theoddcatlady

[theoddcatlady]

The Seven Angels

Blanca Leon. Tracy Russell. Jean McLaughlin.

Seven girls went missing three years ago on the December 12.

Gabriela Brown. Alice McGrail. June Larsen. Claudia Inman.

The only thing these girls had in common were that they were all thirteen and that they all lived in the same town. Race, interests, grades, social status, nothing else matched up. Blanca and Tracy were close friends, as well as Gabriela and June, but the others didn’t know each other.

Claudia was my little sister.

The last time I saw her was when I was heading back to my room. I had snuck out to hang out with some friends and was reasonably tipsy when I saw her standing in the hallway. She was wearing a Snoopy shirt and pajama bottoms. Her red hair was tousled in every direction like she’d just gotten out of bed.

She just stared at me. I giggled and pressed a finger to my lips.

“D… don’t tell mom and dad?”

She didn’t say anything, so I figured that was her way of agreeing to keep our secret. I kept on giggling as I slipped back into my bedroom. I wonder now if she was alone in that hallway. The next morning I woke up to mom screaming about Claudia being gone and to call 911 because there was blood on her bed.

It wasn’t blood, by the way, it was just red paint. Someone had taken the time to spill red paint all over the bed and to write the number ‘7’ on the wall.

Up until this point I was a shithead of a teenager. Sneaking out, drinking, smoking, I was kinda the worst. But when Claudia went missing I changed myself. I was one of the people out searching every day. I helped answer phones and comfort the other distraught families. I kept my family together as we prayed for Claudia’s safe return.

I knew we’d never find her alive when the first body was found.

It was Tracy. I became friends with Tracy’s mom Amelia while this shit was going on. Amelia blamed herself for this, saying the last thing that had happened between her and her daughter was an argument. Tracy wanted to go see her dad for Christmas and Amelia was putting her foot down. Tracy screamed that she hated her and that Christmas was going to be the worst this year before storming into her room and slamming the door.

The next morning Tracy’s bed was covered in red paint and the number one was painted on the wall.

Tracy’s body was found in fucking California. For reference, we live in Indiana. It was two weeks after the girls had gone missing and this poor fucking minister walked into the church to prep for the morning services only to find the mangled body of a teenage girl.

It was worse than words can do it justice. Pictures got leaked on the internet and although I told myself I shouldn’t look, I did anyway before they were taken down. Tracy had been strung up from the ceiling, dangling from the rafters like a morbid marionette. Her eyes had been put out and… have you ever heard of the method of torture called the Blood Eagle?

If you don’t know what that is, I’ll save you the trouble of googling it. The victim is tied face down while the back is cut open and the ribs are detached from the spine. The ribs are then spread out, the lungs pulled out and over the ribs to mimic ‘wings’.

It’s not pretty. That’s what happened to Tracy.

The killer had given one mercy and that was that he left Tracy’s school picture taped onto her chest, with her full name, address, and the date she went missing.

Amelia had a full breakdown when the news was delivered. She ended up being institutionalized. I don’t blame her. The autopsy confirmed that Tracy had been alive when she was cut up like that.

Each week a body turned up, scattered all over the US. Christmas had already came and gone by the time Tracy’s body was found but Claudia’s presents were still under the tree that we had yet to take down. Normally dad would insist on taking it down the day after Christmas but we just couldn’t do it. An unspoken wish that Claudia would be found safe and sound, that we could all have Christmas together.

This wasn’t a wish we’d get.

The final girl taken, the final girl found. Claudia was found only ten minutes down the road from where we lived at the small St. Anthony’s Church. She’d taken her first communion there. She’d been cut up like all the others, only this time she wasn’t alone.

Mr. Leroy Weber was found kneeling under her body, praying up to it as her blood dripped down on him. The monster we’d all been hunting down was the unassuming Algebra teacher for the eighth graders at the local middle school.

I had Mr. Weber’s class way back when. I’d thought of him as one of my better teachers, he knew how to make the material clear to us and he never assigned homework. When asked why, he’d just shrug and say, “Less for me to grade.” He certainly didn’t look like a killer. He was over fifty years old, wasn’t over 5’7’’ in height and looked like a strong wind could just blow him away. But then again, you probably don’t have to be strong to put a knife to a child’s neck and tell her if she screams, he’ll kill your entire family.

That’s how he did it. He never tried to deny what he did. He had his full confession written out and ready to go the moment the cops rolled up to the church. When we were told it was him, I saw red.

If my dad didn’t catch me leaving the house with a gun and the intent to murder Mr. Weber, I would’ve been in a lot of trouble. Amelia wasn’t the only one who had to go to the mental hospital for a bit, I ended up joining her that night.

I’m not saying that like it’s a bad thing either, I’m actually glad I went. I probably would’ve completely snapped without the doctor’s help.

Mr. Weber never went for the insanity plea, but to be fair, I think it would’ve worked for him. Because his bullshit reason for killing all these little girls made me seriously contemplate busting out of the hospital and going to wring his scrawny little neck.

He wanted to make them angels.

He was the only thing that really tied them together, one time or another each of those girls had been in his class. Each of those girls he claimed was ‘perfect’.

“I had to be sure I got the formula right, I practiced on cats, dogs. If I failed when the time came, then they wouldn’t be angels.”

Just remembering that sick fuck makes me sick. What really takes the cake though? He thought by killing them and making them angels… they’d rise up in three days. He said this so calmly and proudly to the cops that it was without a doubt that he was a loon.

When he was reminded it had been more than three days that Tracy had died and well, she was still very much dead, he apparently wigged out. He tried to disarm one of the police officers to shoot himself in the head. He didn’t succeed but when his case went to trial he begged for the death penalty.

I know. I was there.

I’d managed to get out in time for his sentencing trial. I was holding Amelia’s hand as Mr. Weber sat in his chair. I’d almost expected him to be different, maybe he’d have this dark smile or this insane laughter, but when he spoke it was the same soft voice he’d used when he was teaching.

“Please. I failed in my mission. I need to pay the price for my horrid sins.”

It was the one thing he wanted and it was the one thing he was given. I didn’t attend the execution, but Amelia did. She called me when it was over. She was crying, saying she’d thought it would make her feel better but it didn’t. She felt so much worse.

She almost killed herself after that, but I helped her get back into the hospital. We’re still friends. We visit Claudia’s and Tracy’s graves together, all the ‘angels’ were buried together.

Angels. I wouldn’t have called Claudia an angel while she was alive, she was an imp like I was at her age. I guess Mr. Weber saw something I didn’t though.

See, after he was executed, I heard that his stuff was being auctioned off on a serial killer memorabilia website. Yes, those are real, and I really wish they weren’t, but the big ticket item was his journal. His exact plan for what he was going to do to those girls.

I ended up emptying my checking account to buy that shitty book. When it arrived, I spent all night reading it.

His plan truly was to create an angel. A holy being of justice and the sword. His ramblings ranged from crazy to batshit insane, but he truly believed in what he was doing.

And I think he may have succeeded.

It’s been three years. I’ve recovered best I can. But last night Amelia and I were heading to the graveyard when we were stopped by a bright light.

We both fell to the ground and covered our faces. When I lowered my hands to catch a glimpse, that’s when I saw her.

It was Tracy. She was wearing the green dress she was buried in, her innards dragging behind her from where her back was sliced open. Her eyes were emitting that bright light, white orbs that were practically bugging out of her shrunken face.

Amelia sobbed when she realized who this girl was and ran forward, only for Tracy to back away, shaking her head. When Amelia reached to touch her she shrieked, backing away as her hand crumbled away like ash. Tracy sobbed and leaped into the air, floating away until she was a star in the sky.

All the graves have been torn open from the inside. Some of the other parents have claimed to see their child.

Meanwhile I’m waiting here at my parent’s house, right at the front window. Right by my side are Claudia’s unopened presents, covered in dust.

I hope she comes home soon.

#my stories

[theoddcatlady]

Nicky

It happened ten years ago. I was only eight years old. I woke up that morning to the smell of frying eggs and bacon.

Stumbling down the hallway, I was greeted by the sight of a dark haired woman at the stove, humming some friendly tune as she filled a cup to the near brim with orange juice. She turned to me and I nearly jumped out of my skin. In a sense she was pretty, but she had a vicious scar running down the left side of her face.

“Andy! You’re up!” She beamed as she picked up the plate stacked with a delicious smelling breakfast. “I had to run to the store, but I hope you like breakfast!”

Too shocked to say anything else, I replied, “I don’t have breakfast. Where’s my mom?”

The woman laughed and set the plate on the table, now cleared off of shredded bill envelopes and clutter. “She’s gone, so I’m here to make sure you’re all right. You can call me Aunt Nicole, or Nicky, whatever you prefer, I don’t mind! And while I’m here, you have breakfast!” She said in a chipper tone.

Feeling like this all might be a dream, I sat down at the table and took a bite of bacon. It was perfectly crisp, not burnt as it would’ve been if my mom had cooked it. She was always so tired, I normally had to fetch my dinner off the stove myself.

“Is she going to be back soon? My mom?” I asked after I swallowed, it was impolite to talk with your mouth full.

Nicky shrugged. “She didn’t say. Clean your plate, then you can show me your favorite cartoons, okay? Only until ten though- that’s when we’re going to the zoo!” She laughed and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

The zoo? I remembered my mom telling me that our zoo trip wouldn’t happen this year, she was just too busy with work, but if Nicky was going to take me… I suppose it wouldn’t be too bad to let her stay, I figured, as I chowed down on breakfast.

Maybe you think I was a dumb kid, and I’ll understand that. Maybe I was. But you have to understand, my mom was a single parent working as many shifts as she could pick up. It wasn’t uncommon for her to send a babysitter my way when she couldn’t get home in time, although typically they were younger teens that spent all their time on the phone and maybe threw a frozen pizza in the oven for dinner.

Nicky was different in every way for the week she took care of me.

The house was cleaned top to bottom, I helped in the bathroom while Nicky handled mom’s bedroom. Every night meals were freshly cooked and done to perfection. I remember on Tuesday we had a pizza that she made from scratch. I watched her toss the dough in the air like a real chef and asked how she did that.

“I learned from a real chef,” Nicky winked and tossed the dough again, “in Italy.”

“Have you traveled a lot?” Nicky did have a slight accent, I believe it was British.

She nodded as she set the dough down onto the pan and started adding the toppings. “All over the world. Would you believe that I’ve met the queen?” She winked and I realized she was joking.

“No.”

“Good. You’re a smart kid, Andy. Don’t just believe things people tell you.” Nicky bit her bottom lip as she cracked open the oven to test the heat. “I never believe what the oven tells me. But this time it’s about right for the perfect pizza.”

It was the perfect pizza too.

Nicky was almost too good of a babysitter. It was like she wanted to be my mom. To be honest, I think she did want to be. She was… bizarre, in small ways. Ways I didn’t think about until much later. She was never home at night, and she always did her laundry in the morning, I could hear the machine banging around when I woke up. Whenever we went out, she slathered her arms and face in sunscreen, almost a ridiculous amount. I asked her about it once.

“I just have delicate skin.”

That was all she’d say about it before she’d change the subject. It was late summer so I accepted the excuse. She made sure I had sunscreen on at all times as well, but even if she was popping out to check the mailbox she’d grab the tube and start slathering it on. I found over a dozen bottles in the towel cabinet, stashed with the ibuprofen and cough medicine.

Nicky loved to read, we went to the library twice when she was there and would stock up on all sorts of books. Typically horror, but she made sure I picked out at least two books for myself the second time we went. I chose two books of the Boxcar Kids series, my mom had given me a few of her old ones and I couldn’t put them down. I still have those books, after everything went down I just never returned them.

It was one of the best weeks of my life, but every night I asked the same thing when Nicky tucked me into bed.

“Did you hear from mom yet?”

Every night, she’d just kiss my forehead and tell me to chase the dream butterflies. I never knew what she meant by that, but I always slept soundly.

The last night I woke up to quiet sobbing. I glanced at my alarm clock, the numbers 1:32 blared back in bright red. I slipped out of bed and into the hall, following the sound to my mother’s bedroom.

Nicky was curled up on my mother’s perfectly made bed, a photo album open next to her. I slowly walked up to Nicky and set a hand on her shoulder. “You should chase the dream butterflies too, Nicky,” I said. Nicky flinched and sat up. The room was dark but I could tell her mouth was covered in… something. I turned on the lamp.

Her mouth was soaked in bright red, along with her hands and shirt. Blood.

“Oh… Andy.” Her voice cracked as she picked me up and set me on the bed next to her, wrapping her arms around me. “I’m something horrible. I’ve done horrible things.”

I remained still in her arms, my eyes flicking open to the page in the album. It was a picture of the day I was born and my birth certificate, my mother proudly showed it to me every birthday and told me how she went through twelve hours of labor before I came into the world. And she’d go through those twelve hours again if she had to, she loved me so much. I might’ve not quite understood what ‘labor’ was about, but I knew she loved me very much.

“… Are you hurt?” I asked, reaching up to brush some of the blood of her mouth.

Nicky shook her head. “No, sweetheart. This isn’t my…” She trailed off and shook, shaking her head. “I thought… maybe, just maybe, I could make things better by taking care of you. I think I’m just making them worse. So much worse. Andy, I’m sorry. Do you forgive me?”

“Forgive you for what?” I asked.

“… Do you forgive me for the horrible things I’ve done to you?”

I frowned. “What horrible things?” I asked.

“The worst thing possible…. No, it’s not fair,” Nicky sighed and released me from her hold, “It’s not fair to ask you to forgive me.” She got up. “I have to leave, Andy… can I do anything else for you?”

I had one more question.

“Why do you have a scar, Nicky?”

Nicky reached up and brushed the side of her face. “… Horrible things happened to me too, Andy. The worst things. I suppose that’s why I can only do horrible things too.” She took the quilt and tucked it over me, smiling softly. “Go to sleep now, Andy, and chase those butterflies to the end of the world and back.”

I woke up the next morning to a police officer shaking my shoulder.

“Hey… Holy shit- guys, the kid’s here!”

Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I sat up and slipped out of bed. The police officer stumbled for words for a moment, whatever he’d been expecting, it certainly wasn’t this. “Andy? Are you okay?” He asked.

I looked around. “… Where’s Nicky?” I asked.

“We’ll find Nicky. We need to get you to the hospital.”

I think I baffled all the doctors and police with my case. When they broke into the apartment to find me, they expected to find this half starved kid, scared out of his wits and desperate to find his mother. But instead they found me dressed and clean, with the house taken care of and with a full stomach.

I think you can guess by now that my mother was dead. I was taken in by my dad, who had no idea I even existed, but he did okay with that. He’d remarried after he and my mom split and I had three half-siblings that I didn’t know existed. It was fun being the big brother and my stepmom Mika was super sweet.

She wasn’t my mom though. And she wasn’t Nicky.

I had to pry the rest of the story out of my dad when I was older. The reason there wasn’t police hammering down my door sooner was that my mom was a Jane Doe in the morgue. She’d been found practically shredded to pieces. The cause of death was bleeding out from an artery in her neck. Her body had been discovered a few blocks from her work, all forms of ID was missing, including her wallet.

My mom always had a picture of me and her in there. And they found that wallet, with bloody fingerprints, in my mom’s nightstand. Right next to where I was sleeping.

My dad still wonders why my mother’s murderer returned to her house only to care for her son, but I don’t need to wonder. I know.

I know this is a long shot, Nicky, but I remember you liked horror so maybe you’ll find this story. I know you killed my mom.

But I forgive you.

