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.

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as to go near the Castille home. His kind were more

likely to avoid human contact, for fear of taking a spade

to the face or a bullet in the ribs. But the bobcat’s solidification

of his range – his empire – had emboldened

him. And soon he found himself peeking over the window

sill and into Joanie’s bedroom, where the girl was

prone on her bed, hair matted to her brow with sweat,

eyes and nose wet with tears and snot, and clinging to

a filthy and unidentifiable stuffed toy.

Marla’s hums and clicks continued. “They writhed

upon my throat; their cold lips sought my own; I was

half stifled by their thronging pressure; disgust, for

which the world had no name.”

The bobcat and Joanie Castille had been about the

same size for the last month or so. The bobcat knew

they had that in common. He did not know, however,

that they would soon share more than their proportions.

Earlier in the day Joanie’s life took an atypical

turn when Alvin threw a sloppy haymaker at Marla’s

face in a rage fueled by the speedy ingestion of a bottle

of Old Forester. And Marla – upon collecting herself –

selected a pencil from an office drawer and slid it into

the soft nothingness between Alvin’s right ear and his

jawbone. Alvin, now deceased, lay in a pool of blood

just outside Joanie’s bedroom door.

Soon the police would arrive, lazily take Marla to

jail, and toss poor Joanie into a deeply unsuitable foster

home. But like the bobcat, Joanie would learn quickly.

She would embrace her tortured solitary existence

until she was ready to turn it upon its loathsome head.

Like the bobcat, Joanie would come to understand

that she could change things – that she could stake her

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