Monday, October 29, 2012

Old Scratch

He noticed the man had dull black eyes like a dead rabbit. Her father shuddered, more from memories of rabbit fever than superstition.

The crops and livestock had long since died in the drought. All was quiet, apart from the man walking down the hill. 

Her father turned back to the house to get drunk. Her mother had always left the light on at the bottom of the stairs. A stupid, childish thing he had said.

That night she woke in complete darkness. Downstairs the man was waiting.

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