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He passes the empty Old Pine Elementary School, which last year had been set up as a fun haunted house. This year, it’s still empty.
Right now, the splotch of video shows a big room with white cork ceiling, white painted cinderblock walls, and a purplish-gray, flecked tile floor.
Stacks of Mom’s books sit on the end table, all about grief and God.
“An unkind word,” Dad would say.
Joann sees Bob and offers him a genuine smile. “You slept in today. Were you out last night?”
knotting
Wicked
Bob’s grateful for his viewers, and not just because the ad revenue keeps him from draining his and Joann’s savings.
“Is this another dumb story that ends with ‘deez nuts?’”
His old classmate Calvin is dead. Mary might end up dead, too.
He thought there’d be at least some leftover haunt decorations from Crimson Corridors.
atop
What matters is that someone was wearing a sweatshirt—with the hood up—in the Richmond area in July and August. Between the humidity and the ninety-five degree days, that was insane.
He panics for a second that he’s forgotten something, but that’s been a common feeling this past year.