#my stories

[theoddcatlady]

Problem Child

TW: Child Abuse

As a social worker, you’re bound to come across some really messed up stuff. I’ve been at this job for nearly twelve years and I’ve seen everything. Joel was raised in a kennel with a dog, he were so small I thought he was two years younger than he really was. Andrea went into a doctor’s appointment only for the doc to find out the kid had contracted chlamydia. Sophia who had been tied to a bed and beaten to ‘get the devils’ out of her. Fynn had been choked for enough time by his stepdad to have permanent brain damage.

But all of those kids have homes now. They were adopted by loving families. I send them cards on their birthdays. Joel is obsessed with Disney and went to Florida with his mom during summer vacation. Andrea now speaks regularly at sexual abuse seminars and helps other victims come forward about what they went through. Sophia wants to be an astronaut, Fynn is beating the odds and making us all proud with all he’s accomplishing.

I can’t say the same for Bonnie.

Bonnie only crossed my desk recently, her original caseworker had retired and no one else wanted to do checks on her. I couldn’t imagine why until she was sent back into the system. That’s when I cracked open that file and gave it a long read.

No one knows where Bonnie came from. They found her in the backseat of a car that had been in an accident, the driver appeared to have suddenly swerved and ran into a tree. It killed him instantly. However, when the driver was ID’d, he didn’t have children that age. The girl wasn’t one of his relatives, and she was found in a worn out carseat that had the name ‘Bonnie’ scrawled on it in black crayon.

As much as it irks me to say this, she was the perfect case for an easy adoption. Blue eyes, blonde hair, six months old and perfectly healthy. Exactly the kind of child that anyone would want. It’s no surprise to me that a lovely young couple brought her into their home within a week. I even found a newspaper clipping announcing that the Johnson’s family has grown by one. Cheesy, but cute.

But not even three weeks later and Bonnie was sent right back into the system, with no explanation other than ‘she’s a handful’. I did some digging and it does seem that the perfect Johnson couple were not nearly so perfect. A well check revealed that the garbage can was filled to the brim with wine bottles and Mr. Johnson had been fired from his workplace for embezzlement.

I actually looked them up to scrape up that last fact, I had gotten far too curious.

The next couple seems to be an even better fit, the Morrisons. They’d already adopted three year old Lily the year prior and they were excited to grow their family again. Mrs. Morrison was a teacher, Mr. Morrison was an accountant. Lily was a happy, healthy girl.

Well, she was.

Two weeks after Bonnie joined their perfect family, Lily was diagnosed with leukemia. This was out of nowhere. It worked fast. Before the year was out the family had shrunk, and the Morrison family had to buy a coffin that should never have to be made so small.

Everything fell apart after this. Mrs. Morrison started having an affair with one of her students, Mr. Morrison came home to them in bed and in a rage he shot them both. The teenage boy didn’t survive but Mrs. Morrison did, although she’d never be able to walk again. During the trial it came out that Mrs. Morrison felt like she was no longer in control of her actions, she claimed she was sleepwalking when she seduced her student and brought him into her bed. Funny part is, Mr. Morrison said he had no idea where he even got that gun- he didn’t own one, and it wasn’t registered to him either.

Obviously, little Bonnie had to be sent back into the system while her parents were sent to prison for statutory rape and murder.

I wish I could say it got easier for her from here… but it didn’t. Not at all. It got worse even. Not every house was as perfect as the Morrisons could’ve been. There are so many ‘parents’ out there that are in it for the paycheck. Frankly, they got what they deserved when Bonnie entered their house.

I was on the computer all night to see the path of destruction that laid in Bonnie’s wake. Housefires. Unexpected deaths, some explained, some not. Illness. Erratic and violent behavior. The most saintly of people became depraved maniacs, devolving into sexual deviants that sold their kids to sickos and downloaded terabytes upon terabytes of illegal porn. Big brothers began gutting cats and big sisters were found with their wrists slit in the bathtub. Parents threw children out the window on the second floor. Jobs were lost. Homes destroyed.

And the only thing in common with each and every one was Bonnie.

The last house probably had it the worst, the Raders. This poor couple hadn’t a damn clue what they were getting into when they adopted Bonnie, they’d already adopted three other ‘problem’ children who came from abusive pasts so they probably thought that Bonnie would be nothing new. Nothing unexpected.

Mr. Rader went into work last week and killed nearly every one of his coworkers with a shot gun. No one was spared and it ended only when he turned the gun on himself. The only survivor had managed to hide herself in the closet and she said that he didn’t say a word until everyone else was dead. Then she heard him start to scream uncontrollably, the screaming grew louder and louder until it was cut off by the final shot.

I can’t say the rest of the family had it easy. On the same day, Mrs. Rader drowned the youngest child in the bathtub, while the older children ran down the streets, naked and wailing. They finally managed to flag down a neighbor and told her, and I quote, ‘Mom’s gone crazy, she’s going to kill us all just because of Bonnie!’

When the police finally got home, Mrs. Rader had hung herself off the shower rod while Bonnie was busy drawing flowers in the basement. It was like she didn’t even know what was going on upstairs.

I’ve seen a lot of children, many who might be concerned ‘problems’. But Bonnie takes the cake. This child is a jinx in human form and I have no idea why.

So this is why I’ve agreed to foster Bonnie. I cannot let this child go into another home knowing what I do now.

Bonnie is one of the most beautiful children I’ve ever seen, dark golden curls and those wide eyes are such a bright blue they make the sky seem drab. She’s quiet, always says please and thank you, and I’ve yet to see any typical trouble making behavior- stealing, hoarding, lying, destroying.

I questioned her about all her previous homes, how her entire life she’s never spent more than seven months in a house. At the time we were enjoying dinner, and Bonnie looked up from her mac n’ cheese to ask for some applesauce. When I poured her some applesauce in a bowl, she took it and then she started talking.

“I’m a very bad thing. I can’t do good things, no matter how hard I try, and everyone around me gets hurt because of it. I’m sorry, I’ll try to do better this time.”

I pity this child. I don’t know if I trust her, but I do pity her. I only hope I can avoid the fate of Bonnie’s other families.

#my stories

[theoddcatlady]

Biter

I’m never going to complain about working at a daycare, it really is my dream job. I love working with kids and seeing how they grow up, when they learn to talk and walk, when they learn to string together sentences… It’s the best.

However, there are some kids that drive me up the wall.

“Ow! Parker, you don’t bite people!”

The hardheaded two year old responded by throwing a block at my head, which I barely ducked as I ran into the bathroom. Parker had been a handful all day, he’d already bitten two of the other children and had kicked Tara in the shin when she managed to drag him away from a quarrel he’d been right in the middle of.

I bit back any swearing as I ran my finger under the tap. Jesus Christ, kids can really bite harder than you think, he’d managed to draw blood. After slapping a band aid on the bite and calling it a day, I headed back out to see that Parker was sulking in the corner and Tara was on the phone.

When she hung up, she turned and grimaced. “How bad did he get you?” She asked.

“Drew blood. Nothing a band aid can’t fix.” I nodded at the phone. “Who were you calling?”

“Parker’s mom.” Tara shook her head and I saw her fingers twitch toward her bag, she might’ve claimed to have kicked her smoking habit but after a rough day she would still vanish for a bit when it just got too much. “Honestly, Parker’s a little monster today and it’s getting to the point where I am not letting him near the other kids. After he took a piece of your skin he went back to hitting poor Brittany. I managed to calm her down with a juice box but… wow, this is not a good day for the lil guy.”

“Did his mom pick up?”

Tara shook her head. “Got sent to voicemail. Just keep an eye on Parker. I’ll manage the other rugrats, hey, at least it’s Friday?” She grinned and weaved over to the TV, loudly offering to put on Spongebob. That got the attention of about three quarters of the kids, the indifferent ones were too young to be enthralled by the cartoon or they were napping.

I saw Parker start to scoot out of his corner and I tutted my tongue. “Parker, ten more minutes in the corner, then we’re going to apologize to everyone you bit,” I said, pushing his chair back into the corner.

Parker glared and for a brief second I was nervous around the kid. Good thing too, because he lunged for me again. This time I managed to shove his ass back in the chair, maybe I was a little rough but this kid was going for my throat. “Stop it! What is up today, Parker?” Sure, he was a rambunctious kiddo, but no more than any other toddler. This was actually concerning.

Parker just turned and sat back down on his chair, crossing his arms and pouting. I sighed.

“Fine. Ten more minutes, buddy.”

Ten more minutes and before I could let him out of his corner his mom showed up. Rita looked as distracted as always, she was still chatting on her phone as she signed Parker out for the day. I tried talking to her about Parker’s behavior but she blew me off, saying, “He’s just going through a phase,” before going back to her conversation on the phone. Without so much as an apology or an explanation she grabbed her son by the shoulder and dragged him off.

That night I headed home, filled my bathtub, tossed in my most glittery bathbomb, lit some candles, turned on some music, and prepped for a night of relaxation. I deserved it.

About a half hour of soaking, I felt the bandaid I slipped on come loose and fall off. I sighed and stepped out of the tub, grabbing a towel to dry off.

I came to a dead halt when I saw my finger was turning black.

At first I thought it was a trick of the candle light, but flipping on the light confirmed my initial inspection- the bite mark had turned completely black, while veins running down my finger had began to darken. I wouldn’t have known anything was wrong otherwise, it hadn’t gone numb or anything. It was just black.

I grabbed my phone and dialed Tara’s number while I peeled off the scab, squeezing out the wound into the sink.

“I’m on a date, this better be good,” Tara grumbled when she picked up.

“Yeah, it’s good, Tara. Can you help me call the other parents of the kids that Parker bit? Because my wound is… kinda fucking gross…” I shivered as gray goop dripped into the sink, the same consistency of pus. “I’m probably going to the doctor in the morning, I think it’s an infection.”

“I mean, I’m not surprised. Kid’s mouths are actually the worst,” I could hear Tara shudder, “So many germs.”

I grimaced as more gray goop splashed off the faucet. “You’re telling me. I’ll call Brittany’s dad, you can call Logan’s? Just tell them to check the bites and see if they’re infected too. Then get back to your date, meanwhile I have a date with a needle as I lance this bitch.”

“Aaaand just like that, I’m going to be thinking about your gross pus all night. Thanks for killing the mood.”

“You’re welcome.”

I hung up. I wasn’t seriously going to lance the wound, squeezing it seemed to do the job well enough. It hurt like a bitch though. I gritted my teeth before I turned on the sink, rinsing the wound off and grabbing some Neosporin out of the cabinet.

A new bandaid later and I was right as rain. I checked my list of parent’s numbers and texted Brittany’s mother about the biting incident and to make sure that her daughter was all right before I headed to bed. I was drained, mentally and physically, from a rough day at work.

I rolled over the next morning to find seven missed calls from Tara and that the infection had spread, to put it lightly.

I screamed when I reached for my phone and saw that my right hand looked like I’d dipped it into black ink. If I wasn’t awake then, I was now as I shot up and grabbed onto my hand with my good one. I wiggled my fingers but it was like wiggling them through molasses, each movement sluggish and almost unresponsive. My entire hand was completely numb, no matter how much I poked it there was no response.

I picked up the phone and saw the missed calls, immediately calling Tara back.

“Oh my god, where were you?!” Tara screeched nearly loud enough to pop my eardrum.

“Sleeping! Like a normal person!” I raised my hand in front my eyes, still shocked about what I was seeing. “What happened-”

“Go to the fucking hospital, right now.” I could hear Tara flick her lighter. “I’m serious, how bad are you?”

I swallowed. “… Bad. Let’s just say it’s bad.”

“I… oh Jesus fucking Christ,” Tara’s voice cracked, “I… I had a bad feeling about Logan when I called his parents and they didn’t pick up. So Danny and I went to his house, just to make sure everything was okay, I mean, I live right on his block anyway… I knew it wasn’t when I saw that all the lights were on and it was already past eleven. His house is in bed by ten, at the latest. So I went up to the front door and knocked. I didn’t get an answer… so I walked in.”

My heart sank as I heard Tara start to cry. Tara never cried.

“Everyone was dead. Black goo was everywhere, and his dad was just laying in a puddle of that and blood. I saw Logan just sitting next to his toys and he didn’t look right, like… at all. I’m not fucking kidding, he looked like a corpse stacking toy blocks. He looked up at me and his eyes were just black. He grinned and his mouth was all bloody… I ran out of there screaming. I got into the car just before that little ankle biter launched himself at the window. It cracked and I screamed at Danny to just drive, drive as fucking as he could… I don’t know if we ran that little fucker over or not but I genuinely thought you might be dead.”

I already had thrown on a bathrobe and was walking out the door. “I’m going to the emergency room right now, Tara. What happened after that? Did you tell somebody?”

“No shit we told somebody!” Tara sobbed. “We… we’re at the police station still. Logan’s not the only family who has this happening to them. Brittany’s mom was found hiding in the bathroom as Brittany was clawing at the door and screaming like a wild animal. Brittany’s in the hospital right now and she’s unresponsive. Please, please just get help as fast as you can.”

I’m in the hospital now. I think they’re going to try to stop this from spreading further by taking my arm. The black’s crawled up past my elbow now, I swear it’s gained an inch every time I look to check. Across the hall from me is Parker, while his mom screams that he’s fine and that he’s just going through a phase. She claims she’s going to sue them all but I’m pretty sure she’ll be the one buried in lawsuits.

I managed to catch a glimpse of the little shit though.

He seems to be just like every other little kid… except that he’s still a biter. I think I saw him take a chunk out of the nurse’s arm before the door closed.

#my stories

[theoddcatlady]

Crimson Wings

My husband Shaun and I love… well, loved, camping. We would go all year around, snow and rain was no object. We didn’t have kids and our trips didn’t have to be long, we’d pack up on Friday and be back on Sunday night when we couldn’t get any time off.

Last July we’d managed to scrounge up enough PTO for a whole week trip. We were heading down to Tennessee and it was going to be one of our best trips yet.

Our campsite was right smack dab in between two others. The family on our right were the Schultz family. They were the new to the whole camping thing, I had to end up going there to help the guy out with his fire. Greg was grateful though and he could grill with the best of them. His wife Anna was mostly fussed with taking care of their four year old daughter Genesis, but their son Ace was a treasure. He kept coming over to our campsite to tell us stories about giant bears that they’d seen while driving here. Shaun took to him and would swap even more ridiculous tales with the creative six year old.

On our other side was a group of young men out for one last trip before one of them got married. I only really talked with two of them, Brian and Phil, the husband to be and his best friend. They were a bit rowdy but they kept it to the daylight hours and they weren’t being gross so for the most part we ignored them.

There was one trouble maker though- fucking Gavin. Gavin is to blame for all of this. He was the one who kicked the hornet’s nest… literally.

The Schultzes had joined us for dinner on the third day, we’d gone fishing with Greg and Shaun had the kids captivated with a big fish tale when I heard a giant hullabaloo coming from the guy’s camp.

“The heck?” I murmured as I got to my feet, craning my neck to get a better look. I could only see that the guys were wigging out over there.

Shaun waved them off. “Ignore the kids, they probably saw a squirrel or something,” He said.

I frowned. That didn’t sound like excitement, it sounded like… anger. “I’ll be right back, if they’re pissy drunks then I’m gonna say we’re moving our campsite tonight,” I said, stepping over the log I’d used as a seat and walked on over.

One of the guys was giggling like a maniac and I could smell weed on him. The guys were all gathered around something on the ground and Phil was scowling. “Gavin, kick that shit back into the woods!” He said.

Gavin giggled again. “But dude! It’s sooooo big man! Greg’s really gotta see this!”

“He can’t see it you fucking idiot! He’s allergic!”

“Doesn’t he have an Epipen?”

“Oh my god I want to kill you.”

I got closer and finally got a glimpse of what they were freaking out about. It was a massive hornet’s nest, probably a bit bigger that a soccer ball, sitting at the guys’ feet. I could faintly hear the buzzing inside. “Guys, can you please get rid of that thing? You’re lucky none of you have been stung yet,” I scolded.

