Mr. Scotty

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...