The Haunted Traveler May 2017 Edition

weaselpress

After a brief hiatus, The Haunted Traveler is back to bring you some of the best horror out there. Open up and tread with caution, the next scare is just a page flip away.

106

to New York University. A building, I had not laid

eyes upon since that day. I smelled something getting

stronger: smoke, smoldering hair, scorched lard.

I heard something getting louder: Hish-spittle. Ssssss.

Huhhhh. I noticed something, getting closer: immense,

caliginous, quivering.

As it came nearer, I identified a horde of ruined

bones in bloodied sacks, blackened husks, and charred

skeletons. Leading it … leading it, her head lolling, her

smile broken, her face solid with soot except for her

birthmark. Rosa.

I swore she saw me.

I swore she reached for me.

I pivoted and ran for the nearest door, a green behemoth

barred by a rusting metal beam. I could not lift

the beam. I could not push the door. They were coming.

I raced to the next building, but its access was

blocked by a metal gate. I curled my fingers around

the skinny ribs and pulled, hoping for I did not know

what-something to shudder free, but it barely even

trembled. They were coming. Smoke burned the back

of my throat. My eyes watered.

They were coming. I pulled on doors and rattled

gates. The smell of incinerated flesh filled my head. Billows

of smoke cottoned my vision. I tried almost every

building on that section of Greene Street, and I was almost

to Washington Square. Oh, if only one, just one,

of those doors or gates would have yielded, just even

slightly, just even a crack I could have slipped through.

I could have embarked upon a stairway. I could have

found a corner in which to hide. They would have

passed me, not looking, not seeing, as their blackened

More magazines by this user
Similar magazines