloaks me like a second skin; I want to lay my sorrow there to rot with the rest of our happy memories, now long dead.