Phil looked up and threw his arms up in the air. “I’m trying, believe me,” He said through gritted teeth, “but Gavin is an idiot.”

“Awwww, but look at it!” Gavin gestured at it. “It’s soooo cool! The bees are cool too man, one was like, crawling all over my hand and didn’t sting me or nothing! Greg would be fine!”

Phil looked ready to sock Gavin in the mouth before I stepped forward. “Knock it off, I’ll get rid of it.” Wondering if the nest was just konked out from all the smoke from our campfires, I knelt next to the nest and gently lifted it in the air.

A cherry red hornet crawled out of one of the holes. My skin crawled as it gently brushed against my hand, I was lucky I didn’t drop the damn thing. It didn’t seemed particularly offended as I carried it past the treeline and carefully sat it down. I know, that was the stupidest thing I could’ve done, but I thought the nest was either mostly empty or this was a bizarre species of hornet that was really hard to piss off.

I headed back to camp and told them all about it. Ace immediately demanded to see it, his mom shot that idea down and then Greg said dinner was ready, and the easiest way to distract a kid is with food. By the time we’d finished dinner, Ace had all but forgot about the nest. So had I, until I heard shouting again.

This time I could pick out about every third word. I could tell it was Phil, losing his shit on Gavin for bringing the nest back into camp. Gavin kept whining and said the nest was friendly and that the hornets could be their pets. I looked over in time to see Phil shove Gavin and for Gavin to drop the nest.

I heard that thing crack when it hit the ground.

I smelled something like sulfur and suddenly that quiet buzzing I’d heard earlier was magnified a hundred fold. It was deafening, I could almost taste the sound. Ace and Genesis immediately started screaming, clapping their hands over their sensitive little ears as the rest of us instinctively ducked. As if that could protect us from what was about to happen.

The sky turned red with the bodies of thousands of red hornets. Far more than what could possible fit in the nest. Then they dive bombed. I felt one light on my arm before its stinger jabbed in. I screamed and crushed it with a single swat, but the damage had been done. My arm seized up and exploded in pain. I had broken my arm before. This was so, so much fucking worse.

With the last semblance of sense I had, I dragged myself to the tent and hurled myself inside. Shaun ran up, I saw hornets crawling in and out of his shirt as he dragged Ace along. He pushed Ace into the tent before running back to where Anna was crouched, she’d thrown herself over Genesis to shield her from the stinging.

Ace was wailing, rocking himself back and forth as I held the tent flap up to prevent any wasps from getting in. I felt my arm randomly spasm, and whenever it did I felt another wave of pain hit me. I couldn’t ask Ace if he was okay, if he’d been stung, the only thing I could do was scream at the top of my lungs.

The tent door was shoved back open and Genesis was tossed into the tent. Before I could move, Shaun collapsed on top of me and began to bawl like a baby. I managed to crawl out from under him and zipped the tent door shut.

After that, I let myself fully succumbed to the pain.

I don’t know how long it went on. There’s no way to fully describe how bad this was. Time didn’t make it any better. If anything it got so much fucking worse. I could sometimes hear Anna screaming but those stopped before it was dark outside. The buzzing never stopped. It seemed like it would never stop.

I vomited on myself sometime during the night. I swear I saw things from how bad the pain was. Dark figures moving past the tent, walking trees, the tent catching on fire and burning poor Genesis alive… then I’d blink and the fire would be gone. Genesis would still be crying and there was nothing outside the tent but the goddamn hornets.

Passing out was a mercy. When I woke up, the buzzing had quieted down to almost nothing. The two children were asleep on each other, snoring quietly.

Shaun’s lifeless eyes stared up at the ceiling of the tent, several swollen purple and red bumps covering his entire body to the point he was barely recognizable. I think he’d been stung a few dozen times saving Genesis and Ace. And he’d paid with it with his life.

I tried to shake him awake, I begged him to wake up with my voice hoarse from all the screaming, but he didn’t. He was gone.

I slipped out of the tent and nearly tripped over Greg’s body. He’d tried making it into our tent, his sting covered hand was still reaching for the zipper. Anna was at the forest’s edge, slumped over a tree stump.

I almost wished Gavin was still alive so I could wring his fucking neck, but he was a few yards away from where I found Anna. The bachelor party laid in various positions on the ground, all covered in uncountable stings.

But I wasn’t alone.

I tripped over Phil and a few others, seeing if any of them had survived when I saw her.

For a second, she looked… normal. A red haired teenager, no older than fourteen or fifteen, wearing a teal t-shirt and cargo shorts. I nearly sobbed as I hurried to her, babbling out nonsense about the hornets.

Then I saw she had a few dozen of them sitting on her shoulders.

I came to a stop as the girl cocked her head to the side.

“… You didn’t mean to hurt them. But they didn’t know that,” She said softly, blinking and dark brown eyes turning into black compound. Translucent crimson wings protruded from her back, occasionally twitching.

I couldn’t believe my eyes as she came closer, I saw even more hornets crawling on her skin, flying in and out from her pockets and shirt. She knelt by my side and her soft fingers brushed the swollen sting on my arm. Without a word, she squeezed it and it popped. I screamed and nearly passed out again before it all went numb.

A brand new hornet crawled out from the popped wound, cleaning off its antenna and wings of blood. The girl smiled and took it into her hands, placing it in her mouth.

“Many of my family died today, but yours will provide replacements.” She winked, as if she was sharing a joke, and whistled a tune as she walked away.

Every body burst at that moment. The air was filled with a soft hum as hornets rose from the corpses, following the winged girl into the forest, where they all vanished.

No, I was never given an explanation when I was taken to the hospital. They didn’t bother. No one had a clue what happened out there. From what I heard, Ace and Genesis have both gone completely deaf. I don’t know if it’s a psychological thing or a physical one, but there’s hope with hearing aids and therapy they can recover.

I can’t move my right arm anymore. I’m still in therapy but it’s looking like I’ll never be able to use it again. I ended up quitting my job, I get by on disability. I can never sleep because my dreams are just of buzzing and screams. Occasionally I’ll feel stabs of pain in my dead arm when I wake up from these nightmares.

And sometimes when I wake up, I think I see that winged girl standing at the foot of my bed, smiling with scarlet hornets crawling over her teeth.

#my stories

[theoddcatlady]

Mr. Ferguson

I think the whole street breathed a sigh of relief when we saw the EMTs take a body bag out of the Ferguson house. I was only about ten or eleven at the time and it’s been a while so some details of my childhood are lost to time, but I can’t forget Mr. Ferguson.

There was never a Mrs. Ferguson in the picture, as far as I know. He lived in the house on the corner, the one with the bright yellow shutters and the gorgeous garden out back. The garden didn’t make up for the rotten old bastard he was. I wondered once if he was nicer when he was younger, when he didn’t have to walk with a cane and could actually get around without help, but my dad set me straight on that one. Mr. Ferguson had always been a terrible person and the neighbor from hell.

All day long, Mr. Ferguson would sit on his front porch in his rocking hair, grasping onto his black cane as he stared out on the street. If someone walking their dog even got close to his yard, he’d start spewing threats about what he’d do if the dog took a shit on his lawn. If a kid put even a toe on his property, he’d get up from that chair and start shouting more terrible things. I learned my first cuss words from Mr. Ferguson, he didn’t censor his language even among the smallest of ears. And he wasn’t all talk. One of my friend’s dogs wandered into the Ferguson yard, just sniffing around as beagles do, and Mr. Ferguson beat that dog bloody. The poor thing had anxiety for the rest of its life and if you so much as passed the Ferguson house with it the dog would lose its mind.

Other than him, our neighborhood was a friendly place. Summers were full of cook outs and pool parties, winters had Secret Santa gift exchanges and someone was always willing to help shovel out your driveway. You’d never be hard pressed to find a babysitter on short notice, odds are your friend had a teenage daughter willing to make a few bucks to make sure the kids were on bed in time.

But not Mr. Ferguson. People did try to bring him in on the fun sometimes. He’d scoff and tell them to leave him alone in no uncertain terms. Mom said he just wanted to be miserable. I didn’t understand how someone could want that and well, I still don’t.

One hot summer morning though, his caretaker came in to do a check and found him in his garden, dead as a door nail. Probably a stroke or a heart attack.

My mom made us go to the funeral. I don’t know why, she probably hated Mr. Ferguson the most and we were like one of five people that went. One of those people was the priest. At least it was short, the priest just said a few words about how we should treasure our lives and be good to others and then Mr. Ferguson was chucked into the ground.

That was that… or so I thought.

The accidents started happening just a week later.

I was at my friend Michael’s house, we were playing board games when we heard the crash. It was so loud it shook the house and Michael dropped his soda. Root beer spilled onto the carpet as we tried to figure out what that sound was for a second.

Then we heard his dad screaming bloody murder.

Forgetting completely about the spilled soda, we ran out to the garage where he’d been working on changing the oil in the car.

Michael’s dad was pinned by the car against the garage door, face white as a sheet as his head lolled to the side. I saw blood splattered against the off gray color of the metal and I puked while Michael ran inside to call 911.

It was luck that he survived. He never walked again and health issues plagued him for the rest of his life, but for a guy crushed by a car that’s probably best case scenario.

It was an accident, sure, but a weird one. The car just suddenly launched forward as Michael’s dad stood in front of it. But there was no one in the garage with him. So yeah. It was just an accident.

But accidents started happening more and more often.

The next one was at the final pool party of the season. We were all at the Benson house because they’d just gotten a brand new hot tub. There was probably like twelve kids running around, the sun was shining, the barbecue was sizzling. I had just gotten out of the pool to grab a lemonade and was chatting with Annie when I heard the pop.

Mrs. Benson and her friends had been relaxing in the hot tub, making jokes and laughing until the pop. Their bodies suddenly went rigid before they began rapidly jerking about and twitching. Mr. Benson shouted if she was all right and I heard this gurgled yell before Mrs. Benson went under.

The kids stampeded out of the pool and I smelled something burning before I realized that the hot tub was on fire.

Mrs. Benson and her sister ended up dying on the way to the hospital. The other woman ended up surviving but not without some serious electrical burns. Electrocution via hot tub. Just an accident. But there was one more accident we all missed until we returned to the pool to see a little body floating at the top. Three year old Maggie had fallen in during the chaos and drowned.

Mr. Benson moved away after that. Losing both his wife and youngest child in that house just killed something inside of him. But after he moved away, we all saw it happen.

His backyard became overgrown by plants. Not over a few weeks, like what happens when a house is uninhabited and there’s no one to mow the lawn. The very day after they’d left that house the backyard was now filled with dandelions, daffodils, lilies. and all sorts of flowers that shouldn’t naturally appear in the late summer.

It was like a garden.

Accidents happen, sure. But not like this. Not when a guy who’s been working home improvement his entire life ends up toppling from a ladder and breaking his spine. Not when a mom trips and falls face first into the open dishwasher and ends up getting impaled on a knife. Not when a toddler was left alone for just a few seconds and ends up nearly drowning in the bathtub.

Dogs ran into the road and ended up getting hit by cars. Kids fell from their bunk beds and cracked their heads like eggshells on their dressers. Teenagers got into fatal car wrecks. It was a mess.

Two other families ended up leaving our neighborhood and their yards had the same fate as the Benson’s- completely grown over. A morbid beauty.

Fall came and the yards grew brown but the gardens seemed to be even greener. The whispers started about a ghost. A ghost that was such a miserable old bastard in life and was now a nasty poltergeist in death.

Mr. Ferguson had never left our neighborhood.

It all came to a head when a tree was struck by lightning and a large tree limb crashed into our living room. I’d just tripped while picking up my things and suddenly the roof caved in above me. I was lucky I was on the ground. If I’d been standing, well, I’d probably not be telling you this story.

Two nights later my mom woke me up. She looked grim.

“Come on. We’re going to see Mr. Ferguson.”

When we walked out of the house, I saw everyone on our street was out. Everyone had this same grim look on their face. The deaths, the mutilation, it’d forever tarnished our street and we’d all had enough. We walked down the street, I saw several guys walk into Mr. Ferguson’s house with mallets and chainsaws, but we kept going with a few of the others. I saw that several of the adults were carrying shovels and containers of lighter fluid.

We walked into the graveyard and my mom led them right to Mr. Ferguson’s grave. She took a deep breath.

“… Start digging.”

It was the frantic endeavors of people who believed they were cursed. Dirt flew in the air and nearly pelted me in the head a few times. I hid behind my mom, who just stood there stone faced.

Even now the accidents weren’t over. A man tripped in the hole and his leg snapped like a twig. He wailed as he was dragged away by a few others before they got right back to digging. Someone else got smacked the face with a shovel and blood coursed down his face from his nose as he just kept on digging.

Finally the coffin was reached, the lid cracked open. Mr. Ferguson’s body laid inside. He didn’t even look dead, it was like he was just taking a nap.

Then they started pouring the lighter fluid in. It covered the corpse’s skin, his clothes. They probably added more than necessary. My mom struck the match and threw it in, shielding me from the sudden burst of flames.

I didn’t get to see the body, but I swore I heard that old man’s yelling as his body burned.

It was over after all that. The gardens were all dead by morning. The accidents stopped. And although we’d lost so many of our friends over the past year, we recovered. New neighbors moved in. We welcomed them into our fold. One or two asked about the property on the corner, the one that looked like a tornado hit it, and we’d just say it was vandals. They stopped asking. We never talked about what we did to Mr. Ferguson’s body. And soon we just stopped thinking about it.

I grew up on that street. Even now I only live a few blocks away. And for so long I wondered why our family was practically the only one untouched by the tragedy. We never got hurt, even when the tree branch came crashing into our living room.

I think I found out the answer. See, my mom passed away a few months ago from breast cancer and I’ve been going through her things. She’s always been such a good, kind woman and it was great seeing pictures of her helping plant the garden behind the church and teaching at the local school.

But in the bottom of the box, hidden under dozens of other albums, was a picture from when she married my dad. Unlike the family picture with the groom, all it was was my mom and an older man. I didn’t recognize him until I flipped the picture over.

On the back was written ‘Pauline Walters (P. Ferguson) and The Father of the Bride.’

#my stories

[theoddcatlady]

There's a girl who lives alone in the woods

Down a long dirt road, past a mile or so of forest, there’s a girl that lives all by herself in a big house. All of her relatives have passed, leaving her a treasure trove of valuables and money that she keeps on the property. There’s not even a dog to keep her safe from people who would take those things away.

And when the wrong ears hear all those things, their eyes fill with dollar signs and they decide to make the trek.

They always make the same wrong assumption though-

That I’m really alone.

Four men came to my house last night. I saw one of them carrying a crowbar and another had a gun tucked into his pants. I only closed my curtains and locked my bedroom door. I’ve seen this happen many times and I can tell you exactly what came to pass, even if I wasn’t a witness to all of it.

They enter through the front door. They’re always surprised to see it’s unlocked, but they likely assume it’s because I live so far out and am comfortable in the safety of seclusion. They split up in pairs, not worried about what they’ll do if they find the owner of the house. She’s just a girl, one who stares at the ground when she talks and who trips over her words in a rush to get them out. She’s clearly not very bright and she’s clearly not very strong.

One of my monsters is hiding under the couch tonight. When he saw they were coming he slipped under there. One of their ankles stray too close and he’s pulled under with not even a scream. In the morning the man will wake up in a country where he doesn’t speak the language and with no memory of how he got there, only that there’s a bite mark on his leg and that he’ll never feel safe in the dark again.

He is the lucky one. The monster under the bed is merciful.

The monster in the closet is not.

The one with him assumes that the missing man is pulling a prank, he calls his name and starts poking around for him. He asks the other two (who are going through my grandmother’s music boxes) where their friend went. They have no clue. They didn’t see it happen.

