February 18, 1927

Books are doorways to new worlds.

But what if they’re doors which should never be opened?

Mary Sebastian was a precocious and intelligent child of 9 when she received a book titled, A Child’s History of Cross from her Aunt Fiona. Mary’s father found the book to be a strange gift since there wasn’t any sort of book written about Cross.

His sister, with whom he had a poor relationship, had included a note to Mary. Simply put, the note told Mary not to share her book with anyone. Especially not her father or mother.

Mary was devoted to her aunt, and always cherished the presents the woman sent. So, when Aunt Fiona said not to do something, Mary’s parents knew better than to attempt to countermand the woman’s statement.

The following morning, Mary packed the book to share with her class at Cross Elementary, despite her father’s wish that she didn’t.

When Mary arrived at school that morning, February 18, 1927, she called her classmates over and showed them the book. Several of the children let out pleased screams, and one little boy burst into tears before running away.

Concerned, Mary’s teacher went to see what the issue was, and she saw that Mary held a pair of snakes in her hands.

According to Mary, the snakes had come from the interior of the book, where they lived.

When her doubting teacher demanded that she show her, Mary opened the book and placed the two snakes upon a page titled, The Snakes of Cross.

The two reptiles curled around one another to form a ring, and Mary closed the book as though there was nothing in the way.

Shocked, her teacher took hold of the book, opened it to the same page, and saw the snakes printed upon there.

A moment later the teacher screamed as the snakes crawled up and out of the book, curling around Mary’s small hands.

#CrossMassachusetts #fear #scary #death #secrets #murder #writersofinstagram #history #bad

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February 17, 1910

What music moves the Devil?

On February 17, 1910, the citizens of Cross found out.

At 3:03 in the afternoon, the Boston to Cross train rolled into the station 66 minutes late. Only one person stepped off the train; all the other cars were empty. There were no ticket collectors or valets. Nor was there a brakeman or engineer.

The one rider was an older gentleman, with ragged clothes and a hurdy-gurdy held in his large, violent looking hands. He seemed to smile benevolently and leer all at the same time beneath his mustache. His eyes darted around, never fixing themselves on anyone or thing for more than a moment or two, but for those who remembered him, the look was too long and too much.

When he walked out of the station, the birds stopped singing, and the animals went silent.

According to witnesses, the man grinned lecherously at all who laid eyes upon them, and in a large, penetrating voice, he asked in Latin, “Does anyone here have sympathy for me?”

Before a reply could be given, he began to play.

No one can say what the song was, or what it meant, nor can they agree as to what the tune was. Each person remembered the rhythm differently.

They all could agree, however, that it was the most horrific sound they had ever heard.

Men and women collapsed to the street, clutching their hands to their ears, screaming. Mr. Danforth Waterly rammed his head into a brick wall until he split his skull open. Inspector Miles Welch fired five shots at the musician, and when nothing happened, he turned and killed Margaret Ann, Miles’ wife of 30 years.

Pleased, the musician followed the road out of Cross, leaving death and madness trailing in his wake.

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February 7, 1941

The blast shook the buildings and rattled glass across campus.

It occurred on February 7, 1941, but what the cause of the explosion was, or who was responsible for it, didn’t matter to the emergency crew that arrived several minutes later.

Their focus was on removing the danger posed to the student body was.

All across the Cross Branch of Miskatonic University, dozens of students were celebrating the start of the semester and the subsequent freedom from parental supervision.

The blast, however, dragged them all back to the painful realities of life.

When the student body was on its way to freedom, the emergency crew sought out the source of the explosion.

What they found was a gigantic, headless corpse of what one of the more verbose rescuers described as, “A damned dragon.”

Lying on its side, the corpse was surrounded by a foul white ichor that was so offensive and nauseating, that the rescuers were forced to don protective gear, including the use of respirators to stop the noxious fumes from sickening them.

As the team watched, the corpse broke apart, with huge chunks of pale meat falling to the ground.

Working without pause for 26 hours, the team managed to clear away the remnants of the body in addition to scrubbing the street clean.

A later headcount of students known to have arrived at school revealed that one student, Abraham Kiln, was missing.

Abraham was known as a practical joker, and in his room, authorities found a book open a page describing, in rough, Vogel Latin, how to transform into a ‘bird of destruction.’

Unbeknownst to Abraham, the book was far more literal than he could have imagined.

#CrossMassachusetts #fear #scary #death #secrets #murder #writersofinstagram #doit #history #bad

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Where are you with your writing goals?

We’re almost done with the first month of 2019, and I’m curious, did you make a resolution about how much you were going to write this year? And, if you did, how did you break it down? Is it by day? Week? Month?

My own personal goal is to write at least 250 – 500 words a day of my own material. This is on top of the 3,000 – 4,000 I produce as a ghostwriter.

I’m happy to say that thus far, I have managed to achieve my daily goal. Some days I exceed it, but, overall, I’m right in the range that I chose.

It hasn’t been easy.

Not for lack of desire, but because of time constraints.

I work a full-time job on top of my ghost-writing. And I work a part-time job as well. This is in addition to being a husband, father, and a homeowner. Tack on a couple of cars that keep threatening to die and life is extremely busy. The last thing I want to do at 11:30 PM is prep a piece of flash-fiction, but, then again, it really is something I want to do.

I love the feedback that I get, and I’m always thrilled when the posts are shared.

Which brings me back to the initial question: where are you with your writing goals?

I hope you don’t think you’re working on something unachievable because you aren’t. You may have to adjust the number you want to reach or the amount of time that you need, but you can reach your goals.

