I was sweet on her.
Genevieve Marsh was a bright young woman, and I counted myself lucky when she smiled at me. Mind you, I looked little more than a young man of sixteen or seventeen, not exactly the age to inspire ideas of romance in such an individual.
My appearance would change shortly after the autumn of 1870, but at that time, well, few outsiders could believe me capable of doing anything more than bringing in the cows.
Genevieve was originally from Concord, New Hampshire, and she came to Cross as so many of the writers on the Sentinel did: by way of tragedy.
When she settled in Cross and found work at the Sentinel, she began by following up stories along North Road. I would see her, and occasionally she would stop in for a cup of tea, always marveling at my solitary existence on the farm. She even expressed dismay when she learned about how I had fought in the War of the Rebellion.
After one such conversation, she told me there had been word of a child crying out along the border of North Road and Gods’ Hollow, and I told her it would be wise to avoid the area for a spell. She knew how dangerous it was, but she felt a responsibility when it came to investigating rumors of injured children.
I argued against it, but she was insistent.
I attempted to accompany her, but she would not allow it. I feigned acceptance, and after I bade her farewell, I hastily strapped on the Colts and loaded the Spencer. By the time I made it to the road, I could just see her moving to the stonewall. As she placed her hands upon it, the stones grabbed hold of her.
I don’t know what type of beast it was, only that it wrenched her right arm out of its socket and stuffed it into its maw. Her screams shook the trees to their roots, and I took careful aim with the Spencer.
The first two rounds ricocheted off the thing’s head. The third took her squarely in the temple and blew her brains out.
The creature cursed at me for spoiling the meat and dragged her corpse into the Hollow.
I watched it slouch away into the forest, then I turned and slouched my way home.
#horror #fear #art
