The Haunted Traveler December 2017 Edition

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162 I drop the mostly empty glass onto the coffee table, cherry stained dark, and my ankles flop until my body is in the bathroom. I wash my face and I still hear a hum, an undercurrent of people, of voices. I look up into the mirror, and there is a cross behind me, rosewood. Why? For fuck’s sake, I’m lonely enough, aren’t I? You’ve got to do this to me? You took Teri away, I lost Margaret somehow. What do you want from me, huh? Fuck it. I’m going to bed. Mornings are usually better, even now. It takes all them a little while to wake up, too, I guess. Brbrbrbrbrbrbrbbrbrbrbrbrbrrrrrrrrrbrbrbrbrbrbbrrbrbrbrbbrbr… Except for whoever that little shit is. A little boy runs all around the house, room to room, pretending he is a racecar or a motorcycle or something. He drives himself wherever he wants, but all he does is drive me out of the house. I shave as soon as I’m out of the shower, which is a pain cause now I’ve got to pull the skin flat. My hair is all but gone on top, though. Red nose, green eyes bloodshot, bone thin from shoulders to hips. I make myself an Irish coffee, put on flannel pants, a stained shirt, and my slippers, and go outside for a little peace. There is still a bit of dew in the grass so it nipped up at my ankles, a little sharp almost. But the coolness is nice. I brushed off my lawn chair—red cedar and painted against my wishes because Teri said it had to match the house—and took a seat out in front of the house. We were on a bit of a hill, so from the right spot, you could see most of the town moving around and starting their day. Of course, one of the first sights is the mail truck, dirty white and fogged windshield. It pulls up next to my mailbox, the only thing one the property I probably should’ve replaced by now, but haven’t had the motivation. So out steps this woman, squat, with frizzy hair pulled back in a ponytail and stumpy legs. One time, I saw her in town and someone called her Miss Lucille, but they both giggled so I don’t know if it was a joke or what. I smile to her and wave. Morning! She doesn’t say anything. She just looks, stuffs some envelopes in the box, and turns around to hop back into the truck. Well, fuck you, too. Mmm. Coffee needs more spice. It’s hot, but not quite the pep I like. I thought about getting the mail, but I didn’t want to seem desperate if Miss Lucille was still looking in her rearview. Besides, it was something to look forward to. And the air was warm enough for a June morning. And warm coffee inside, even if it wasn’t quite right. Well, shit, if I’m going inside for a bit, might as well finish it so I can pour a full cup.
Feet are still sure enough. I walk to the mailbox and get there before I realize I was going to put it off. Is this how Alzheimer’s begins? Shit. It is mostly ads. Such a waste. Do people really go for these? Who rents furniture? Why do you need coupons for the dollar store? Christ. There is one letter, though. The address is written in a hand I don’t recognize, but that is all there is. No return address. No name on the front. The stamp is the basic flag one. Weird. I’ll get a knife, open it easy in case it is something important. I hear something screech behind me. Tires on road, two of them. I turn to see a kid, lanky, maybe twelve. His bike is bright green and black, like it is something fancy out of a movie. He was nearly out of breath after busting his ass up the hill, trying to walk his bike of the street. He’s got sandy blonde hair, the kind I remember having when I was his age. Back before I spent every day working and every night drinking. Before I even met Teri. The kid just stares for a bit. You live here, mister? Yeah, why? David Nunez says its haunted and that you live here all alone. Punk ass shit. Tell David Nunez it isn’t haunted. And get off my lawn. Why? Cause it’s my lawn, you little creep. So get back on your bike and go home. What if I don’t? Kid, I have nothing to do all day. So I might just stroll in my house and call the cops. They wouldn’t come for this. Besides, I’ll just ride away before they come, and you’ll look stupid. He wasn’t wrong. I couldn’t tell if he was sneering at me or that was just the way his face looked. So how come you don’t have anything to do? I’m retired. You’re tired? Retired. I don’t know, you look pretty tired to me. I make a lunge for the brat, but he is back on his bike before I’m even take a full step. I can hear a nasal laugh fade as he rolls down the hill. He stands for a while, pumping so that by the time he reaches the bottom he is just a streak. Fucking kid. Though, I can’t help but laugh a bit. Kid had a set of balls for not even hitting puberty yet. Quick mind, too. And he talked to me, which already ranks him higher than Miss Lucille and most people in town. You know, I’m kind of feeling good today. I walk to the house to put in the mail and fill up the coffee and maybe— 163
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The Haunted Traveler December2017 E
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Table of Contents Highland Fling Ma
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The Haunted Traveler A Roaming Anth
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8
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10
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12 The Gas Station Jenna Heller “
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14 “It just amazes me that we’r
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16 At the top of the short staircas
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18 up her face and then lowered it
