“Hey, Charlie, how about we play hide ‘n’ seek? I’ll even count first.”
Still wearing a solemn smile, she stretched an arm towards me, but the chains held it back. She didn’t speak, but her hopeless eyes told me all I needed to know.
It was a high whistling sound, somehow human, somehow tragic. You could hear the pain in the voice, a dreadful melancholy punctured through with agony. It was the sound of someone wailing for something long since lost, but never forgotten. Unable to be forgotten.
“You must listen me,” he said, his refusal to use prepositions starting to bug me. “Please?” “Look man, I told you. I-DON’T-HAVE-MONEY-FOR-YOU. Niente. Nada.
As the story goes, if you look Old Jim in the eyes, he’ll come to your cell and kill you. More than one inmate had been found mutilated in their cell over the years. Even with the cameras in place, there was no evidence that anyone had been in the cell aside from the victim.
The headline read, “The River Wolf Strikes Again.” As with the other victims, a body was found in the Ohio River. The throat had been torn out and the arms and hands showed lacerations consistent with defensive wounds.
I won’t blame you if you think this is fiction.
Hayley was 17 at the time, two years my senior, though it always felt like there was no age difference between us. Next week, it’ll be five years since Hayley first disappeared.
While none of us has the answers, our responses may speak to the types of lives we lead.
Working in a funeral home is not dark, sad, or creepy. In fact, this is probably one of the best and most pleasant places I have been to and here’s why.