The searcher opens a pantry and out a clawed hand flies, wrapping around his throat and dragging him with. He screams, and screams, and screams until his throat is cut. In seconds all the skin is flayed from his body, landing next to his body in a pile of fleshy ribbons. Eyeballs are squished like grapes. Teeth fall from his jaws and to the ground with a sound not unlike dropping a handful of marbles. He isn’t long in the world, but those remaining seconds are filled with some of the most excruciating pain a person could remotely comprehend.

When the other two throw open the door, they find the whole pantry is soaked top to bottom with blood. The remains of their friend are unrecognizable as such, other than the scraps of his clothing and his crowbar.

The two panic. They split up in their haste to escape.

One runs into the backyard. His mistake.

The monster outside the window lives out there, and he doesn’t really interfere with trespassers unless someone bothers him. And when someone slams the back door open while screaming at the top of their lungs, well… that bothers him, as it would most people I think.

I don’t talk about the monster out there, only that once his target was in sight, the unlucky soul didn’t have the benefit of a quick death. He was dragged into the shed and what happens in there I can’t tell you. I just know that the man won’t expire until at least three nights later and by then he will be begging for death.

The last one, in a blind panic, ran up the stairs to my room. He threw himself against the door once, twice, three times before it gave. I screamed and ran to my corner, my heart thumping in my ears.

The man got up and stared at me. Fear turned to realization that I was the girl in the house, and not only that, I was somehow responsible for the mutilation of his friend. He took out his gun and pointed it at my face, calling me a slew of horrible names.

He stops when he looks at my eyes.

Once blue, now one’s turned green. The pupil is constricted to a pinpoint, the other one looks washed out compared to how bright the other is. He can’t stop staring at my eye.

The gun nearly slips from his hand until I catch it, firmly pressing his hand to the grip. He’s starting to shake, sweat dripping down the side of his face.

I stare at him until he turns that gun on himself, putting it in his mouth before pulling the trigger. Blood paints the ceiling as the body thuds to the ground.

I don’t know what things people see when they look into my green eye, but I doubt it’s anything good.

I go to bed after this, knowing the monster under the bed will clean up after tonight’s debacle. Not the closet monster, he’s always been a real dick about that. The monster outside the window isn’t allowed in the house. He tracks mud everywhere and no one really likes his staring.

It’s good that he cleans though. Because I have to get back to work. I’m working on a book about thieves who think they can rob a girl who lives all alone, only to find out that she’s not alone. And not only that, but that girl is the worst monster of them all.

Because she created the three monsters that live in under the bed, in the closet, and outside the bedroom window.

#my stories

[theoddcatlady]

I'm Addicted to Eating Bugs

I suppose it started small, like all addictions do. I was in the first grade, having some corner time because I threw a crayon at Brandon's head. He totally deserved it but that's another story for another day.

Anyway, I was facing the brick wall, imagining horrible fates for this jerk of a classmate when I heard a quiet buzzing. I looked by my feet to see an old cobweb, spider long gone but the dusty threads still managing to capture a fly. It wiggling and squirmed and if I hadn't interfered it probably would have gotten loose and carried on with its life. But before I realized it I had plucked the fly free and placed it in my mouth.

It buzzed furiously and it took all my willpower not to giggle, it was really ticklish. If I laughed, I'd end up opening my mouth and away it would go. I prodded at it with my tongue, feeling its wings flap uselessly against my cheek before I ended its life between my molars.

I swallowed and felt a lot better about things. Who cared about stupid Brandon anyway?

To be fair, kids eat stupid shit all the time. Glue, crayons, paper, I used to know a kid who ate sand and thought he was really stupid. Then again, I was only in the sandbox to hunt down ladybugs, so maybe I didn't have room to judge. But all those kids left their weird eating habits behind. I didn't. Instead, my habit grew.

At recess I'd spend all my time hunting bugs. I'd bring along a lil bug box and my teacher would just assume I'd want to study the insect world and let me be.

The easiest to find were worms on a day it had just rained. Those lil buggers were everywhere on the paving stones. Unfortunately they also had the least amount of payout. Worms taste like dirt. I mean, who's surprised though? Caterpillars were a lot better, so squishy but still slow enough for me to catch. Crickets and grasshoppers were a real pain in the neck. I had to learn to be patient and wait for the right moment to strike. If I didn't wait for the right moment, I would end up clapping my hands down on nothing at all.

But oh man, were they worth the effort. I didn't like putting them in my mouth alive so much, they kicked too much, but they had so much flavor and crunch. If I managed to find a grasshopper while hunting, I would consider myself one lucky kiddo.

I was never officially caught eating bugs until a few years later. I knew I had to keep my secret quiet. But when I was in fourth grade my class got a pet lizard named Lizzy. I know, really creative on names here, but we were kids so give us a break. But Lizzy needed to eat crickets a few times a week. I felt almost validated watching her munch down on them. But I also felt jealous. She could eat crickets whenever she wanted. I wished I could do that.

One winter day I decided to steal some of Lizzy's crickets. During recess I'd gone back to the classroom to get something from my desk when I realized I was all alone. This was my only chance to indulge. I crept up to the lizard cage, where the small cricket container was placed beside it. I opened up the top, snaked a handful of crickets, and threw those little buggers right in my mouth.

I had just closed my eyes when I heard someone gasp. I turned and saw Gabrielle, her jaw dropped as she stared at me. I'm pretty sure a cricket leg was poking out of my mouth too.

And of course, Gabrielle being a teacher's pet, she ran off screaming ‘Keith is eating Lizzy's crickets!’

I swallowed, feeling a lump form in my chest. My secret was out.

I managed to play it off as a joke, a one time thing. I was just curious as to why Lizzy liked eating crickets so much. I think Mr. Martinez found it hilarious. He ended up bringing roasted crickets to class next week, taking this moment to teach us how other cultures enjoyed eating all kinds of bugs and prepping them in unique ways.

I never felt more sick in my life. Although being salted and cooked did bring out the flavor, I ended up barfing it up later. It just. Wasn't the same. They were barely even bugs anymore. It was just like eating potato chips or almonds. There was no thrill of the hunt. None of that excitement as they squirm in your mouth. The joy when you bite down, taking out a leg or maybe slicing them right down the abdomen.

I did try to stop after that. I really did. I didn't want to get picked on anymore and maybe it was a little weird that I kept eating bugs.

But here's the real problem. If I don't sate my appetite on bugs, I start craving… bigger things.

The whole glass was horrified to come in one morning to find Lizzy had disappeared, the lid tipped off the cage and our class pet nowhere to be seen. Much to my amusement, fingers were pointed at Gabrielle, as she was the one who fed Lizzy the day before. She swore up and down that she fastened the cage lid on tight, but it didn't matter. We tore that room apart and Lizzy was just gone.

I participated in the search, although I had no reason to. I knew exactly where Lizzy was. In my belly.

I didn't know why I had gone back to class that day, I just knew I needed to. I was alone, me and that lizard. I felt like I was on autopilot as I opened the cage and plucked Lizzy out by the tail. I dangled her over my mouth before I snapped her head clean off. Blood dripped in my mouth, a new feeling I had never gotten before with bugs. It felt so damn good.

When the high wore off though I felt so guilty I nearly threw her back up. I didn't, because that would really be a waste, I just got out of there. That night at dinner I didn't eat a damn thing, I claimed I had a tummy ache and that wasn't a lie. But I knew the cause wasn't that 24 hour flu bug going around.

So yeah. I realized quickly that maybe there are worse things than eating bugs. Winters were always the hardest, I had to make due with ants in the kitchen and daddy long legs in the basement. To my credit, I've only ‘snapped’ once since then, it was Christmas vacation at grandma's house and I just hadn't had the time to hunt. That poor cat. Everyone just assumed a wild animal had gotten to poor Fluffy, meanwhile I was trying to discreetly pick long white fur out from in between my teeth.

It's gotten simultaneously harder and easier as an adult. Harder as I need to eat a lot more bugs to keep the cravings at bay, easier as now I can just go to the pet store and clean out their supply of feeder crickets and mealworms. The cashier there thinks I'm cute and usually gives me a discount. She keeps asking to meet my geckos and I have to keep making excuses as to why she can't.

If the cravings get bad, I hit up another pet store and buy a few mice, maybe a hamster or a gerbil too if it sounds good. I eat those suckers while binge watching Netflix, sucking on the long tails and reducing their skulls to paste. It has worked for me so far. I don't have a girlfriend, but I have a decent social life. I think it's probably for the best I don't have a family. I don't want to snap one day around a small child, I’d never forgive myself.

But I'm a good uncle to my sister's kids. I send them gifts and always tell them cool bug facts, which they love to hear, especially the younger one, Ellie.

However… I think I caught Ellie with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar last week. The cookie jar in this case was a spider's web, and a fly wing poking out of her lips.

She said she was just curious as to why spiders ate flies, but I'm gonna be keeping an eye on her.

#my stories

[theoddcatlady]

Daddy's Little Girl

The thing is, it doesn’t matter how much you know your daughter is a competent young lady who can take care of herself. You’re always going to be nervous for that very first date.

“And you do know you’re gonna have to be back by nine, right? If you’re late, I’m going to probably call Rick at the police department and have him start searching the ponds for a body.”

“Dad! Dad, chill!”

Diana rolled her eyes as she came down the stairs. She seemed just like her mom did so many years ago. It tugged my heartstrings that she wasn’t here to see her girl right now. She spun around, showing off her dark blue dress. “How do I look?”

I developed a mocking expression, judging her. “Well, it’s a little short-” I gacked as she slapped my arm, “Because it’s winter and you’re going to be cold!”

“Well, then Marcus can loan me his jacket,” Diana grinned mischievously.

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t think a jacket will keep your legs warm, but you look great. I bet you’re not done getting ready though?”

“Gimme five more minutes!”

Five minutes turned to ten and I heard a knock at the door. Preparing for whatever Marcus would be, I opened the door.

Well, I certainly didn’t expect this shrimp of a kid. He was probably shorter than my daughter by a good three inches and looked even smaller in that jacket that was at least two sizes too big, with tousled red hair and thick rimmed glasses. He swallowed nervously before extending his free hand, the other holding a rose. “H… hello, Mr. McDowell! Is Diana ready?”

“It’ll be a few more minutes,” I grinned as I gestured him inside, “Come on in, you look cold.”

Marcus hurried inside and took a seat on the couch. “So, um, Diana said you worked at Anderson Equipment?” He said, swallowing nervously.

I nodded. “Yup. Enjoy it, but I’ll probably have to switch to a sales position soon. Getting too old for all that heavy lifting,” I jokingly flexed, “But I can still handle any punk who comes for my daughter’s hand.”

Marcus nearly pissed himself in fear judging by his expression. I couldn’t hold back my laughter, clapping the kid on the shoulder. “I’m kidding! Diana told me you share a math class and you sound like a great guy. I’m not the one you should be afraid of if you screw with her, anyway.” I paused as I heard heels clack down the stairs. “There comes Diana.”

Marcus scrambled to his feet, presenting the rose to Diana as she came around the corner. “Uh, hey Diana! Your dad’s been uh… keeping me company,” He laughed nervously, “You ready to go?”

Diana took the rose and smiled. “This is so sweet, Marcus, you didn’t have to go all out for our first date. Come on, let’s go get some dinner,” She looped his arm in with hers and practically bounced to the door. She turned and mouthed, ‘see you at nine’ before the door closed behind them.

With the house to myself, I just turned on the TV and settled down to watch some crime shows while waiting for my precious daughter to return.

I must’ve dozed off because I jolted awake to the door slamming and someone hurrying up the stairs. I grabbed my phone and my heart sank as I realized it was now 12:31 AM.

I dropped my phone and bolted up the stairs. I pounded on her door, trying not to knock off any of the cutesy drawings she’d hung on there over the years. It looked more like an art board than a door. I could hear the sink running and a quiet sobbing.

“Diana? Diana, please, open the door.”

The tap turned to quiet the stream of water.

“… It’s not locked…”

I turned the knob and walked in. Her bathroom door was open and I stopped dead in my tracks.

My daughter was soaked head to toe in blood. Her once dark blue dress looked black and was ripped down the sides. I saw that her right eye was swollen, blacked out. My worst fears were confirmed.

“You showed him, didn’t you?”

She sniffled before she nodded. Her appearance flickered before she showed her true form. Three sets of arms were wrapped around herself, I could see the eyes on her palms were leaking tears. Her bottom lip quivered, her right tusk chipped as she wiped blood off her pale blue cheeks.

“I thought… I thought he’d understand.”

I sighed and walked inside. “Get the dress off so I can burn it. Where’s Marcus?”

“In the trunk of his car. Most of him, anyway… I couldn’t scrape all of him off the seats.” She couldn’t look me in the face as she handed me her keys. “I’m so sorry daddy.”

“I can wait for the story until I get this mess cleaned up,” I leaned forward and kissed her forehead, careful to avoid the spikes protruding from her hairline, “Don’t worry. I’m not mad. Get cleaned up and into some pajamas, okay?”

It was a long drive out to the forest. Thankfully the streets were dead, giving me plenty of time to think about my daughter… and my wife.

I stopped at the treeline and there she was. I don’t think you’d see what I saw in her, you’d see this hulking creature with three pairs of arms and blue crystalline skin and you’d freak out. To be fair, I did too when we first met. Ciern is different.

But I wasn’t exactly normal when we met either.

“I felt you approach,” Ciern said, her layered voice echoing in my ears. I nodded and gestured her to the trunk.

I grimaced when I saw the scene in the trunk. That scrawny teenager I’d just seen hours ago was in pieces, his decapitated head twisted in an expression of pure horror. “Oh boy. She went full crazy on this poor guy.”

“She showed him?”

I nodded.

“Then it’s best that he’s dead. Those who don’t understand pose a risk. You understand.”

“I know.” I started throwing body parts on the ground. “Can you please help me hide the body? I’d have Diana do what you do, but uh…

Ciern hummed as she gathered up the parts. “Best hose it off tonight, when there’s few witnesses. I’ll make sure the body’s never found,” She said. The arm she held slowly frosted over, turning into crystal before she crushed it, the pieces shattering and melting on the ground.

I sighed and leaned against the car. “She’s not gonna have it easy, dating like she is.”

“I found you though, didn’t I?”

“I’m not exactly your only husband.”

“You are right now. And you’re my favorite.”

I sighed as I felt Ciern’s arms wrap around me. “You’re too good for me,” I said as she gave me a tight squeeze.

“I know. Now go home and talk with our daughter.”

I got home when it was closing in on dawn. I had to leave the car behind and ended up walking until I could get an Uber.

Diana was wearing her favorite pink bunny pajamas, but it was clear she hadn’t slept all night. She looked up at me, sniffling. “… He said he loved me and wanted to show it… so I wanted to show how much I loved him by showing him what I’m really like. Then he punched me and started screaming. I didn’t really mean to blow him up,” She said.

I shushed her and sat next to her. “There will be other guys, I promise,” I said.

“Thanks, daddy.”

#my stories

[theoddcatlady]

Teacher's Pet

TW: Statutory Rape

I think every straight guy in my school had a thing for Miss Bell.

I’m the last dude you want to come to when it comes to judging ‘female beauty’, but even I could admit she was pretty. Blonde hair usually drawn back in that messy bun style, a bod that would make Venus jealous, and a round face that was always smiling or laughing.

She was our English II teacher, she’d just transferred in that year from California. During our first class, she told about going to college and how she used to surf on the weekends. My friend Sean elbowed me and whispered about how she’d look in a bikini. My practical ass said that she probably was wearing a wetsuit when she surfed. This got the back of my head punched and Sean whispering ‘Gaaaaaaaaaay’ into my ear. I mean, really not inaccurate, but the punch wasn’t necessary.

