#mindfuck

Sara and Tom scrambled through the castle corridors, hoping to find Roy. They checked everywhere, but he was nowhere to be found. Suddenly, Tom spotted Roy between two suits of armor-huddled, trembling, and paralyzed with fear. "Man, why are you shaking like that?" Tom asked. "I... I... I saw her..." "Who did you see?" "The Mourner... I mean, the ghost of the Mourner. She was gliding down the hallway, "Man, why are you shaking like that?" Tom asked. "I... I... I saw her..."

“I have good news and bad news,” my boss Chester said. If there is a more butthole clenching phrase said at a struggling company during a sudden all hands meeting, I don’t know what it is. Thing was, Chester didn’t need to say a single syllable. His slouched shoulders, pale(er) face, and hangdog expression told us the entire story. The company was going under.

There she is the center of my affection. The reason I wake up in the morning. I have heart palpitations because of her. Jessica Mackenzie. I have known her ever since preschool, and I have been in love with her since. I have tried to confess my feelings to her, believe me I have, but every time I see her, I freeze up and bite my tongue. She was always sociable. Like the planets that revolve around the Sun, she could pull people into her orbit.

Last Tuesday, I noticed a new app on my phone called "Follow the Leader." No icon, just a white circle on a black background. Being bored and fourteen, I opened it. It was just a GPS map of my neighborhood with two dots: a blue one for me and a red one about three streets over. A text popped up at the bottom: “The Leader is moving. Keep up.”

The trip was fun. From what we could remember at least. Olivia and I had made the weekend trip down to St. Augustine, Florida with her younger brother John. The four hour drive from Albany, Georgia to one of America’s oldest cities was long and boring. The four-lane highways we traveled along were barren and isolated, surrounded by nothing but miles of impenetrable forest save for the occasional shithole rest stop.

Call me tasteless but I enjoyed running Southern Fried Murder. Growing up, I loved horror movies, especially slashers, but as I got older I became more drawn to true crime… To the real life monsters walking among us. Like most people, I was initially drawn to the sensationalized Bundys and Dahmers of the world but the local cases scared me more. I became more intrigued by the murders and vicious crimes that happened in my neck of the woods here in the American South. These were also the crimes…

1934 was a different time. Not just in Savannah, Georgia but in America. We didn't have many luxuries back then. Or much optimism, for that matter. Not when we were in the midst of The Great Depression.

College was supposed to be more fun. Especially considering how lame high school was for a quiet geek like me. These were supposed to be the best years of my life but so far, they'd been far from it. It was more of the same alienation I’d felt in high school. I don’t know, I guess I could only hope grad school would be better. Maybe if I went to a bigger university or moved to an actual college town with lots of culture, things would be different.

By WedgeOverPotato "What do you seek? What do you hear? What do you fear? For fate is, my Witherin, inevitable to your undying likeness. That man's biggest creation is more of a brute than man itself. That we all clasp our hands together and prance around for mercy till the undying showers us with the pleasure of death, for it is we, whom shall not die." Witherin. For it is we, whom shall not die.

I woke up under the shade of a tree. I was tired and had a headache, and I didn't understand what was happening. There were police cars in front of me, and a large crowd of people were gathered around, but I still couldn't grasp what was going on. I walked a little way and saw my friend's car. I tried to grab the door handle, but I couldn't. I tried several times, and at first, I thought the car was locked, but then suddenly, I reached through the door.

Honestly, I liked the drive. It was the scenic route and those beautiful country roads were part of the reason why I didn’t mind the commute. Driving became an escape for me. Cathartic even.

“She opened her arms. I should have kept mine closed.” It was a sunny day in a new neighborhood, the third one I had moved into that year. I walked slowly, observing the streets. The houses all looked alike, fences lined with rusted gates, stray dogs wandering aimlessly, and children playing and shouting somewhere far off.

I didn’t want to leave Miller County High School. I didn’t want to leave my friends and essentially leave my whole social life in Colquitt, Georgia behind. My stepdad got a new job in Columbus, Georgia. I guess the pay was great, the new house amazing. So naturally my mom talked my younger brother Jimmy and I into the move. She had a new job as a middle school secretary already lined up too so neither my brother nor I had a choice really.

Outlaws sucked. It was just another shithole bar in Columbus, Georgia. One of many I might add. Not that I was an expert given I wasn’t much for the party scene. This college student struggled to meet friends, much less find girls who wanted to talk to me. I had no wingman after all. No one to go out with.

Jacky's Prince Of Dreams 1.5+ Psychic Crime Fiction by Andre Michael Pietroschek Disclaimer: No warranties!

Feedback "This, too, shall pass." — Persian Proverb . . I woke up lying on the cold floor, my cheek pressed against splinters. No wind. No storm. No voices. Just quiet. Dry, suffocating quiet. Dust drifted in the shafts of pale light like falling ash. My mouth tasted like old rust. I stood slowly, my footfalls creaked loud in the emptiness, and wandered into the bedroom. There, resting on the bed, was my notebook.

Most people have never heard someone die. The moaning. The crying. The pleading. The last tortured breath before they go quiet. Most people will never hear those things. I do. Daily. No, I’m not a serial killer on a hellbent mission to cleanse the Earth. I’m a 911 operator. When I took the job ten years ago, I assumed I’d more or less be like an air traffic controller, but for emergency response teams. For a large portion of my job, that’s true. That’s the easy part. Death is harder.

"I heard birds singing outside. I didn't know birds still came here." "It is a beautiful day to be alive." — Unknown ... I wake to warm light slanting through the curtains. The air smells of toasted bread and coffee, and in the distance, I hear my mother humming a familiar tune, soft, gentle, but off-key. It sounds like she's humming with her mouth closed.

Parkside Inn was a small Bed and Breakfast hotel in the town I live in. It was barely twenty-three rooms in total. I had passed it many times, as it sat in the heart of the city. Its location was its strong point. Across from the hotel was a big park, the one that gave it its name. Cafes and restaurants ringed the park, keeping the area busy. And there, amidst the families and the children playing under the trees, stood this colossus of concrete and steel.

"Vincent, I got a job for you!" someone shouted from the other side of the bathroom door. "For me!? Can't you give it to someone else!?" "They asked for you, it seems to be one of your clients!" "Damn it, I want to go on vacation for once." His colleagues started to laugh. "That's the downside of being famous in the business" yelled one of them over the showers noise.