Dye Me Dead_Trackless across snowbound tract_TABITHA'S PROBLEM_Under His Iron Boot
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Dye Me Dead
DYE ME DEADJay StempinChapter 1Michael The tall bookshelf, bookended by dozens of Medusa-haired skulls, squeaked to life by the sound of a tricycle pedaled by a faerie with daisy petal hair. Green skin. Looked like a flower. She skidded to a halt in front of a paperback edition of Bradbury’s The Illustrated Man. “Hey Mike, what’s the deal? Thought we had plans to get rid of him. As you can see snow’s falling hard. We really should get going. You know how I get around wintry weather.”“Name’s not Mike. How many times I got to tell you? It’s Michael.”“Sure it is, Mike. You’re with the syndic...
Trackless across snowbound tract
During the next couple of weeks, I will house and pet sit for my lucky parents. They won topnotch prize all expense paid month long getaway. Aforementioned well deserved escapade courtesy me, their aspiring paperback bwww.onedoor.ccook writing son. No sooner did their plane taxi off the runway piloted toward lost horizon (bound for warmer clime bajillion miles away), then intimations of sadness arose. A sudden pang for their presence to fill immediate profound absence arose. Tears streaming down my face, I sojourned back to 324 Level Road and to keep bad company with two dogs (hybrid Border Collies nam...
TABITHA'S PROBLEM
Missandra jiggled the key in the padlock until it clicked. Her heart thudded. She had no idea what she was about to see behind this door but even if she did, nothing could’ve prepared her for what she was walking into. Well, that was a lie. She’d grown up in that house, she knew what it was like. But since she’d walked away so many years ago, she had no idea the monster this had grown into. Even though she’s still kept in contact with her mother, Missandra, or Missy as everyone called her, refused to ever set foot back in that house, so she really had no idea how bad things had gotten. Eyes pr...
Under His Iron Boot
On a dry and hot day, one where dust clouded the streets and folks remained inside, two men stepped through a rusty gate. Miguel and Paulo, two immigrants seeking prosperity, looked upon the sign that read “The Town of Sand Springs.” “The name suits it, eh?” said Paulo to his partner. “Sure does…” he replied with a nod. They headed through the quiet town, more resembling a ghost town. Crickets chirped, and whinnies sounded from horses in their stables, but otherwise their footsteps were the only sound that could be heard. As the they trod on, they couldn’t help feeling like the eyes of the l...