In the spring of 1953, when I was nine years old I saw my brother die. I’ll remember that day for the rest of my life. The memory has never left me and it never will. Part of it is the trauma, the slow, insidious realization that he was gone, that crept into my life afterward. But there is more to it that I don’t talk about. I’ve held onto it for years, and I don’t want to hold onto it any longer.
I know they say Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year, but for me it’s Halloween. I deck the hall with cobwebs and fake spiders. It’s just such a special time. Autumn is here and the leaves are beginning to fall. It’s a time for dressing up and
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Katy took a long hit on the pipe. Her eyes rolled up and back into her head. She choked on the smoke that invaded her lungs, and an attempt at a giggle was unsuccessful. Her blue eyes watered and her almost-laugh was strangled by another coughing fit. “I’m gonna die!”
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The anniversary of Layne’s death wasn’t for another three days, but when “Cochise” came on the radio as I approached that curve, I took it as a sign. Layne’s favorite song. I pressed the gas and shifted gears as Chris Cornell began to wail. The needle on the odometer crept
The land beyond the bridge had been in my family for generations, forty-four acres of farmland. My father was as rooted to it as the oak tree in our front yard. Although he was sympathetic to my plight, he was certainly not going to move just because his daughter’s college
“I can’t sleep,” she whispered as she crawled into bed and spooned against my back. “Jesus, you’re cold,” I murmured. She only snuggled closer, throwing her leg over mine. I lay there for a few beats, caught between my alcohol-induced sleep and wakefulness, until I realized whatever this cold thing
“My daddy always picked me up at the bus stop.” I was surprised by a tiny voice saying that, in the cramped corridors of the crappy apartment complex my brother used to live in. The girl was like a cornered kitten in every way. I asked her age and she
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In the spring of 1953, when I was nine years old I saw my brother die. I’ll remember that day for the rest of my life. The memory has never left me and it never will. Part of it is the trauma, the slow, insidious realization that he was gone, that crept into my life afterward. But there is more to it that I don’t talk about. I’ve held onto it for years, and I don’t want to hold onto it any longer.
Everyone is familiar with the idea of a soulmate, someone meant for you, your perfect match. The missing piece of you that exists out there, off in the world, just waiting to cross your path. The idea is touching, and viewed as a little naive by most people. After all,
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The first time I saw Bret, I was nineteen. I’d found a job working security at Dave’s Storage Unit. My duties included keeping vagrants and thieves from disturbing the 40 rental units that were laid out in five neat rows in the middle of downtown Atlanta and helping customers with
I was a beautiful young woman once, full of love and life. My lily-white skin was soft and warm, my belly swollen with new life, and my hand held by my husband, Edward. Edward was a good man. We married young, in the spring, when the air was heavy with
This is not meant to scare anyone. Calling it a creepy story would be a bit of an insult, because it isn’t one. This is an expression of gratitude toward a friend, a friend who was always there for me. He watched over me as I was growing up and
I loved traveling. It was for research mostly. I worked as a paranormal investigator, going from place to place with my crew, to search for local “sightings” or “otherworldly instances”. My team ran a rather well-known YouTube channel, “The Plasmatics”. I guessed it was supposed to be some sort of
When I was a small child, I was terrified of the dark. I still am, but back when I was around six years old I couldn’t go a full night without crying out for one of my parents to search beneath my bed or in my closet for whatever monster
Ickbarr Bigelsteine Read More »
