October 6, 1937

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Someone can’t learn a lesson.

It was only an hour or so after midnight, and I was tired as I made my way home when I caught the scent of burning wood. Within a short time, the crackling of logs and raised voices could be plainly heard, and so I stepped off Blood Road.

I kept inside the tree-line, and soon I saw the source of the noise.

A Ford was parked on the side of the road, and a bonfire was lit a short distance away. A trio of university-age students sat atop the car, two men and a woman. They were passing a bottle back and forth, and there were several hunting rifles leaning against the wood paneling of the car.

All of it was an incongruous sight, and so I came to a stop behind a tree where I could watch and listen unobserved.

“Will he come this way?” one of the men asked.

“That’s what his mother said,” the woman answered.

“Have you talked with her?”

The woman nodded and gave an exaggerated shiver. “She’s scary as all get out, that’s for sure.”

“I heard she killed Lucas.”

The woman stiffened. “Did she?”

“Yup,” one of the men nodded. He took a drink from the bottle and passed it to the woman. “Danny found him on that island where he was shacked up on Blood Lake. Told me the professor looked like a fish that had a hook pulled out too rough. Guts everywhere.”

The other man leaned over the car and vomited, the hot stink of bile and cheap whiskey staining the wind.

“She doesn’t like it when people make mistakes,” the woman said.

“Guess we better kill that son of hers then.”

“All we have to do is get him in the fire,” the woman gestured toward the bonfire. “That should do the trick.”

“Think so?”

The woman nodded. “That’s what she told me. I believe her. Says she’s killed a fair few of him in the Hollow that way.”

As their conversation sank into a lull, I stepped out from behind the tree and went to the car, my passage hidden by the flames and their drunkenness.

I slipped the knife out of its sheath and crept up onto the vehicle behind them.

They tumbled off the auto one after the other, bleeding out in a puddle of drying vomit.

I sat down on the roof, cleaned my knife, and finished off their whiskey.

#fear #horrorstories #paranormal

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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