Within_The body that was dumped in the harbor_A Ghost's Story_Sleight
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Within
Keka used to sayYou don't need skill to make your baking special, you need LoveI'm positive he would chawww.onedoor.ccnge his ideology after seeing my horrible attempt at baking. Correction, horrible attempts. I hear the sound of time"19 clicks" I mutter with a sigh Tired, I wearily try to clear the kitchen equipments. Detesting them more and more by each moment.The others would be at the hall by now, I better join them if I don't want to sleep on an empty stomachAbandoning the clearing for later, I raced to the hall. Not wanting to spend anymore time alone. With the hall near, I breath a sigh of relief as ...
The body that was dumped in the harbor
"Dammit Jessica, what were you thinking!?!" I screamed at my best friend. "Eli, I had to. I couldn't get him off my mind!" She screamed back. I guess for you to understand we have to go back to the beginning. It was about one in the morning I was driving her to my house. We were both pretty up there drunk. We were fucking around, she kept trying to unbutton my pants. "No Jessie wait!" I would whine. She would continue.I look at her and she's laughing at first. Then the look turns to pure terror. I slammed on the breaks but It was too late. I brought both of my hands to the wheel and brought my...
A Ghost's Story
A Ghost’s Story November 1967It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. Fifteen-year-old Becky Chalmers hoped the weather would be better tomorrow. She and Uncle Beasley were going on an archive adventure at the Trenton Court House. Uncle Beasley, several cousins removed, pulled up to 26 Cadwallader Court clanging and clattering in his 1949 Crosley Hotshot. They would be in search of a man named Moore Furman.Uncle Beasley was a favorite of Becky’s. An handsome young man—tall, slender, a wearer of spectacles. He never realized that his appearance attracted the admiratio...
Sleight
Sleight Freddy Biggs sat in his country farm house feeling pretty small and thinking about the good old days. The radio played as he drank a glass of scotch and stared intently at his front door. Such were the extent of his days.Freddy kept a toothpick in his mouth whenever he wasn’t smoking, even though he only had but a few teeth to speak of. He carried a Colt Peacemaker at his side. It was the type of gun people hadn’t seen slung in about forty years or so. That was back in wilder times. His amputated left hand lay comfortably on his arm rest. More than fifty stories, most having become los...