Miss Bell wasn’t a bad teacher, I don’t think, but she wasn’t the greatest. For one, she so clearly picked favorites. I think Sean nearly creamed his pants when she leaned down next to him when wearing a low button down shirt to explain how to properly use an adverb. Me, on the other hand, she’d just tell me to check the notes when I had a question. The notes were useful but Jesus Christ woman, would it kill you to take two seconds out of your day to teach?

The favorites in my class were my friend Sean and Elijah, the former being captain of the debate team and the latter being halfback on the football team. Now I can say without a doubt both of these guys were hot as fuck, so I guess that’s why she liked them. Her least favorite students were so clearly the girls. She ignored them more than she ignored me and that’s saying something. When she did talk to them, it was condescending as fuck. Poor Tracy had the nerve to ask a question about Edgar Allan Poe’s ‘Masque of Red Death’ and the look that Miss Bell gave her could make plants wither.

I mostly ignored this for the most part until the rumor spread that Miss Bell was sleeping with her favorites.

I know, lots of guys would think this was the greatest thing, scoring with the hot teacher… but all her students were around fifteen or sixteen at this point. That’s not fucking okay, I don’t care how ‘hot’ people think it is. It’s a bit personal for me, if I’m honest. My older sister was preyed on by one of her teachers when she was a freshmen. It only came out when she got pregnant at age fourteen.

That guy’s still rotting in jail and when he gets out I’m gonna probably punch his face till it breaks.

It’s the double standard of it. Up until this point I tolerated Miss Bell, but after that skeleton fell out of the closet, I despised her. I decided to follow up with Sean at his house, since he was a supposed favorite.

We were playing video games, eating mozzarella sticks and just chatting it up when I decided to bring up Miss Bell.

“Soooo… what do you think about her?” I asked, snatching another mozzarella stick off the Mt. Everest mountain pile of them. Sean’s mom always wanted to make sure I was fed, I think she genuinely believed I didn’t eat anywhere else but her house.

Sean’s face lit up in a way that made my stomach twist. “Oh man, she’s the greatest! I got to study at her house last Saturday,” He said.

I swallowed. “… Did… all you do was study?” I asked, glancing up the stairs to make sure Mrs. Barnett wasn’t within hearing distance.

Sean grinned and leaned in close. “… We did it on her kitchen table,” He said.

Well, that confirmed it. “Dude, she’s like, thirty! That’s not cool!” I said, jerking away and nearly knocking over Mt. Mozzarella.

Sean snorted and rolled his eyes. “Come on, it’s not like I didn’t want it. And she’s not thirty, she’s twenty eight,” He said as if that made it all better.

“I’m telling you, it’s kinda creepy that a twenty eight year old woman wants to ‘do it’ with a sixteen year old,” I said.

“It won’t be creepy when I’m twenty eight and she’s forty… is that math right?”

I shoved him and was about to tell him exactly what I thought when Mrs. Barnett came downstairs with hamburgers and chattered our ears off. By the time she left, all the courage I had about broaching that topic again with Sean had left. I know that makes me a coward, but it’s kinda hard to tell someone they’re being victimized when they think they’ve reached cloud nine.

God, I really should’ve talked with Sean about it sooner.

That Friday I’d forgotten my copy of ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ in Miss Bell’s class and was heading back to get it when I saw she wasn’t alone in class. Maybe hoping to get some evidence of her creeping on teenage boys, I listened in.

I recognized the other person as Malcolm. Malcolm wasn’t the brightest bulb in the package, he’d been held back a year and thought of himself as a bad ass just because he graffiti’d the school with giant spray paint dicks once. Right now, Malcolm was crying and I felt sick to my stomach.

“I just… I just don’t wanna lose you, Tia,” He said between choked sobs.

“Oh, baby,” Miss Bell brought Malcolm into a tight hug, “You won’t lose me. I love you, and you love me. That’s why I know you’ll do your very best to keep me.”

Malcolm sniffled and pulled back, but there was this oddly peaceful smile on his face. “I’ll do it. You know I can,” He said.

“That’s my baby.”

I darted off after that, resolving on Monday that I’d go to the principal and tell him about the conversation I heard. I needed that much time to work up my nerve… I really wish I wasn’t such a coward then.

That night Malcolm went into Taco Bell and put three bullets in Chase Stanford’s chest.

It was all over Facebook. My feed went from cute animal rescue stories and memes to ‘HOLY SHIT SOMEONE’S SHOOTING UP TACO BELL’. The only person killed was Chase and thank god no one else was injured, but it shook me to the core when it came out that the shooter was Malcolm… and that he was still at large.

It was like everyone went fucking crazy over the span of a single night. My mom ended up guarding the door with a gun while my dad watched the back door while wielding a baseball bat. I was ordered to stay in my room and if I heard anything suspicious to immediately call 911.

How crazy, do you ask?

Well, Malcolm’s murder spree had only just begun, and it wasn’t only him who had suddenly gained a lust for blood.

An hour after Malcolm killed Chase, someone broke into a party at Elijah’s house and proceeded to pummel the shit out of him before putting another bullet in his back. Unlike Chase, Elijah managed to survive after some serious surgery, although he’d never walk again. The cops weren’t sure if Elijah’s attempted murderer was Malcolm or someone else, although if it was Malcolm, well…

Malcolm ended up getting stabbed to death that night.

He was found with a dozen stab wounds in his chest and neck, bleeding out on a street corner. He didn’t even make it until the medics got there. In his jacket pocket was a confession and a dedication. He was doing this all for his girl, to prove that he was going to be her true love forever and ever.

Murder. Murder everywhere. Everyone in my school made it their responsibility to keep everyone updated as soon as they could. All I could do was watch.

Max Reid broke into Brad Watson’s house with a knife and after stabbing his mom went after Brad. Brad ended up throwing Max down the stairs and the idiot broke his neck. It came out later that Max’s knife was the one used to kill Malcolm.

Brad ended up trying to break into the hospital where Elijah was being treated (god knows how he found out) and tried to get to him. He obviously got arrested.

Someone broke into Jake Curtis’ house and when he found out Jake wasn’t there ended up shooting both of his parents. They both died.

Jake wasn’t there because he was choking Oliver Ballard to death. His hunter caught up to him and executed him.

The list goes on and on.

I found out the pattern real quick. Each of the murderers/victims were the favorites of Miss Bell. I had a breakdown and told my parents what I’d figured out. They immediately called the cops and tipped them off. Of course the cops went to Miss Bell’s house but she was long gone, she’d probably not even returned home after school let out. Her car was found abandoned a few miles out of town.

I ended up getting questioned about the other ‘favorites’ and I listed who else I knew was rumored to be a favorite. I’d like to think I saved a few lives by doing that.

I didn’t save Sean’s though.

When the police caught up to him, he’d been in the process of shooting another student in the head. The mystery second shooter. I don’t know how they talked him down from the gun but he was brought in. He’s going to spend a long, long time in prison.

The sun came up and over a dozen people were dead. Five favorites remained and all of them were locked up in prison. Their stories were basically all the same though- Miss Bell told them that they had to.

That fucking bitch. She’d managed to manipulate all of her teenage lovers into murdering each other before she skipped town. Why, we don’t know. Miss Bell’s gone with the wind. Heck, they found out that wasn’t even her real name. Her real identity is a mystery.

I’ve graduated by now. Every week I go visit Sean in prison. He’s gotten his GED at least. I’m proud of him for sticking around. At least two of the other kids that were caught committed suicide within a month of incarceration.

Last time I saw him though I noticed something on his left hand. A golden ring. I asked who gave it to him.

He just smiled and changed the subject, but I’m worried about him.

I wonder if Miss Bell is still lurking around, waiting for her favorite student to get out of prison.

#my stories

[theoddcatlady]

The Dangers of Tattoos

Out of the nine guys at Dillan’s bachelor party, I’m the only one left alive. And I don’t know how much more time I have.

Dillan was a friend from my highschool days. We weren’t close, but we hung out when all our other friends were busy. I was happy to hear he was getting hitched to his girl Heather, they were good for each other. When he asked me to join him and a few of the other guys for drinks, I happily accepted. One last crazy night before he said I Do.

We’d all gotten pretty buzzed when Mickey threw out this brilliant idea:

‘We should all get tattoos!’

I’d never gotten a tattoo before, but I was probably one of two guys who hadn’t in the group. Mickey in particular was covered in ink, full sleeves on both arms and he had proudly shown off the progress made on one over his ribs- the inked outline of a Kraken. He and his artist were going to start putting in color in two months.

Like I said, I’d never been inked, but I was in awe. And to my drunk brain, getting a tattoo with the guys sounded fantastic. And whadya know, just down the street there was a parlor.

Unfortunately, they didn’t tattoo people who weren’t sober. The guy was incredibly patient, just pointing to the sign and saying if we wanted to get a tattoo after our hangovers, he’d happily help us out. The only one to get cranky about this was Derek, Mickey ended up dragging him out by the ear as the idiot cussed out the artist. Yeah, the artist said that all of us would get inked if we wanted except for Derek. Genius move, Derek.

When we were all on the street again, talking about getting more drinks, that’s when she just… appeared.

I didn’t hear her walk up, although I’m not sure how, she had heels that could put a man’s eye out. The only reason we even knew she was there was because she cleared her throat. I whipped around and she was like two inches behind me, way too much in my personal space for me to be comfortable. I yelped and slipped on some slush, landing on my ass. Everyone laughed but she just sighed and helped me to my feet.

She was wearing a puffy green coat and black skinny jeans, but even with her skin mostly covered I could see ink on her neck. Half her head was shaved and I saw three piercings in her exposed ear, not to mention the several on her face- eyebrows, septum, lips, this girl had it all.

“So, Phillips says you’re too drunk?” She grinned and chuckled pleasantly. “I’m Lacey. Come on, I’ll take you to my shop. I think I can work something out.” She turned around and started walking down the street.

Mickey whistled. “… She’s so fucking hot,” He murmured.

“You hear her though? Tattoos, man! Plan’s back in action!” Derek whooped and took off down the street after her.

Sober I realized how sketchy this was, but drunk me was just excited to get a tattoo. So I followed the herd. Like a moron.

The girl led us down a few side streets and took so many turns there is no way I could find my way back. But finally she led us down the side of a building and down a set of stairs to a metal door with one word stamped on it:

‘Coven’

“Come on in, boys,” She grinned and opened the door.

It actually wasn’t nearly as sketchy looking inside. I expected no ceiling, maybe one chair that reeked of mildew, but it was a legit tattoo shop. Pictures were all over the walls of the shop’s previous works, and there was another woman with firetruck red hair and huge gauges in her earlobes texting away in one of the leather chairs.

“Hey, Barb, we got customers,” The woman shrugged off her coat and threw it on the rack, revealing that she was only wearing a tank top and yeah- she was covered in ink. From the chin down it was just a myriad of pictures.

“Kay, Lacey,” Barb got up and glanced over. “Sooo, y’all gonna be matching or…”

I glanced over at Dillan, who nodded. “I’m getting married in two days, we’re just out partying!” He said, trying to sound bold.

Barb just smirked. “Cute. All right, I’ll take the bachelor, Lacey, mind taking the shrimpy guy? I think he’s a fainter,” She nodded at me and I was offended but only had a moment for that because Lacey grabbed my hand and yanked me to the chair.

She took a seat next to me and smiled, and I suppose she was quite pretty, although I wasn’t sure how old she was. “It’s gonna be fine, dude. Your first tattoo?” She asked. I heard Barb talking with Dillan quietly about what he wanted everyone to get.

I nodded. “Yeah. Never been really into them, but why not, right?” If I really regretted it, I’d just get it lasered away, I reasoned.

“Just remember to breathe,” She looked up at Barb, “Did he decide?”

Barb nodded and lifted a pic in the air of a symbol that looked like two triangles next to each other, a dot in the middle. Lacey giggled.

“Oh, love that choice! All right, buddy, where do you want it?”

I chose my upper arm. After that, everything kinda blurs together. I don’t even remember pain, I just remember stumbling out the door feeling kinda nauseated and trying to get an Uber.

I woke up the next morning, my arm hurt like hell, and I had fifteen missed calls from the guys last night and twenty one texts in the group text. Although my head was pounding, I managed to make out the point-

‘Dude, where tf is Mickey?’

‘his girlfriend said mickey didn’t make it home last night did any of you see where he went’

‘GUYS THERE WAS AN ACCIDENT LIKE TWO BLOCKS FROM COVEN DUDE GOT PANCAKED BY A SEMI TRUCK’

‘What the FUCK was it Mickey’

‘they literally cannot tell who it was the guy was in pieces’

Jesus Christ. My arm ached and I didn’t even know where to start with these texts. I popped some pain meds and called Dillan. He didn’t answer, so I tried Derek. When there was no answer, I had a bad feeling starting to form in my stomach.

After two more calls I got a response from one of the guys I barely knew, Toby. He was Dillan’s cousin and was just in the state for the wedding.

“Hey man, I’m sorry for calling so early-” I was cut off by Toby quite quickly.

“I was starting to think you fucking dropped off the edge of the earth, dude! You okay?”

I groaned. “Maybe? Tattoo hurts, but that’s normal I think. Was the guy last night Mickey?”

“I think they managed to ID him from some of the tattoos… I’m sorry man, I know he was a friend, I didn’t really know him but… god.” I heard Toby quietly gag. “From what I understand, he was just smashed. The driver said it was like an explosion, guy’s gonna need some therapy. Um, wedding’s today, are you going to-”

“Hell no.” I felt two seconds from hurling. “I don’t wanna upchuck on the bride and I didn’t really get an official invite. You have a good time.”

I hung up and ran to the toilet to puke my guts up. I swore I was never going to get that drunk again as I crawled back into bed with a bottle of water to sip from.

I woke up again about an hour later to my phone going off. I managed to grab it and answer it on the fourth ring.

“Hello-”

“We fucked up! Holy shit, I think I’m gonna be sick again, oh my god, oh my god-”

I could barely recognize the voice as Derek, he sounded so hysterical. “Slow down, what the fuck happened?” I said as I sat up.

“… Dillan blew up.”

My immediate response was to snicker.

“What are you saying? Did he open his mouth to say I do and blew chunks all over Heather’s face?”

“No, I’m saying that Dillan opened his mouth to say I do and literally fucking exploded.”

I laughed again, although it was forced this time. “Really funny dude. What the fuck are you talking about?”

The next thing I heard was Dillan start to sob. Like, legitly bawl his eyes out. The bad feeling from earlier returned ten fold.

“He’d… he’d been complaining about his tattoo all morning, it was getting itchy, and Toby just said it was healing, so just don’t touch it. Middle of the ceremony, he just opened his mouth before his eyes just bugged out and he grabbed his chest… and that’s all she wrote. It was like someone set off a bomb. Blood and guts just. Everywhere. Heather passed out, Toby took off running and when I went to go find him, it was the same thing. Blood everywhere. Oh my god, we’re going to fucking die. Those bitches put a curse on us or something, we’re all gonna fucking die!”

I looked down at my arm and slowly peeled off the bandage covering my tattoo. It looked innocent enough. Just a few simple black lines.

I heard Derek gasp.

“I… I don’t feel so good, it’s getting really itchy…”

I heard a gurgle before Derek screamed, only to be cut off by a disturbingly wet splatter and the phone dropping to the ground.

I ran to the bathroom to puke again.

I tried calling all the other guys. Only two picked up, Mark and Reece. Mark had been at the wedding and seen the whole damn thing, Reece had been sick in bed like I was and had slept through all the phone calls and texts. We agreed to meet up at Reece’s place.