The biggest hurdle to overcome in writing isn’t time or numbers, it’s our own feelings of inadequacy. When we start to lose focus, when we believe that we can’t do something, we lose the drive to complete the task. When that drive is gone, so too is the belief that we can accomplish what we’ve set out to do.

We don’t feel that we’re up to the challenge.

That’s why we create goals, so we can recognize that we are fully capable of doing what we love.

And what we love is writing.

For me, writing isn’t a choice. It’s a compulsion, and I suspect that it’s much the same for most of you as well. Some of you found it early in life, and you’ve been honing your craft for years. Others found it later, by accident.

Regardless as to how you came to your passion, the fact remains that it’s yours.

So, stick with it. Don’t let go.

And don’t be afraid to adapt your goals to what you need.

Remember, they’re your goals, so keep writing!

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January 13, 1939

Shortly after the conclusion of the First World War, the three Barron brothers – Alpheus, Gunther, and Friedrich – sold their home in Cross. With the proceeds of their sale, the brothers purchased horses, saddles, weapons, ammunition, and all the requirements for an extended stay in some lawless place.

Yet the brothers only went so far as the Blood Farm, where they were greeted by Duncan Blood. On January 2nd, 1919, the three brothers disappeared into the forest.

The Barron brothers, being unwed and unengaged, were talked about, but soon forgotten in the grand scheme of a small town’s social memory. Occasionally, mention would be made, but more as a comment on the peculiarities of people than as any sort of concern for their well-being.

As the years passed, gunfire could be heard from Blood Farm during the small hours of the night.

This too, however, was hardly remarked upon.

The Blood family was strange, and that was an accepted fact.

On September 11th, 1938, a horrific thunderstorm shook Cross. Bolts of lightning ripped through the streets and streams were flooded.

After the storm, no more gunfire was heard from Blood Farm. Duncan still appeared in town on a regular basis, and he was still his normal, peculiar self.

On the morning of January 13th, 1939, three men were brought into town by Duncan, and they were deposited outside of what Mrs. Matheson’s boarding house.

The men registered as Alpheus, Gunther, and Friedrich Barron respectively. They were clad in cast-off clothing, and happy to take a room together in the basement. While Alpheus walked with a serious limp, both Gunther and Friedrich had horrific scars on their necks and could no longer speak.

Alpheus alone could speak, and when asked where they had been, he replied, “Fighting the damned.”

#CrossMassachusetts #horror #scary #death #flashfiction #shortshort #writerofinstagram #unsolvedmystery #secrets

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January 11, 1933

The private study of the head librarian for the Cross Branch of Miskatonic University has been closed since 1934.

Dr. Enoch Millenia was a small, industrious man who excelled at the study of the various Germanic languages and was considered by many to be an expert in the field of Nordic mythologies. His private study was his crowning jewel, a place where he could show close friends the wonderful objects and books, he had collected over 30 years in academia.

On the night of January 11, 1933, Enoch retired to his rooms in a small house on the university’s grounds. Once there, his housekeeper heard him retire to his library. She distinctly remembered him turning the key in the lock, thus ensuring he would not be disturbed.

A short time after 10 pm, the housekeeper heard a horrendous noise from the second floor, and the entire house shook.

According to the housekeeper, Enoch laughed, said something in a language she did not understand, and then his laughter turned into a pain-filled shriek. A voice, “painful to hear,” bellowed, and the glass in the windows on the first floor broke.

When she managed to reach the study and unlock it with the spare key, she found exactly what is seen in the photograph.

The room was stripped bare, and there was no sign of Dr. Enoch Millenia.

After an extensive investigation, the school secured the room, and the university keeps the room locked. Enoch remains listed as missing.

#CrossMassachusetts #horror #scary #death #flashfiction #shortshort #writerofinstagram #unsolvedmystery #Miskatonic #norse #German #secrets

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January 10, 1904

The world is a strange and wonderful place, a singular entity of curiosity and beauty, where the darkness beneath the light is far worse than anything we can imagine.

On January 9, 1903, Daniel Freedman – age 13 – left his home to visit the Hathaways several miles away.

When Daniel hadn’t returned home by supper, his father, Ezekiel, set out on a horse to see what was keeping his son. To his horror, Ezekiel discovered his son had never made it to the Hathaways. Search was started immediately, but the worsening weather forced the searchers back into their homes.

The weather broke two days later, and for a week, the town continued its search for Daniel, but no sign of him could be found.

Then, on January 10, 1904, an old man was seen walking along Gods’ Hollow. He was curiously equipped with a pistol, an old flintlock rifle, a knife, and a hatchet. His steps were sure-footed, and he moved with a disturbingly lupine grace.

When he reached the Freedmans’ home, he walked unerringly up to the door and rapped sharply upon it. Ezekiel answered it, opened his mouth to ask what the stranger wanted, then stumbled back in horror.

The stranger’s eyes were a green-flecked gray, the same color as Daniel’s.

The man, who was indeed Daniel, told his father that he had spent 42 years in another, odder version of Cross.

Daniel would not say how he had gotten there, or how he had returned, only that he couldn’t stay. He had come back, he said, to let them know he was alive.

When his mother asked why he had to leave, Daniel smiled and said softly, “Why, Mother, I’ve children and grandchildren of my own now.”

#CrossMassachusetts #horror #scary #death #flashfiction #shortshort #writerofinstagram #unsolvedmystery #otherworlds #travel #secrets

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