Scratches

by Joshua Marsella

“Beyond the reach of human rage A drop of hell, a touch of strange ...” Stephen King, The Gunslinger

Connor loved all things horror. Movies, comics, novels, rumored haunted houses. The rush of adrenaline he felt when he daydreamed about things that go bump in the night was the ultimate high. The fictional tales of monsters, ghosts, and the walking dead somehow made him feel better about his benign existence.

Something inside her compelled her to fight the maternal urge to form a lasting bond with her son. Perhaps this was a common feeling among young mothers whose children unintentionally robbed them of their youth.

Heavy lascivious breaths released an obnoxious odor from the gaping rot mouth of the figure standing erect in the darkness, watching the mother sleep.