I sorta knew Mark, we had a single class together when we went to highschool, but I only met Reece last night. I rolled up my sleeve to show off my tattoo, which had yet to itch but every little twitch had me thinking ‘this is it, I’m gonna go kaboom’.

We all sat in Reece’s kitchen while Reece was messing around with something on the counter. Mark legitimately whimpered as he showed off his tattoo on his chest. My blood ran cold when I realized the ink itself was starting to turn crimson. “I think it’s like a timer, the closer to red, the closer to… oh god, we’re so fucked,” He said, running his hand through his hair.

“You’re not going to fucking die,” Reece said, turning around. I yelped as I saw a knife in his hand.

“Jesus Christ, what are we doing with that?” I asked.

“Not we, you two.”

Reece sighed as he pulled down the neck to his turtleneck to show off the damned tattoo. “Listen, if it’s the tattoo making us blow up, then just get rid of the tattoo. I don’t know if I can skin my neck without actually killing myself, but you two stand a chance.” He sat down and continued sharpening the kitchen knife. “I’ll help you first, Parker. You’ll probably scar, but this means you won’t be dead, right?”

I swallowed as I stared at the sharp knife before I shook my head. “Shouldn’t you do Mark first?” I asked.

“I think we still have time, and I’ll feel better if I fuck up on your arm than I would if I accidentally stabbed Mark in the chest.” He gestured for my arm. “Faster we do this, the faster it’s over with. Gimme your arm.”

Jesus Christ, I felt time stop as I slowly offered my arm to this stone faced guy. Reece positioned the knife just above the tattoo before the knife went down.

The worst pain lit up every nerve on my arm and I screamed. Mark had to hold me down as Reece to slice off my skin to stop me from accidentally punching Reece. It was like someone was burning me alive.

I passed out sometime during this and when I woke up, I was surrounded by blood.

Not my blood, both Reece’s and Mark’s. Sometime when I was unconscious, they’d both blown up. It was like someone stuck them in a blender and then splattered them all over the walls. Even their clothes were in tiny little bits.

And to make matters worse, the tattoo isn’t gone. It’s penetrated all the way through my skin to my muscle… maybe even my bone.

I can’t tell how much longer I have, but I’m not going out without a fight. I’m sharpening more knives, I got some vodka out of Reece’s kitchen and I’m prepping myself for what I have to do. I will probably die doing this, but I will definitely die if I don’t do this.

If the tattoo is on my arm, then I guess my arm will just have to go.

#my stories

[theoddcatlady]

The Troll Bridge

“Don't be a pussy, Ryan! Just do it!”

I would've rather stuck my head in a blender and turned that shit on puree than do this, but I didn't have a choice. It was either go across the bridge or be called a pussy the rest of my life. Or at least until the end of the summer. When you’re eleven, there’s really not much of a difference.

The only way to end this endless teasing was to cross the troll bridge. Well, we called it the troll bridge. We weren't sure what it was really called back then. It wasn't anything special, just a small stone bridge that went over a creek just outside of town. It wasn't used much anymore, it wasn't big enough for a car to go over and there was talk of tearing it down, but it just never got done.

I was scared of my own shadow back in the day, but there was just something about that bridge that put off any sane person. Maybe it was how solid your steps sounded when you walked across or how you swore you could hear dripping water, even during a hot, dry summer like that year.

Kids would say a troll lived under there. Which really was a ridiculous notion, the ditch underneath carved itself ever deeper every year during the spring floods but it still wasn't deep enough for a giant troll. Still though, stories about a half blind, drooling monster from your worst nightmares ready to grab any passerby was enough for me to keep my distance.

But the kids made it a rite of passage. Cross the bridge and come back. Some of the more daring kids would stick their arm over the edge to taunt the troll into grabbing them.

I was the only kid who hadn't done it yet. Darren was the one who practically dragged me there on that boiling summer afternoon. I felt like I was about to be baked alive, the back of my neck already felt stiff and tender with a sunburn. He gave me a shove and I nearly fell on my face.

I swallowed. “I’ll do it, I'll do it!”

Darren nodded and crossed his arms, everyone's eyes on me as I stood at the troll bridge.

Just there and back, I told myself, and maybe they'll finally leave me alone.

My intent was to leg it as fast as I could. Like ripping off a band aid, the trick was to do it quickly. First pass I did just that. I reached the end before I knew it, turning around and throwing my hands in the air. I did get a few cheers but Darren was less than impressed, just staring me down as I began the return journey.

I came to a stop when I heard music.

My mom was making me take violin lessons at the time and it had become habit to listen carefully if I heard it playing on her CD player or if there was a busker at the local farmer's market. But this wasn't a CD or an amateur. This music sounded almost ethereal with how perfect it was. And much to my shock, it was coming from right under my feet.

Forgetting about my friends waiting for me at the other side, I walked to the side and stuck my head over the edge. I heard their startled gasps as I teetered a bit, trying to get a look at the musician making that delightful sound.

On first glance I thought they were a woman, their nearly white blond hair was so long it almost reached to their thighs and they were startlingly beautiful. They weren't wearing a shirt though and they were absolutely a dude. They didn't have shoes and only wore mud spattered jeans. Their violin was pristine, the brown wood shining as the bow hummed across the strings. The man sat near a puddle, eyes closed as he continued to play.

“Ryan, what are you doing!? We get it already, let's go!”

Darren's irritated voice shook me from my daze and I stood back up, sheepishly walking back to my friends. Somehow the few feet of difference made it impossible to hear the violinist. It didn't matter though, everyone was cheering me on and clapping my back. Even Darren looked upon me approvingly, a rare occasion indeed. The sound of an ice cream truck in the distance caught our attention and ten minutes later we were all enjoying a delicious frozen treat and all talk of the bridge was forgotten.

But I didn't forget the violinist. And I couldn't forget how perfect his music was.

The next day was supposed to be my lesson, but Mr. Birk had come down with the flu so I was free to do what I wished with my time.

So I chose to go back to the troll bridge. Alone.

I was lucky I didn't break my neck sliding down the bank, even more so that I didn't accidentally drop my violin case. My mom would've blown her top if I'd broken the damn thing.

My perilous journey had not been in vain, as the moment my feet touched the ground I heard the music. I looked up and there he was. The violinist.

He clearly knew I was there, judging by his smirk, but he paid me no mind as I walked through the empty river bed up to him. I almost reached the puddle next to where he sat when I came to a stop. I don't know why exactly I stopped, I suppose some instinct deep inside told me I should go no further. Or maybe it was common sense not to get too close to the weirdo with the long hair playing a violin under a bridge.

So instead I opened up my violin case and presented it to him. “Hey, um… I play too,” I said, my voice shaking.

The violinist's playing came to an abrupt stop and he looked up at me. My skin crawled as I stared back into his eyes. I'm not quite sure what was wrong with them, it was like the river blue color of the iris had started to bleed into the whites of his eyes, making them unnatural in appearance. “... Show me,” he said, sounding breathless in his excitement.

And so with shaky hands I managed to squawk out ‘Happy Birthday’ to this incredibly talented man. My cheeks were probably bright red when I finished. I felt ashamed that I'd performed for someone so incredibly talented.

The violinist was quiet for a moment before raising his hands to clap. “Bravo, bravo! It's been so long that I've had someone play for me, it's a real treat. Would you like me to show you some things?” He said.

I couldn't nod any more vigorously and he laughed, picking up his own violin and starting to play.

I was there until the sun was going down. My fingers were cramping and my arms ached but I was learning so much. I only realized so much time had gone on by when I looked up and saw the sky was turning orange. “Crap! My mom's gonna kill me, I'm late for dinner!” I hurried to pack away my violin. “Sorry for taking up so much of your time, can I come back next week?” I'd been having so much fun that I never even bothered to ask his name.

“I'm afraid, my little friend, that next week you should stay as far away from my bridge as you can.”

The man was now beside me, tilting up my chin as he shook his head. His eyes seemed to be an even deeper blue now that it was starting to get dark. “You're just lucky you did everything right, not knowing who you come to. But it's going to rain next week, and it will rain heavily. So keep your distance, because next time your luck will not save you,” He said.

The heat of the day didn't take away from the chill that shot down my spine. I only nodded wordlessly before bolting, clambering out of the river bed and scraping my arms up something good before I ran home. As predicted my mom was about to send out the dogs for me and I was just lucky she didn't send me to bed with no supper.

I'm not sure what else I expected coming from a crazy guy living under a bridge. But his weather prediction ran true. Storms and pouring rain. All week. I imagine that river bed overflowed with raging water.

My mom woke me up early on Friday morning to tell me the news. Darren and another of my friends Jacob had drowned last night.

The theory was that they’d gone down to play and one of them fell in. The other tried to help them out and ended up getting washed away as well. During the funeral all I could think about was the violinist under the bridge. Had he drowned too? They hadn’t found another body, but he could’ve just been washed away.

I didn’t make the same mistake that Darren did. I waited until the water levels went down a bit before heading back to the troll bridge. It wasn’t close to overflowing anymore, instead it was just a small stream that probably wouldn’t go above your ankles. I crossed the bridge and listened carefully. All was silent except for the sound of bubbling water for a few minutes.Then I heard the violin once more.

I ducked my head over the edge and looked down. There he was, still playing, his feet resting in the water. I felt relieved and almost called out to him when I realized he had something stashed behind him. A bright red bicycle.

Darren’s bright red bicycle.

I didn’t stick around. I took off running and never looked back. I never went back to that bridge and I never will.

As I’ve become an adult, I’ve found out two things about our little town. One, that we’ve always had an abnormally high amount of drownings for the area. It’s not uncommon to lose five or six people a year, sometimes more, usually children or women. Unusually it doesn’t even have to be a flooding season for people to die, all there needs to be is a few inches of water for a body to turn up. And two, that bridge had a name before we called it the troll bridge.

It was the Nixie Bridge. Named after a creature that lurked underneath, playing his violin to lure in those who were foolish enough to listen to his song.

#my stories

[theoddcatlady]

You or Him?

I got the worst news of my life on my lunch break six months ago. I was feeling pretty good about myself, I'd received high praise from my boss and I felt like a promotion was coming my way any time. I turned my phone back on to see six missed calls from my wife and a voice message telling me that I needed to come to the hospital right now.

Cara had been home from work that day with a headache. Just a headache, she told me that morning, she would be fine after some rest and I shouldn’t worry about her.

Someone had broken into the house and beaten her within an inch of her life.

Seeing her in that hospital bed nearly killed me. I couldn't even recognize her with how bruised and swollen her face was. She had several broken ribs, a concussion, several lacerations on her back and chest. The worst of it was her hands. The bastard had repeatedly stomped on them and shattered each of her fingers with an alarming precision.

My wife is… was an artist. Even with physical therapy she might never have the finesse she once possessed.

At first I just thought it was luck Cara was still alive. But much to my horror, that… that animal had left her alive on purpose.

You can't suffer if you're dead, after all.

Cara went from a vibrant, optimistic person to a shell. A shell filled with pain and terror that knew that the bastard that hurt her wasn't going away just like that, and that he wasn't human.

The doctors told me it was trauma that made Cara believe that her attacker was a monster, almost eight feet tall with claws like swords and red glowing eyes. I, of course, believed them because monsters aren't real. Cara's mind just made her believe it was. I think she doubted herself a long time before the monster came back.

I never saw it, of course. But a few months later, after most of the bruises had faded and bones started to heal, Cara called me begging me to come home as ‘he was there’. I dialed 911 on the way, assuming that the guy was like right outside our door. I got there just when they did and we found Cara cowering in the closet, pointing quietly at a set of scratch marks on our bedroom wall.

She hadn’t seen anyone. Just the scratches.

Thankfully the police were more than understanding, given what Cara had just gone through. I wasn’t upset either, she’d been through a serious trauma and it would take time for her to get over it.

It wouldn’t take much for Cara to be set off. A new scuff mark on the floor, things going missing or seemingly being moved… one time I had to come home from work because Cara swore she heard something move in the basement. Turns out a couple of old boxes had toppled over, nothing more.

It was hard not getting upset with her after a while. But, and I don’t know how, I managed to keep my temper in check. I’d remind myself that she had gone through something so horrible that she’d not be able to live in peace for a long time.

The closest I came to actually losing it was the same day I found out Cara’s monster was real.

It’d been a bad day for her. She’d left her keys in the bedroom rather than by the door so she assumed that ‘the monster’ had moved them and had a meltdown over that, physical therapy had gone terribly, and it all came to a head when she started screaming about something being in the closet.

I’d had a lousy day myself, my boss was getting upset with me over constantly leaving work early to check on my wife and it was starting to feel ridiculous, coming home just to find that that she’d lost her slippers.

Gritting my teeth, I remember ripping open the door, about to shout that there was nothing there when I saw it crawl back into the attic.

I don’t think it had intended on getting caught quite yet. I only saw a piece of its inky, scaled hide and a curled tail before it zipped out of sight. If I’d been a second later, I wouldn’t have seen it at all.

I tore apart that attic looking for that son of a bitch and didn’t find a trace of him, except for a few more scratch marks in the dust. I probably spent hours going over every inch of our house to find it and found nothing.

I spent the rest of the night begging my wife’s forgiveness for not believing in her. Bless her, she forgave me.

Now that I knew that the threat was real though, everything seemed to get so much worse. It stopped being so subtle. I catch glimpses of it around the corner, only to run over and not see a thing. Once I saw its tail whisk into the kitchen where my wife was and I nearly had a heart attack as I screamed for her to run. She did run, but the creature wasn’t in the kitchen anymore. It was back to being just an imaginary monster.

Before you ask, yes, we’ve tried everything I could think of. We stayed in hotels. We’re trying to buy a new house. I bought a gun and so did she. It doesn’t help. The thing’s too quick to get a shot off at and it follows us wherever we go, leaving scratches and hiding underneath beds until we get close enough for it to snatch at our ankles. And the house hunting is going as well as you’d expect with a single income household.

I did all I could think of. Cara had one more option though. One she’d never told me before last night.

It was after three days of complete nothing. No scratches, no sounds, no sightings. But Cara seemed worse off than ever. After pressing her, she finally broke and told me the truth.

The creature spoke to her. Before that first attack it gave her a choice once it had her cornered.

“You or him?”

Cara loves me. She would’ve never thrown me to the creature back then.

But that was almost six months ago, before weeks of pain, torment, and paranoia. So three days ago she finally broke when it once again asked ‘You or him?’. She told it it could have me now.

I’m not upset with her. I know I should be livid, but this is the only way Cara can have some semblance of normalcy again. No more fear. Not again.

I’m on the run, I’ve left Cara at home with what’s left of our savings and quit my job. Distance won’t deter the creature, I know it won’t. But I have to try.

I don’t want to know what it’ll do to me once it catches up.

#my stories

[theoddcatlady]

Becoming a Man

“This is what you have to to become a man, Christian.” My dad practically shoved me out of his truck. I turned back to see him light up a cigarette for my cousin Dave in the backseat.

Dave looked at me and grinned crookedly. “Make sure to wrap your tool!” He teased before reaching forward and pulling the door shut, having to slam it twice to make sure it actually stayed closed.

Well, this was actually happening. I swallowed before I walked down the street, hearing my dad’s truck backfire twice before it drove off. I was now alone out here. Granted, I could use my phone and call an Uber, maybe even beat my dad home, but I had to do this. I was eighteen. I had to prove to the rest of my family that I was a real man.

My eyes went from woman to woman, all different flavors of beauty and desperation. One curvy woman with skin pallid and teeth crooked whistled and called out, “Sweetie, you look scared, want someone to keep you company?”

I just smiled and kept on walking, looking for that perfect girl.

And there she was, looking like a piece of the night sky had come down and became a woman. Skin darker than midnight, dark curls bouncing behind her shoulders, and hands staying by her sides, neatly manicured nails lightly brushing against her ripped stockings and short skirt.

