If you grew up anywhere near eastern Ohio, you know every small town has its monster. In Blackwood Creek, ours were the Hollow Men. When we were kids in the late 2000s, the story was standard campfire stuff. They were tall, impossibly thin figures made of dry corn husks and
January 16, 2012. Klakzkrig. Exhausted, I was sprawling face-down in bed, feeling like I’d been dragged through a combine harvester and then forced to plow the rest of the field by hand. The day had been an absolute piece of shit: I’d been slaving away since dawn, completely wiped out,
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“Have you ever heard about the curse of Snake McQuinn?” I switched the beam from my flashlight off. It was Halloween night, and sure enough, there were some kids trespassing in Farmer Huxley’s old hay barn. I’m the sheriff in Walnut Brook, and it wasn’t the first time the old
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In a town kept alive by retirees and tourists looking for a cheap scare, we knew a place hidden from their money was bad news. Plebes are paraded around in horse drawn carriages through the dead of night. If there’s a storm, all the better. In the dim glow of
When I was 7, my best friend was a girl named Ava, who was my neighbor. Ava was a sweet kid; I didn’t realize it at the time, but her home life was pure hell. We would always hear her father screaming and breaking stuff. I was too young to understand
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My friend and I have always known not to go into the woods around my house at night. I live in a really, really rural area. Like, the nearest house is about a mile away kind of rural. I love it; I grew up in suburban areas, so living somewhere so far
