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.

84

ange grapes. I plucked a few off a passing tree, and toss

one into my mouth. Lightly, my front teeth cracked

its thin skin, and allowed its juice to spill passively

into my mouth. The taste was bright against the grey,

all-consuming background.

All around me spun a field of lost heroes and villains.

Amongst them were mothers, officers, fathers, writers,

sons, nurses, and daughters. The narratives of their

lives were all reduced into crudely agreeable phrases,

and plastered onto smoothed granite for the world to

pity.

Fuck epitaphs, I thought, an entire biography would

not suffice for my son. Birds cawed and screeched in

the distance. Sometimes, I could catch a glimpse of

their silhouettes fluttering against the autumn sky. It

appeared that they were watching me. Certainly, they

were an avian regiment dedicated to pushing me forward.

I finally found myself standing in front of his black

granite headstone. Though beautifully laser-etched,

I could not bring myself to admire the calligraphy

that so eloquently presented his name. I am sickened

to report that I did not cry at first. I stood in the rain

with my hand hovering above my left breast. My fingers

twitched in place. Beneath my lapel, resting in my

coat’s linen pocket, sat a Smith and Wesson Model 60,

polished, wood grip. My teeth clenched so tight, they

threatened to shatter as I removed the firearm from my

pocket, and slide my back down the gravestone. I fingered

the trigger as the tiny barrel danced around my

temple. Should I shut my eyes? Or keep them open? My

breathing had escalated at this point into a shuddering

More magazines by this user
Similar magazines