I felt my hands tremble as I walked up to her. “Hey, um, how much?”

Smooth.

The girl looked over, she was probably only a year or so older than I was. Or maybe she was younger, I couldn’t tell. She grinned and quietly laughing. “Oh Christ, you’re not used to coming around here, aren’t you?” She leaned closer, grasping my jacket collar to pull me down to her level. Even with those four inch heels she was still so much shorter than I was. “You look like a guppy among all these bloodthirsty sharks,” She whispered.

I gulped before straightening myself back up. “Yeah, I just… look, do you want my money or not?” I didn’t mean to snap, but I just didn’t want to lose my nerve.

The girl snorted. “Not with that attitude. Drop the tough guy act, will you? You have nothing to prove to me,” She said.

Damn it. I quelled the anger burning in my chest before dropping my gaze. “S… sorry. I’m just a little embarrassed. Um, I’m Christian,” I mumbled.

“I’m Diane. Do you have a car or enough extra cash to buy an hour at the joint down the street?” She shot a thumb down that direction.

“I have enough.” I fumbled for my wallet and pulled out three crisp fifty dollar bills. “I want all you can give me.”

Diane’s eyes widened and she sputtered for a moment before snatching all three and stuffing them in her bra, clearly visible underneath her sheer pink shirt. “Done deal. Come on, it’s cold as tits out here and you look like you need to warm up,” She said, looping her arm in with mine before taking me down the street.

I expected her to smell like nicotine smoke or acrid perfume, but as I leaned in I could smell her hair. Green apples. I felt the butterflies in my chest flutter wildly about, beating against my rib cage. She was so gorgeous, I could barely catch my breath. Her chilled fingers interlaced with mine and I gripped on tightly. “I’m not the only one who needs to warm up,” I said.

Diane tossed her head back and laughed. “I’m used to it. Come on, we’re here. Make it quick, I want to get inside,” She said before leaning up to kiss my cheek. I could smell the barest hint of whiskey on her breath, followed by a metallic scent I just couldn’t place.

The guy managing the front desk only cared for the money I threw in there, tossing me the keys to room 104 and telling me to be out in an hour and not to make a mess.

Once in the privacy of the room, Diane slipped out of that skin tight shirt and smirked, tilting her hips to the side before sauntering over to the bed. “Come here, Christian. Let’s have some fun,” she purred.

My first time was just as one would expect. Sloppy, clumsy, and I finished way too fast. But Diane was as beautiful out of her clothes as I expected. There was a scar inbetween her right ribs, I traced my fingers along it for a moment too long judging by her flinch. But it was beautiful, just like the rest of her.

After we were done, she rolled over to her side to catch her breath, have a few more minutes in the muggy room before braving the cold again. Now came the actual hard part. I pretended to act like I was getting dressed, pulling on my jeans while slipping my hand into my pocket. I gripped the handle of my knife, taking a deep breath before pulling it from the sheath.

This is what it means to be a man. Kill the dirty bitches.

I sat back on the bed and turned to her. She had somehow managed to fall asleep, or at least she looked it.

She looked so peaceful. Like an angel.

She’s a dirty whore.

She’s so young. So pretty.

She belongs with the rest of them. Cut up and fed to the pigs.

But maybe she didn’t.

My hands were shaking so badly that the knife tumbled from my fingers, falling to the floor. Diane startled, eyes shooting open as she sat up. “What’s going on, Chris...” she trailed off as she looked down at the floor, the shine of the blade likely drawing her attention. Her eyes widened before she looked up at me, I saw fear.

“… If y… you want your money back, just take it! I, oh fucking christ, why do I always get the-”

“I’m so sorry!”

I sobbed like a bitch as I fell to my knees. Tears and snot dripped down my face as I broke down, shaking as I bawled out my apologies. I was so weak. I couldn’t be a man. Not how my dad wanted me to be.

I felt those slim hands rest on my shoulders. I looked up at her, looking probably quite the sight. This scrawny, pimpled boy who had come into this room with the intent of cutting this bitch open and taking her heart to my family.

Diane was smiling.

“Hey… hey, it’s okay. You didn’t do it. You might’ve wanted to, but you didn’t. You don’t want to hurt me anymore, right?”

I shook my head.

“Did someone try to talk you into doing it?”

I nodded.

“Who?”

I sniffled and wiped my nose off on my arm. “My… my dad. My uncle. My cousin. They’ve all done it before. It’s how you’re a man.”

Diane made a disgusted sound before grabbing a tissue off the nightstand and wiping off my arm before cleaning off my face. “That’s bullshit. Complete bullshit. Murdering a helpless girl just because you can doesn’t make you a man. Making up your own mind not to though, just cuz they told you to? That’s manly as balls.”

“They’re not gonna accept me back home if I do though.” I shook my head. “If I don’t come back with a heart-”

Diane shushed me, pressing a finger to my lips.

“Let me get dressed and make a call to my girls. If they’ve made a habit of killing us, then we’re going to return the fucking favor. Call your dad, tell him something went wrong and that you need all the other family. Trust me, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

I nodded before I scrambled to finish getting dressed.

I stayed hidden in a nearby alleyway when I saw the old truck pull up. It rattled as it came to a stop and my dad jumped out. “All right, how’d you fuck it up this time, Christian?!” He snapped, looking around for me as my uncle and cousin exited the truck, looking just as pissed.

I blinked and my family was surrounded by several different women. Diane was standing in front of my father. She grinned and I saw her canines nearly grow an inch in length before she launched herself at my dad’s throat. I covered my eyes to avoid seeing the bloodbath, but I could hear their screams.

I waited until it all became quiet to peer out.

There was nothing left of my family except for piles of bones and gore. Diane looked up at me, her beautiful smile soaked in blood before she gestured me forward. Unafraid, I approached, the other woman parting to let me close to her.

Diane pulled me down to her level to press a kiss to my lips. I now knew exactly what that smell on her breath was before that I couldn’t figure out before.

“You’re going to make a great guard dog, Christian. Be a real man. Help clean up the mess and we’ll take good care of you.”

#my stories

[theoddcatlady]

My Daughter's Coming Home

When I first saw I was getting a call from an unknown number, I thought it was another sales call. I only answered it on the off chance it was from my friend Irma, I knew she’d gotten a new phone number.

“Hello?”

It was quiet except for someone breathing on the other end. I frowned but tried again. “Hello, is someone there? Or is this another robot telling me I’ve won a cruise?”

I heard a quiet laugh, followed by a sob.

“Hi mom.”

I nearly fainted. I did actually drop to the floor, phone nearly slipping from my fingers as an almost familiar voice echoed in my ears. My chest tightened as I looked up at the mantle, where all Kendra’s photos were lined up. A happier twelve year old you couldn’t have found, minus those last few months before her disappearance.

I swallowed before lifting back up my phone. “Is… is this a joke?” I asked.

The girl on the other end cleared her throat. “It’s uh, not. It’s not a joke. I’m Kendra. If you need proof, ummmm… remember when we went to go see that magician, and he called me up on stage? I was like six at the time. He pulled streamers from my pockets and all I wanted to do was pet the bunny. When he made it disappear in the pile of streamers I started bawling my eyes out. You had to drag me off stage and console me with ice cream afterwards. I had strawberry, you had cookies and cream. I love that day.”

I was shaking. I couldn’t believe it. “Kendra… you’re okay? You’re… where have you been?! It’s been eight years, I thought… I thought you were-”

“I’m okay. Mostly.” Kendra sighed and I could hear her fiddle with her phone. “I think I can send a picture, did you get it? I took it last night.”

My phone vibrated and I looked at the picture I received.

A good half of her face was hidden by her hoodie, but I could tell it was Kendra. She was holding up a peace sign with her free hand and I could see a smile.

I couldn’t believe it. It was Kendra.

I managed to get off the ground and have a seat in my living chair. “How… what have you even been doing? Did you run away or were you taken?” Waking up that morning to see my daughter was gone was the worst morning of my entire life.

“I ran away. Ended up in California, somehow.” Kendra laughed again. “You wouldn’t believe what kind of shit I’ve been up to. Pardon my language. But my god, I’ve wanted to come back for so long. I just didn’t know how, you know?”

“You’re always welcome home,” I said. “Are… are you coming home now?”

“Just waiting for the bus to take me that last leg. I actually should be back tonight. You haven’t moved, have you?”

I couldn’t stop myself from sobbing. I was still trying to absorb that my daughter was alive. “No. Your dad wanted to, but I couldn’t. Just in case you ever came back… what have you been even doing?”

“Oh, that’s a story.” I heard Kendra shuffle on the other end. “I’ll give you the full story when I’m back, but I can give you some of the highlights now? I still got like, an hour until my bus gets here. I hate waiting, but I figured talking with you might help. Lucky I still remember your phone number.”

“I made you memorize it for a reason, baby girl.” I wiped away the tears and suddenly my soul felt lighter than it had in years. “Tell me everything. I want to hear it all.”

And she did. She talked about how she managed to get settled in with a nice couple in California who let her stay as long as she did chores and looked after their kid. When she turned fifteen, she got her GED and began traveling. She’d been all over the states. She’d fallen in love, had her heart broken, she’d slept everywhere from street corners to five star hotel rooms- apparently it was a gift from ‘a really hot old guy with really weird kinks’- she’d waited tables, she’d picked pockets, she’d find temp work when she chose to settle down, but she hadn’t really settled. Not ever.

She was half way through a story about the time she’d shared a hotel room with two sex workers and their guard dog when she cut off. “Shit! Bus is here, I gotta get going. I’ll be home around six.”

“Should I have dinner ready? I think I still have the ingredients for your favorite.” Honey garlic chicken and rice. She could’ve eaten that for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

“Nah, I think I’ll eat on the way. See you soon! I love you, mom!”

She hung up and for several minutes, I sat alone in silence.

Then I got up and began cleaning the house. I turned on the Beach Boys as I dusted off all the surfaces, did all the dishes. I hadn’t felt this free in so long. I only paused for a moment before I headed into Kendra’s bedroom.

I hadn’t gone in there since the day she ran away. Nothing had changed- bed was still unmade, an empty fish tank sat on her desk collecting dust. I pushed up my sleeves and got to work. Sheets were thrown into the wash, the fish tank was cleaned out. I was planning on remaking the bed when I heard the door open behind me.

“Dear? What are you doing in Kendra’s room?”

I’d completely forgotten to call Greg. I spun around to see my husband, one of his eyebrows raised as he looked around the room. I laughed and wiped away another tear. “I got a call today. From Kendra,” I said.

Greg’s face went white. “What are you talking about?” He said.

“She’s alive, Greg!” I laughed and shook her head. “I just wanted to get the house ready, I’ll get dinner started in an hour-”

“Kendra’s not coming home, Lauren. She’s gone, you know that.”

I forced a smile. “Listen, I know it was Kendra. We were on the phone for an hour, she even sent me a selfie, see?” I pulled my phone from my pocket and offered it to Greg.

He took it and I saw his eyes widen before he sneered. “This is a joke. A sick joke. Someone’s making fun of you,” He lifted back up the phone, “This could be anyone. It’s been eight years! What took her so long to call? I can tell you why- because it’s not Kendra.”

My high from earlier crashed. “I was on the phone with her. I’m not an idiot, it was her-”

“I’ll show you.” Greg hit the call button and turned the phone on speaker. “Whoever this is, I’m going to fucking kill them.”

“Greg!” I tried taking my phone back but he waved me off.

The phone rung twice before Kendra answered. “Yeah, mom? Something come up?” She asked. I could hear the sounds of the bus in the background.

Greg’s face had gone from white to a startling shade of red. “Whoever you are, you’re going to stop, right now. Or we’re going to go to the police and-”

Kendra’s laughter cut him off, this time they came out harsh and cutting. “Oh, hi, daddy. Damn, I hoped I would beat you home. Make it a big ole surprise. Tell me, daddy dearest, why were you so eager to move? Why you’re so certain I’m dead? Oh wait… is it because you fucking murdered me, daddy?”

Greg went dead silent. I stared at my husband. “What is she talking about?” I asked.

“I wanted to wait until I was home, but I guess this story can’t wait.” She sighed. “You know, when most people have kids who are depressed, you’re supposed to support them. Ask what’s wrong. I mean, mom tried, but you never did. You got pissed when I stopped turning in work. You called me lazy, you said I was embarrassing you. You told me I was going to be worthless.”

I shook my head. “Is this the truth? Greg! Please, say something.”

He shook his head. “She’s lying, she’s just trying to-”

“Remember the time I was found crying in the library? You were called to school, and you threatened me that if I interrupted your work day again with this ‘bullshit’ you were going to beat me black and blue. I was so scared, I couldn’t tell mom. That’s why I tried to run away. But you tried to stop me…” Kendra sighed. “I’m sending you another picture. Take a good long look at me now.”

I shook but I waited for that picture to pop up.

Now Kendra’s face was entirely revealed and I wanted to vomit. No doubt it was Kendra now, but everything looked so wrong. Her skin was almost a pale green, one eye that soft brown of long ago but the other was like a bright red marble. But the worst part was her left cheek- it looked like it rotted clean off, revealing discolored bone and tooth. I could see her molars all the way to the back.

“You beat me to death, daddy. You finally lost it and you beat me to death, right in the backyard. You panicked. You called a truck driving friend of yours, and he agreed to throw me in the back and take my body all the way to Cali. He threw me in a ditch and considered the job done. A little girl’s body, across the country. All alone. But I was found, daddy. Your friend didn’t hide me well enough.”

Kendra paused to catch her breath. “Their names were Sabrina and Eleanor. They found my body, and they brought me back. I was so scared, so confused, but they were kind to me. They helped me remember my life before, helped me function like a normal person… mostly. There’s still some kinks in the system, but that’s what happens when you’re rotting in the back of a semi truck for a few days before being resurrected.”

“This can’t be real,” Greg finally managed to stutter out. “This can’t be real.”

“Oh, but it is. You wanna know why it took me so long to come back?” Kendra giggled again, the sound making my skin crawl. “It’s because I was still scared of you. Yup. I was scared to face you. Maybe I blamed myself a bit for what happened. Maybe if I tried harder? But no. I’ve finally accepted it wasn’t my fault. It was all you. You killed me. I needed help and you fucking killed me.”

“It… it was an accident…”

That’s all Greg got out before all I saw was red. I grabbed the lamp off of Kendra’s desk, Greg spun around just in time to have it collide with his head. The lamp shattered and Greg dropped to the ground, the phone landing among the glass fragments.

“Mom!? Mom, are you okay?!”

I picked up the phone. “… I broke a lamp over your father’s head,” I said.

“Jesus Christ, mom, did you kill him!?”

I knelt down next to my husband’s limp body. “He’s still breathing, so no.”

Kendra whistled. “Good, because I call dibs. Just throw him in the basement till I get there, bus is pulling into town now. I’ll be home in about half an hour. I love you!” She hung up and I was alone with my unconscious husband.

All these years, I thought I’d been the only one he took out his temper on. He’d never used his fists. Just his words. But those words were fantastic at making me feel like a monster. Like it’d been my fault our daughter was gone.

Kendra’s going to be here any minute now. Greg is locked in the basement, I’ve heard him beg to be let out.

But he’s staying there so he doesn’t miss our daughter coming home.

#my stories

[theoddcatlady]

Nearly lost my temper at work yesterday

For a bit of background, I work at an insurance company. I’m not exactly changing the world, but it pays well and it’s usually pretty chill. Except for yesterday, which I just really need to rant about. It was a bunch of little things that stacked up to my… almost explosion.

The water cooler was dripping nonstop. Citrix servers had gone down and that was the main program I use for work. I had a pounding headache from the bright lights in the office and my skin was all dried out from the artificial air. And for fuck’s sake, Barbara would just not leave me alone.

