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 her famished being, thinking of just how many regurgitations

she endured to survive off those somehow

odorless milk curdles. It occurred to me that the rings

in the mug were not born of chai. Within the microwave

oven, this little girl subsisted off her own dwindling

waste.

“Calm, calm, calm,” I whispered, trying to lock my

eyes with hers, but always looking away as a stripped

tooth sprouted from her rotting lips. She took a deep

breath, growled softly, and scooted back. I opened the

refrigerator door, completely at a loss for why I still

smelled nothing. I flinched as light struck my naked

eyes.

On the top rack, wrapped in layers of hardy Ziplocs,

were two cats. One a scraggly tabby, the other a

standard tortoiseshell with an open mouth and gapped

front teeth. All their eyes stared at us, their tufts of fur

blowing weakly beneath the shield of everyday plastic.

I stared into the mouth of the tortoiseshell, intrigued by

the keratin spikes on its tongue, quite well preserved

and inducing an itch. I scratched at my nose, turned to

the girl, and in my awe and annoyance, asked, “Why

does the apartment not smell like shit? Look at this!” I

pointed to the now rippling pool of dark fluid ready to

flood the kitchen, then the entire efficiency.

The girl wrapped herself with all that she had. Pockmarked

arms the girth of jumbo pencils, at most. She

parted her lips, slowly clacking her teeth bound to

chip. I realized that since my move, I never touched the

thermostat. The temperature remained at fifty degrees

Fahrenheit. The coldness didn’t seem to bother this

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