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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faded light blue jeans that were covered in muck, as

was his white tee and unbuttoned flannel. The company

sported on the cap lowered to his eyes, seemed to be

a towing service.

“I know why you here boy,” he said, spitting dip at

the floor between us.

“Oh yeah?” I retorted.

“It ain’t go’n work boy, just superstition, is all.”

He was staring at me intently, making an assessment,

his light grey eyes unmoving from mine. Suddenly,

I was aware of my… suspicious condition. I pushed

my long black hair back behind my face, and felt the

stubble on my face. Surely, I must look like a welldressed

homeless man, or a grave robber.

“Look, I’m just here to see my son. That’s all I wanted.”

“In th’ dead-o’-night?” he rasped questioningly. I

looked at my shoes, my behavior reminiscent of a child

being scolded by his parents for staying up too late.

“Y’know how hard my job is boy? Without your lot.”

I laughed. “What?”

“It’s devil magic boy!”

I stepped back, a little alarmed at his increasing aggression

to my presence. I had lived in this town for a

month before my son died, and didn’t speak much after

he did. The people here were different, I knew that

much. Maybe I was paranoid.

“I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes

in me, though he die, yet shall he live,” said the

groundskeeper, “John 11:25.”

“That’s… nice, thank you.”

“How old was he? Your boy?”

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