The Dusty Trail_Golden Dreaming, Summer Beseeming._Who Bumped Into Me? A Scary Tale of the Invisible
Catalog Guide:
The Dusty Trail
I never wanted to head west. I would like that to be known. That grand idea came half-cocked from that husband of mine. He never was a smart one. If I had a penny for every feather headed thing that man has done I would venture to guess that I could give even the richest of men a run for their money. I had made a great protest of the sudden uprooting, but I was informed that I had a woman’s mind and it was no mind for business. Not that my words ever carried weight in any situation, business or not. When Harry got it in his head to do something he just went www.onedoor.ccand done it. There was never no talk...
Golden Dreaming, Summer Beseeming.
Warmth. All I knew was warmth. My fingers curled around the tendrils of grass that swayed in the serene summer weather. Peace. My eyes met the rays of light that broke through the sea of leaves that swooshed and swayed above me. One hand reached to the blue sky, as if walking on the sunny rays. The sun always shone. No waking nor sleeping moment was void of the fiery friend. It was never hot, only, warm. My mass of yellow curls was often admired. The compliments derived from the way they tribute the sun. Oh, the sun, never dim. In fact, anything that reminded a person of the sun was idolized....
Who Bumped Into Me? A Scary Tale of the Invisible Kind
We may often wonder what is blowing in the trees, or how the wind blows and it sounds scary. All I can recall is one cold and chilly night, when I was walking home after choir practice. I bumped into a stranger, and I know the person felt the bump, but the person could not see me or hear me. I could hear the person talking and moving about just like the wind. This person looked super scary as if risen from the grave. His clothes were torn and ripped and his left arm was missing. So I'm afraid to ask what happened because when this person spoke the voice sounded like thunder clapping from a hor...
Brief Candle
“Mind if I sit here?”Colin Stamper turns the page of his book. He can’t imagine the question is directed at him. No one ever wants his company. And the feeling is mutual, he tells himself.“Ohmygod! There’s a spider on your shoulder,” says the voice. He decides to engage, just in case. The only thing worse than smalltalk, is spiders. He glances at his shoulders, thankful they are both spider-free, then raises his eyes to the person beside his table, irritated.“I thought that might get your attention,” the grinning woman says. “May I sit?” She scrapes out a chair and plops down, not waiting for ...