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.

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at overgrown claws in the absence of a sturdy scratching

post.

I still could not take offense at odors I imagined one

would ordinarily smell while staring at the viscous liquid

dripping from refrigerator’s lowest door. The withered

girl placed her mug on the ground, full of ivory

curdles and black rings associated with poorly brewed

chai tea. She crawled to the refrigerator, unable to

walk upright.

Raising myself to my feet, I took care not to follow

too closely, keeping my shadow away from her shoulder

as she squeezed her head between the fridge and

its neighboring kitchen cabinet. The crevice could

never accommodate my calf, but her little head did

well, nodding and shaking in a moderate tempo that

betrayed neither sorrow nor eagerness. She propelled

her body forward, branchlike limbs scratching the thin

paint that coated the concrete beneath us. I heard her

chew, pick, and spit. She had reached to the back of the

fridge, pressing four numbers with identical dial tones,

and slowly withdrew from the darkness separating dry

packaged food from whatever seeped from my otherwise

functional refrigerator.

I took a step forward to open the door. She remained

squatted on the floor, though stretched out her arms

to scratch my dry skin; dust falling to the ground like

disrupted flour when one makes chocolate chip cookies.

I failed to tear a sheet from my only paper towel

roll, the dark fluid increasing its reach to the crevices

beneath the kitchen sink. The girl growled again and

whimpered, “Moo.” My jaw shook as I looked down

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