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.

26

was so quiet, there in the locked microwave I was too

complacent to fix.

“Mama, mama, why?”

I slanted my eyes, placing my palms to my face, only

to moan “Goddammit” as I realized some glass made

its way into the palm of the hand laid flat against the

floor. I scraped my cheek, right beneath my eye. My

once captive roommate rivaled my sanguine corsages,

her feet like chickens in their gnarled pacing, fingernails

pitted, bruised a good gray. Like myself, she bore

no eyelashes, but mine were lost through a prodding

desire to release the least of tensions, even if my bad

habits resulted in conjunctivitis.

On the coffee table laid a flyswatter. I grabbed it,

extending my hand towards the girl to assert that I

meant no harm. I used the handle to sift through the

glass as I crawled further towards where she kneeled.

We stared at each other a moment longer, but still, I

couldn’t smell the dying flesh or rotting teeth that

curled outward from her collapsing build. I inhaled

again, smelling nothing but cool air, and found myself

sitting across from her, my uncut palm outreached. She

slapped me across the face, then growled.

I figured this was a case like the one in California,

in which a grown girl was found confined to a toilet,

already late for that critical period when one retains

meaningful language. I tried to gesticulate, pointing

to her, waving at the shattered microwave door, and

finally, forcing a grimace as I looked to the bottom of

the refrigerator, still dripping with some dark fluid. I

turned to her and she bit at her nails, as cats so nibble

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