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Wrong Roads: Scary Stories from Coast to Coast
Over 30 authors have crafted the most authentic and horrifying representation of each state. Featuring 2 Stories by Scott Savino
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I was in the break room munching my way through a kale and cranberry salad. Several of my coworkers sat at the lunch table. Mostly I keep to myself because I much prefer being left alone than being drawn into the droll of their banal conversation.
“Did anyone notice that Carl’s been missing?” Karen asked the room.
My grandfather remembered the last Shadow Spring, he told me it happened when he was just a boy. 108 years old and he shared his recollection with me as though it had happened in recent memory. He told it as spry and coherent as he’d ever told me anything.
I pulled over onto the shoulder in the storm. Pike Pass was dangerous in fair weather. With limited visibility through sheets of pelting rain, I didn’t want to find myself swerving and flipping down a cliff to die. My parents lived just another mile up. No rush. Pulling over was wise. Safe.
I wrote a longer version of this story a while ago. It has been edited and condensed to be less than 500 words
Everyone told me: Don’t meet dates online. I’d fucked every eligible man on this coast before finally settling down. Before I met my man, my sexlife was boring as shit. I’m devoted now. No secrets. My husband knows my past, so ‘come for me,’ haters! We’re celebrating 2 years!
“I wish I could bring you home with me,” Evan said.
His husband’s mouth opened. Evan imagined they’d argue and held up his finger.
We were both young. I could tell he was still young enough to believe himself invincible. I spotted him moving like an elemental on the other side of the room and downed my drink. The spirits from the bar quelled my nerves and I crossed to join him. I hadn’t done anything like this before.
I was too young to know what it meant. You can’t know what things mean when you can only see things as they seem with young eyes. Experience leads to context and there’s no way to find the context that hides between lies. Not when you’re only seven.
My name is Daniel Blairs. I’ve always been Daniel Blairs. Up until last week, I’d had a pretty successful run as a part time author, part time stay-at-home dad.
