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Blythe. You can call me Blythe, even though I won’t be here long. You know, I’m kind of a ghost.”
People think that I must be a very strange person. This is not correct. I have the heart of a small boy. It is in a glass jar on my desk. Steven King
Ash Grove’s Hallows Fest is an eighteen and up masquerade dance festival spanning the whole of October. Begins when the sun goes down and ends when it ends.
There were no follow-up endorphins to be had. Goddamn, there was nothing like that post-homicide feeling. The high was like none other.
I looked like someone who built computers from scratch and lived in his mother’s basement. My oversized clunky glasses and shaggy black hair
Ames
I dropped my keys in his large hand. “You’re not a serial killer, are you, Dr. Cove?” He huffed a laugh. “Only sometimes.”
Our monster names were our true titles, revealing more about us than the letters stamped across our counterfeit birth certificates. On
Dragon, Wolf, and Devil were who I called my found family. My chosen brothers. And me? I was Ghost.
I wanted to fuck every ounce of fear out of her. I wanted to fuck her brave. Because she could be brave now because she had me, and I’d kill anyone trying to hurt her.
Believe nothing you hear, and only one half that you see. Edgar Allan Poe
Change was its own form of amnesia. It crept in like a stealthy killer and crowned its victims with false security. For better or worse, things evolved, and we all accepted it for the most part.
One need not be a chamber to be haunted. One need not be a house. The brain has corridors surpassing material place. Emily Dickinson
I wanted to shake her and scream, you don’t have to be afraid anymore. You have me. And then chain her to my bed and yell, you should be very afraid now that you do.
I thought to myself as I watched her brush her hair, I could live like this until she died peacefully of old age. I could follow her and look after her. Then when she left her physical body, I’d find her soul and follow it too.
True love is like ghosts, which everyone talks about and few have seen. Francois de La Rochefoucauld
The tarot card depicted a chilling outline of a skeleton holding a long, curved knife. “The card with no name. You are not of the living, Blythe. You are dead.”
We stopped checking for monsters under our bed when we realized they were inside us. Charles Darwin