I’m not a people person. I can answer the phone and be amicable enough, but I’ve never been like BFF’s with my coworkers at… any of my jobs. Most of my coworkers get I’m here to do my job and get paid. Barbara though, good god. She just doesn’t get the hint. And I can’t exactly mouth off to her because she’s been with the company for like two decades so if she complains I’m the one in trouble… not like she’s done work for the last five years, but I digress.

“So is this your boyfriend, Ellie?”

I chewed the inside of my cheek as Barbara plucked one of the pictures in my cubicle up, cooing and aww’ing. I hated being called Ellie. “He’s so cute!”

“Andrew is my brother, actually. I’m not seeing anyone at the moment.” One of the only other people I can tolerate in this world. I grabbed the picture and not so gently snatched it back, setting it down. The vein in my forehead probably popped out another good inch as I saw that Barbara had left a greasy thumbprint on the glass. I’d need to clean it when she was gone.

“Oh!” Barbara cocked her head to the side. “You don’t look alike!”

“I’m adopted.” Desperately I stared at my computer, willing Citrix to get its shit together so I could tell Barbara I was busy working. I was not going to be that lucky.

“You know, I have a son about your age.” Barbara started fiddling with the other things in my space, my notepad, the pens. “He just broke up with his girlfriend, and I was wondering, I bet the two of you would love to have coffee together…”

“I’m sorta preoccupied with other things at the moment than dating. And I hate coffee. I’m more of a tea person.” Jesus Christ, I was at the point where I was begging the clock to speed up. Even with the systems down, I still wasn’t allowed to leave until four. Just in case they came back on, even though they never had in the past. I wouldn’t mind getting paid to sit on my ass and do nothing if fucking Barbara would leave me alone.

“At your age?”

Oh, here we go. I rolled my eyes as Barbara tutted her tongue at me. “You need to get on that, honey, otherwise you’re going to be unmarried at thirty! After that it’s all downhill, not to mention how this could effect your future children- is something wrong with your arm?”

Shit. I hid my hand under my desk. “No!” I spared a glance and almost starting cussing. Of all times to start shedding, this was not a good time. “Bathroom emergency, move it!”

I shoved past Barbara, accidentally pushing her to the ground in my haste. I heard her snap after me but I didn’t care. I scooted into the bathroom and slammed the door behind me.

I held my hand in front of me to see more skin start to flake off, revealing the putrid muscle and flesh underneath. Fuck me. Today had to be that bad, huh?

My brother used to call it my ‘zombie mode’ to make me grumpy, but it’s not really like that. I keep my sanity, but I just start rotting and falling apart at the seams. It’s been like this since I was a kid, though I do tend to rot quicker when I’m having a shitty day, so Barbara can get fucked.

There’s really only one way to speed up the process so my skin grows back normal and healthy, and it sucks.

I sent Andrew a text, telling him to come pick me up as soon as he could and to bring my large coat. He knew what I meant. With a sigh, I double checked the lock before I pulled my shirt off, bra following onto the floor. Where the underwire was pressing against me the skin was already starting to come off. I gritted my teeth, grabbed on, and yanked.

It doesn’t hurt, not when my skin’s already dead. Sometimes a bit of the live skin comes with it and oh that hurts like tearing a hangnail, but it’s hardly lethal.

Pus and blood spattered into the sink as I ripped more and more of my skin away, both lumps I once called breasts slapped on the ground with a wet sound. I could see tumorous, bulbous growths starting to form in the fat. With most of the skin on my torso gone, I moved onto my arm. I groaned with relief as I finally scratched away at the sore, ripping away more skin and flesh.

I had skinned my entire upper body and was finally starting to feel relief when I heard a timid knock at the door.

“Sweetie? Ellie? Are you okay?”

Barbara’s voice made my blood boil, but right now she was exactly what I needed. I cleared my throat before approaching the door. “Sorry, Barb, I… I threw up. Everywhere. On my clothes, on the sink. It looks like a horror film in here. I called my brother to come get me, but could you please bring me stuff to clean up? I am not leaving this for Willis to clean up tonight, he’ll probably quit.”

“Oh, of course, sweetie! Don’t worry about work, I’ll handle it.”

She even was nice enough to cover her eyes as she handed me the cleaning supplies through the crack in the door. I scrubbed that floor and counter spotless, filling a garbage bag with bloody paper towels and gore so that no one would assume I butchered someone in the bathroom.

My brother gave me my trench coat when he came to pick me up and acted like he was helping me out of the building as he escorted me, in reality he was making sure I wasn’t bleeding over everything.

Now I’m home, enjoying a few seasons of Friends as I heal up. Andrew is a coroner and if I didn’t have him, I probably would’ve lost my mind and eaten Barbara on a bad day years ago. Whenever I’m done ‘shedding’, he brings me home a few human body parts so I can eat. I usually add them to whatever junk I’m eating, but Barbara was nice enough to bring me some chicken noodle soup. Now it’s chicken noodle soup plus a kidney, but hey, what can you do.

Whoa, feels good to get my shitty yesterday off my chest. Thank god it’s Friday.

#my stories

[theoddcatlady]

We Killed Bobby Tanner

It was me, Jessie Bates, Hunter Gilch, and Gabrielle Edison. We are the reason that Bobby Tanner never returned home that Friday night ten years ago, why every year his parents send out a plea asking for their son to come home. It was us. The senior class rejects.

Jessie was a bit slow and would believe anything you told him. You could tell this boy over a dozen times that ‘gullible’ was written on the ceiling and he’d believe you each of those times.

Gabrielle was pretty popular until her sophomore year when she got gonorrhea after having sex with her cheating shitbag of a boyfriend who didn’t know how to put on a condom. He, of course, blamed her for giving it to him and it didn’t matter what the truth was after that- Gabrielle was labeled a dirty slut and became a social outcast.

Hunter was just… off. Jessie followed him around like a lost puppy, but Hunter was that kid everyone was sure was either going to one day shoot up the school or become a prolific serial killer. Casual conversations would quickly turn sadistic as he’d brag about catching squirrels and birds in traps before killing them and cutting them up. He was the leader of our lil group, probably because the rest of us didn’t have a backbone.

Me, you can pick a reason why I was picked on- I’m fat, I had a serious acne problem, I’m socially awkward and a crybaby. I was an easy target because I’d start to cry when the words got too much and that was exactly what the bullies wanted.

Bobby was one of those bullies. He was everything we weren’t- he had money, he was good looking, he thought he was pretty smart, and he was funny… at least, if you weren’t the butt end of his jokes. We usually were. The only one he didn’t really pick on was Hunter, at least, not if he didn’t have a pack of friends around him. Hunter scared him, and probably for a good reason.

It was Hunter’s idea to kill him, after all.

It was after school, we were all at Hunter’s house. His parents were never home and it was a safe place to chill. I’d just finished throwing the pizza rolls in the microwave when he came out with it.

“What’s your perfect plan to kill someone?” Hunter said, interrupting Gabrielle’s rant about our stupid English teacher Mr. Shea.

Jessie laughed while Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “Really? I don’t have one, Hunter. Because I’m not a sociopath.”

“Come on, it’s all hypothetical,” Hunter waved his hand, “Just go with it. What’s your go to plan?”

Jessie stroked his chin, which had a few scraggly hairs on it that he proudly called his ‘beard’. “Huh… I mean, I guess I’d kill them with my dad’s shotgun so he goes down for the murder? Fuck my dad,” He said.

Hunter snickered while I took a seat on the couch arm and pondered this hypothetical question. “I mean, I’d probably go for making it look like an accident. Like they fell off a cliff or a building, or the brakes in their car just gave out,” I answered.

Hunter looked genuinely impressed. “That’s actually not half bad! Come on, Gabrielle, what do you think?” He asked.

Gabrielle scoffed before she started twirling her hair- she always did that when she was thinking on something. “Oh my god, fine… I think I’d just poison the bastard? I’m not really strong, I mean, neither is Noelle, but here she is threatening to throw people off of buildings,” She elbowed my ribs teasingly.

“It’s a hypothetical question!” I threw my hands up in the air before looking down at Hunter. “Since you asked, I’m sure you already have an answer.”

“Lure them out to the woods before slicing open their throat so I can shower in their blood,” Hunter grinned menacingly and I had to suppress a shudder.

“That’s fucking gross… and would leave so much evidence, you idiot,” Gabrielle shook her head, “Actual sociopath, Hunter Gilch.”

We all laughed until Hunter brought up the next question. “Okay, who would you murder then? Say you could murder anyone and know you could get away with it. Name your picks,” He said as he crossed his arms.

I shifted uncomfortably while Gabrielle shook her head. “Too much, Hunter, too much,” She said.

“Who would you murder?” Jessie piped up with.

Hunter opened his mouth to respond when I heard the microwave beep. “Natural segue, it’s pizza rolls time!” I leaped up from the couch arm and ran into the kitchen. I did hear Hunter say he had a few possibles, but my return with the delicious snack had us completely forget about murder.

Almost.

The next week the cruelest prank was played on me. I got to my locker to see a present from a secret admirer, a box of chocolates with a sweet love letter. I was so overjoyed and I ended up enjoying two or three chocolates before class.

Chocolates that Bobby had laced with laxatives.

Just as the teacher was about to hand out the assignments, my stomach made that oh so uncomfortable gurgling sound and I had to bolt for the bathroom. I… didn’t make it. And I'd been wearing a skirt that day.

Liquid shit dripped down my legs as I scrambled for the bathroom, only to hear the cruelest laughter behind me. I looked, I saw Bobby, I saw his friends taking pictures with their phones, and I realized what happened.

I considered killing myself that night. The whole school knew what had happened. One of Bobby’s friends had texted him to let him know it was going down and that’s how he knew, and the incriminating pictures of me waddling down the hallway with a brown trail behind me spread like wildfire. I’d never live this down.

I’d already decided that I’d take all my mother’s sleeping pills and wash it down with a bottle of vodka when I heard my doorbell frantically ringing.

My mom was out so I ended up dragging myself to the door. When I opened it, there he was- Hunter. It had been raining out and he was soaking wet, gasping for breath as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Bobby. That’s who I’d fucking murder. Bobby fucking Tanner.”

I burst into tears and collapsed in Hunter’s arms.

That’s when we seriously began to plan to murder Bobby.

Jessie took no effort to convince, although I’m not sure he knew we were serious until the night it happened. Gabrielle was on the fence, but after she heard people laughing about ‘Shitstain Noelle’, she agreed to help as long as she wasn’t doing the actual killing part.

We all had a part to play. Gabrielle was the bait. Hunter and Jessie were the muscle. And I was the clean up crew.

I remember going to Jessie’s father’s home improvement shop to pick out the weapons. Jessie might’ve been dumb as a box of rocks when it came to things like school and common sense, but he knew tools. He chattered my ear off about how this certain brand of hammer was known to have its head come flying off if you used it too roughly and how this other brand was hardy and good for long term use.

Hunter picked one of those hammers and tossed it in the air. I never saw him smile quite so genuinely as he added it to the basket.

It was much more fun to actually plan the murder than commit it, at least for me. Each of us did get our own hammer, Jessie jokingly called us the hammer bros and Hunter laughed until he cried.

Gabrielle was probably the best damn bait. She made sure to approach Bobby when he was alone and actually let the bastard feel her up before saying if he wanted more, he should come with her after school. I was her back up, watching from around the corner just in case he got too much. I saw how he ogled her, he was entranced. Sure she was a slut, but she was still hot, and Bobby was still a teenage boy.

She had him drive them to the woods near Jessie’s place. We were all in position. The car pulled up and Bobby was far too focused on making out with Gabrielle to notice Hunter storming up to the car. By the time Hunter ripped the door open, it was too late for Bobby to get away.

The plan didn’t feel real until Hunter cracked the hammer against Bobby’s mouth.

Bobby screamed as Hunter dragged him out, bringing the hammer down again and again on his head. Jessie joined in and began smashing him wherever he could, but Hunter did most of the work. Jessie was more timid, he didn’t have it in him to really kill someone else.

Hunter did though. Bobby screamed and begged for him to stop. I don’t think he ever threw a punch back, he didn’t have a chance.

When he finally ceased crying and struggling, his face was a swollen, bloody mess. You couldn’t tell who he used to be. I think Hunter would’ve continued beating him if Jessie didn’t tell him it was enough. Bobby was dead.

The next part of the plan was performed mechanically. Hunter and Jessie took Bobby’s car to a deeper part of the woods where it was dismantled. Gabrielle went home. And I took care of the body, throwing it in the nearby river, tied with rocks, where it’ll never be seen again.

They sent search parties. People were dragged in for questioning. Even Hunter was, but we each other’s alibi- we were at Hunter’s house all night and he didn’t go anywhere. Probably the best stroke of luck was that Bobby didn’t tell anyone he was going out with Gabrielle. He was probably going to save the bragging for later.

People completely forgot about ‘Shitstain Noelle’ now that Bobby just up and disappeared. People talked about how he was such a good kid with such a promising future. Some rumors sprouted up about how all the pressure from his parents just made him crack and he took off to live in Florida or some shit. Other people still continued to point the finger at Hunter, saying we were just covering for him. Never really thought we participated though.

But I lied.

Bobby Tanner wasn’t dead when I took him to the river.

It came as a shock to me when I went to lift his body out of the bed of Jessie’s truck and he groaned. I nearly screamed. Somehow after being pulverized, Bobby was still alive.

I had a choice. If I dumped him in the water, he’d drown. No question about it. It was up to me now to finish the job.

Or maybe I couldn’t. Maybe when faced with the choice at the end, I just couldn’t.

Bobby was stashed under my bed. Every day when I came home from school, I expected to find him dead, but somehow he’d kept clinging onto life. I took care of him best I could with what supplies I could pick up over the counter, I fed him food turned into paste, and I’d clean up after him.

He wasn’t really… Bobby anymore. Even when his face healed, it was all crooked and puffy. I think sometime during the beating Hunter knocked one of his eyes out, because it was just gone, I don’t know what happened to it. I had to teach him how to go to the bathroom, how to eat by himself. I asked him if he remembered who I was, if he remembered Noelle.

All I got was a blank stare.

Bobby went with me to my new place when I moved out of my mother’s house. I taught him how to be quiet and stay still in the trunk I’d keep him in. During the day he knew to hide under the bed, when I got home from work he’d always give me a hug before lying down on the couch. He knew not to be seen, he listened to whatever I said. It was like having a son.

I never told the others. After the murder we just… grew apart. Things weren’t the same. Hunter was more manic and morbid than ever, Jessie became quiet and threw himself into work at his father’s shop, and Gabrielle…

Gabrielle couldn’t live with what we did. She hung herself about three months after our group murder. It was too much for her. I wish I told her at least that we didn’t kill Bobby. It’s probably the only reason the guilt hasn’t consumed me either.

But maybe I shouldn’t have kept him alive, either.

Like I said, it’s been ten years. Bobby’s made leaps and strides in taking care of himself, he can even heat up leftovers in the microwave. For the longest time, he was a blank slate. I was his Noelle, the woman taking care of him. His only friend. The world outside was a bad place, was the reason he lost himself.

Last week I left out some old things while doing some spring cleaning. Most importantly, I left out a book of pictures. I came back home to see Bobby staring at a picture of my friends. I asked him what he was doing and he just shrugged and I thought that was that. He didn’t have his memories, after all.

Well that picture knocked something loose. I came home today to find Bobby was gone, with that picture torn up in little shreds. Sometime that afternoon someone broke into the home improvement store that Jessie still worked at and beat him to death with one of the hammers.

I’m trying to get in contact with Hunter now, I know he still lives in the state but we haven’t spoken in years.

I just hope I’m not too late.

#my stories