The Haunted Traveler May 2017 Edition

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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.

ment was the home of Alvin and Marla Castille, as well

as the Castille’s five-year-old daughter Joanie. The cat

did not include the Castille home within his range. Alvin

Castille was a fumigator by trade – an enthusiastic

one, who infused his house with anticoagulants at

least twice a week. There were no live mice or voles

for the bobcat to eviscerate, just a sea of screaming

carcasses poking out from beneath the patio boards,

faces twisted from circulatory shock, little pink hands

reaching for the sweet marshland air. Still, the bobcat

hunkered down and cautiously made his way up the

embankment toward the crop of grasses outside Joanie

Castille’s bedroom window. His hope was to find an

injured warbler that may have stupidly fallen victim to

the pop of Joanie’s air gun. Joanie was a dear girl, interested

in dolls and finger paints, but Alvin had insisted

on introducing her to the fine art of wildlife assault.

Perhaps Joanie’s corruption would prove lucky for the

bobcat and he would find himself an unlikely dinner.

The bobcat pricked up his ears just below Joanie’s

window, where he could hear Marla Castille at Joanie’s

bedside, gently reading to the child from a weighty

book. Of course, to the bobcat Marla’s voice came only

as a series of clicks and hums, with no particular effect

on him other than distraction. But to a person, Marla

Castille would have sounded something like this:

The rats were wild, bold, ravenous; their red eyes

glaring upon me...” Marla’s tone elicited a strained

whimper from Joanie, as if it were pulled from deep

within the child like a bucket of water tugged from the

dark of a well.

Normally the bobcat would not have been so brazen

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