For years, rumors had swirled about the old mansion on the hilltop:
“No one ever comes out alive.”
Jessica ascended the stairs to her luxurious master suite. Yes, her dream home had been a real bargain. A steal, almost.
And she never trusted a rumor… Especially her own.
When she’s not busy spreading rumors, Susan Gale Wickes likes to write (and read) short stories.
Ah, there’s a car door. I hope it’s the realtor.
Come show this place, please. Sell it.
Get rid of it for me, finally.
The story of this house, of everything in it, has to end.
But how do you sell a house that so badly wants to be haunted?
Larry D. Thacker writes and paints in the mountains of Appalachia.
It was Mars-ish. (Mars-like? Hmm. Red and dusty, anyways.) Regardless, it was his backyard, and he was proud of it.
Land ownership was one of the purest forms of power, and it felt good. He knew his great-great-great-great grandfather Karl would agree.
Now all he was missing were some factories.
This story is based on a title suggested by King Kool.