Halloween ritual

Strange things happen when the moon is full, especially on nights like tonight—Halloween night—on Franklin Street.

Kevin is dressed as a devil. Interesting that the one night we can be whatever we want he chooses to take off his mask.

“You coming to Franklin tonight? It’s gonna be wild.”

The last time I attended a “wild” party with him, I woke the next morning with ripped panties. Post Roe v. Wade, I won’t risk fate again.

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Damned resurrection

The morning my husband drew his last breath, the funeral director came to the hospital to make final arrangements for the service. We talked about life after, of heaven and hell, the resurrection.

“Most people have the wrong idea about the resurrection,” he said. “They pray to an unseen god and await his bastard son’s return on a cloud. Sounds more like drug-induced delusions to me.”

“Blasphemy! I will hear no more of this!” my father shouted and stormed out.

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Wolfman

I never heard my son scream like that—if you could even call it a scream. It was more like a guttural lamentation that escapes from deep within you when you’re forced to witness your own murder play before you like a movie.

It had to be a dream—mine, not his. But when I awoke, he was still screaming.

I sprinted for his room and nearly let out my own terrified yelp when I spotted the man with a wolf for a face standing in the window.

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Ghostly lake

photo of two white ducks on water during fog

He invited me for a picnic on the banks of Lake Menace.

The name alone struck suspicion. Allegedly, it was the scene of a gruesome Civil War battle—word-of-mouth smalltown legend—you won’t read it in the official history books.

Years later, it is said the faceless ghosts of the Union and Confederate soldiers lurk near the still waters of their mass grave, hidden by a perpetual fog.

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