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20 There was a list of prohibited i
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22 “The girls are here, too,” M
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24 THE BONES Stephanie Bucklin “T
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26 “Then?” “Survival.” The
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28 “Lady Mordemag—” Darya sta
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30 could hear Lady Mordemag’s oil
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32 he had to curb his normal method
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34 paused again, listening and wait
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36 complete as it had at the top of
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38 It Is the Ache that Dwells Withi
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40 “Mary? Come on, please open th
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42 Leah Oates A BOLT FROM THE BLUE
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44 there people were always around
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46 before the storm hits. Once you
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48 “Car spell nargelette,” Ben
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50 It’s poison, the witch said. B
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52 “Sir, if you don’t come peac
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54 was all he had seen on the day
Page 58 and 59:
56 “So…Ax, is it?” Scott aske
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58 you came all the way from out of
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60 of thought; a bright flash, foll
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62 It took a few minutes of brisk w
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64 games.” James punched the wall
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66 conjured of kicking it in the fa
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68 mom, but she wouldn’t answer.
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70 with a dull thump-thump-thump. J
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72 Jim Zola The Blind Piano Player
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74 Jim Zola
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76 across their fur and between the
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78 Cadie’s Missing Mike Oberly Th
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80 “Rascal is as rascal is,” th
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82 The Flood Anna Kaye-Rogers The r
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84 the girls. “She’s your dog,
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86 Rainy days are the worst. As she
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88 Jubydream turtle: falls in love,
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90 The Moon Alexandria Cope Margare
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92 early. She packed her things in
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94 some ninja turtle action. Noah s
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96 That’s why even though she was
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98 Belinda slipped off the wet coat
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100 “I liked Pretty Pretty Prince
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102 The black-eyed doll approached
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104 STALKED ON A WINTER’S NIGHT B
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106 is, the playground is dangerous
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108 exposed and the floors were lin
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110 Jason and his fling heard the d
Page 114 and 115: 112 was divided into fifteen minute
Page 116 and 117: 114 Essentially, her home in Belle
Page 118 and 119: 116 Samantha had inherited the chai
Page 120 and 121: 118 For Death’s Amusement Rollin
Page 122 and 123: 120 wore white gloves on its enormo
Page 124 and 125: 122 process of extracting another f
Page 126 and 127: 124 Running Amber Cook They were fo
Page 128 and 129: 126 Witchery Kerry E.B. Black Tia i
Page 130 and 131: 128 Scream Megan Whiting It was a s
Page 132 and 133: 130 terrifying ease, then vanished
Page 134 and 135: 132 Send that thought packing, too.
Page 136 and 137: 134 Tyler switched on the radio. An
Page 138 and 139: 136 veins. Then it stopped. She was
Page 140 and 141: 138 “She showed up at that church
Page 142 and 143: 140 Bear Trap Feivel Wolff He saw t
Page 144 and 145: 142 “I made you dinner, did I not
Page 146 and 147: 144 the windshield. A bit longer an
Page 148 and 149: 146 Now he could make out the tune.
Page 150 and 151: 148 “Tell your momma! Tell her I
Page 152 and 153: 150 Black Swan On the Water Side Co
Page 154 and 155: 152 They looked like Latinas, but I
Page 156 and 157: 154 BROTHERLY LOVE Diane Arrelle Na
Page 158 and 159: 156 Terror carrying her beyond hyst
Page 160 and 161: 158 wonder you’re imagining thing
Page 162 and 163: 160 Listening Neal Steichen Oh, Chr
Page 166 and 167: 164 Brenda, I swear to God, one of
Page 168 and 169: 166 Brbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrrrr… Yup. M
Page 170 and 171: 168 or two of dust, out of the door
Page 172 and 173: 170 Biographies T. Thomas Abernathy
Page 174 and 175: 172 Brett Grinnell lives and works
Page 176 and 177: 174 Real Art Ways, Tomasulo Gallery
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The Haunted Traveler December 2017 Edition

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