I wrote this short story two years ago. If you enjoy Halloween, you may like this story. Halloween is my favorite holiday. Cheers!
Written by M. Taggart 10/17/14
Fiction: A Halloween style tale.
Copyright 2014 by Matt Taggart, aka -M. Taggart
Bodies in the Basement
It was a crisp, damp, October night.
“When we get to the Church I’ll go down first.” Colin was thinking of the moment when both he and Aaron would be standing at the top of the basement stairs peering down into the darkness.
The old stone Church was perched at the top of the largest hill on the prep school’s campus. Colin’s parents were professors at the school and their house was on campus grounds. They’d been waiting for Colin’s parents to fall asleep upstairs. Both boys were comfortable in their sleeping bags on the screened in porch. The lights had been turned out an hour ago and Colin felt it was time to slip into the night.
They unzipped their sleeping bags without noise. Colin gave Aaron an understanding nod of his head. Aaron opened the porch door slowly, so as not to make it squeak. They’d snuck out at night a number of times and both knew the routine.
Once down the porch steps, and into the bushes on the far end of the lawn, they found their beaten down footpath leading to the Church. Crickets were busy sounding off.
***Read the rest via the original story link below.
I dislike the means in which another removes a true thought. A bad mood, having stolen a good mood. The interruption of thought because of selfishness. I’d rather listen to the laughter of a toddler than talk to the adults who destroy free will and pat themselves on the back when having won a manipulative moment.
A boy held his breath to stop crying. When he opened his mouth to breathe he cried without hesitation and much saliva fell from his lips into the pond. The boy asked the water, ‘Can this be over now?’ The water replied, ‘A moment cannot last. No matter how hard it may be. Not even death- your own death. We go from here to another place and it is done.’ -The boy was stunned. While looking into his reflection he asked, ‘But then, what am I?’ and the water replied, ‘Always, you are yourself.’ -M. Taggart
In the gutter with your blended hair I can’t wait to see. Watch, as a mouth opens to tell more. The mouth won’t stop saying how to be. Isn’t it wonderful not needing to think, but to be told how instead. A leaf falls from a tree and moves just enough with the wind to swirl. Slowly it falls to the ground. -M. Taggart