We were married within a month.
The first morning I woke with nausea, I felt rotten. The second: jubilation. Mere weeks had passed since we first made love, but I swore I could already feel a bump.
We laughed, kissed, hugged; fell asleep with bodies intertwined. Life was a dream.
Editor: See part 1 and part 2 of Guy’s ongoing story.
She carries
ten limestones
to the ocean,
each wrapped
in vine leaves,
and throws one
every minute,
counting the
seconds
between.
Today
it takes
seven
before he
crawls
from the water –
slimy,
salty,
steaming
in the sun.
His arms
are green
with algae
but all she needs
is his kiss.
Her tiny fingers, entwined in mine. Soft. Delicate.
Her nod, a whisper, “It’s time.”
A click as the switch is turned off. Then…?
Darkness. No light, no tunnel, no welcome home.
Terror envelops me; tears begin to fall.
Just a fading whisper: “They never would have believed you, anyway, Mommy.”
Clear your mind, she said. He quietened his thoughts leaving only the crack and snap of burning logs. He gazed deep into flames.
Watching. Waiting.
A shape appeared. A face? Yes, his face, screaming, twisted, contorted in anguish.
Suddenly cold, he tore away. The camp was empty. Everyone had gone.
Hezekiah was “soul” caretaker at the Mount Airy Cemetery. He liked to call himself “the keeper of the bones.”
While he prided himself in the lush, green grass and carefully groomed rows, it was the unmarked grave in Row 38 that had given him the greatest amount of personal satisfaction.
The funeral was an hour away but his grandmother was still in her robe in the kitchen , stirring away at a large pot. Transfixed.
Nobody said anything. The rest of the family sat in the lounge, talking about nothing. They ignored the phone calls.
Clouds gathered and parted. Grandma stirred.
Empty for eighty years, the mansion loomed over the village, and cautionary tales spread as wildfire.
She ventured in regardless, her explorer’s spirit unquenchable. To her parents’ chagrin, she returned late, yet regretted nothing.
In the mansion’s window a figure appeared, high above the village.
It watched, and it waited.
I thought it’d be an easy stab ‘n grab, but the old man didn’t flinch when I pointed the knife at his chest. Instead he grabbed the handle and thrust the blade between his ribs, past the lungs, to where his heart should have been.
He laughed and walked away.
As the dark loomed over her, she could feel her heart race.
Suddenly she could hear her own footsteps. She started to move towards a tall derelict building.
The noise of her footsteps faded away, overtaken by an overwhelming screeching like finger nails on a blackboard.
What could it be?
As I was peeling potatoes one got away and hit the floor. It disappeared.
Einstein says when one object strikes another there is an infinitesimally small chance the vibrations of each will cause them to pass right through each other.
I checked, but the potato wasn’t in the basement either.