Mr. Scotty

This short story was featured in an anthology titled Fireburst,  available here: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07LDF3FVH/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_awdb_t1_J0ngFbQJMZ4YV So... I may be a wee bit obsessed with these ghost hunting shows on t.v. I just can't stop watching them. Maybe it has to do with my love of horror movies, or the fact that every house I've lived in has had some kind of paranormal activity. I'm not sure. That being said, I could never actually go hunting myself. I've seen some shit. These guys on these shows always say they started doing it because they saw something unexplainable when they were younger. They want to find it. They want answers. I don't. That shit is scary. I can't bring myself to intentionally look for it. That's why this situation makes no sense. I'm sitting in the car. There's something on the hood and a mess in my pants. Jake's gonna be pissed when he gets a whiff of the interior. But, maybe I should start from th...

Only another mile, I thought, keeping my head down. I watched each foot rise and fall, rise and fall, losing myself in the rhythm of it. I thought of what was on the other side of the mountain,  and I remembered it didn't matter. She was gone. No matter how quickly I made it to that ranger station, she'd still be dead. And I'd most likely be arrested. I felt I had to go, but I wasn't in a hurry. I wanted to take in as much as I could along the way. I wanted to remember how it felt to be free, since I'd probably be locked up soon. I mean, she was obviously murdered. We were the only two people staying on that mountain at the time. I'd definitely take the wrap for it. Who in their right mind would believe what happened? If I was lucky, I might be found not guilty by reason of insanity, but I'd still be locked away. It would take an insane person to even think that a ghost murdered his girlfriend. But that's what happened. I reached the other side w...

This story is based on a family story that has been passed down. I remember sitting around with my aunt who loved trying to spook us, and this was one of the stories she told. Her story wasn't quite this long, I added some details. But I didn't change any of the basic story. The Wednesday evening service had ended. Kizzie Ann and her little sister Delilah donned their overcoats and headed for the door. They stood in line as the preacher shook the hands of every member of the congregation on their way out.  Delilah looked up at her sister. They were standing on the small porch on the front of the church. The sermon had run over, which was typical for the long-winded preacher. The late October sun was just dipping below the ridge of the mountain. Magenta and orange made for a beautiful sky, but it was already dark enough that she knew they would be walking home in near or complete darkness. Kizzie Ann smiled down at her, reassuring her that things would be fine w...

I've been followed my whole life. I don't know what they are. I see dark figures out of the corner of my eye. I hear strange noises from other parts of the house at night. I swear, sometimes I notice my wife walk into the room but when I look up I'm alone. It scares the shit out of me. Every day on the way to and from work I pass a storefront with a neon eyeball in the window. The sign reads "Palm Reader & Tarot." I decided to stop in. If it's a phony, I might lose a couple bucks. But maybe they can help. I walked through the front door, a little bell ringing to announce my arrival.  "Get out." There was a middle-aged woman sitting behind a glass case of what looked like rocks and potions. Her stare actually felt cold. "I need help," I replied.  "I can't do anything for you." Her gaze never warmed.  "But these things are following me. They're everywhere. What are they? How do I get rid of them?" ...

Harry shuffled the deck of cards and pushed it across the table. "Deal," he said. "One more hand," I agreed. It was a way to pass the time. More importantly, it was a way to avoid talking about the body in the trunk of the '59 Eldorado outside. People say those cars are boats. This one was more like a tank. The thing we hit had to be seven feet tall and weighed at least four hundred fifty pounds. The Cadillac had little more than a twisted bumper and dented hood after the impact. Harry was an ex-defensive lineman who still lifted weights. If he wasn't so big and strong, we would have never been able to lift it into the trunk. We only stopped because we thought we killed some hermit that lived in the woods near the backroad we were on. But it wasn't a man. It kinda looked like one, but also kinda like a gorilla. Maybe it was one of those things the guys on horses recorded in Washington or Oregon or something. We brought it back here while we tri...

So, I started this blog, but I've never really kept up with it. One reason is that I have a difficult time coming up with ideas for content. While we were out today, we stopped at 5 Below. They had tables with books on on them that reminded me of something. I had an idea. See, one of the last Christmases that my dad was here, he picked out a couple of those books. One of them is pictured below. The top of the page has a writing prompt, maybe a sentence. I think I want to try to pick one a week and just write whatever it inspires here. I hope this is something I can stick to. I also hope there is someone still around to actually read this. Hopefully this not only gives people something entertaining to read, but gives me a nice swift kick in the pants to write on a more consistent basis. Maybe I can get through another book or two in a much shorter time frame. Thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this.