As part of a Tommy Bird production. Tails is a podcast created to bring
short stories to life. These stories will be brought to you by a number
of authors and narrated by yours truly, with some help from other amazing boys,
actors and actresses. So bunker in, start that fire, hold your
loved one close, and enjoy your storytelling. We are storytelling. Are the
house that death forgot. Melinda hated driving at night. She did her best
to avoid it, short trips to the store if she just realized she made
out of tampons or had nothing for dinner. After getting home. That sort
of things happened now and then, but she did her best not to go
out after dark unless someone was coming to pick her up. So naturally,
she found herself on the longest drive of her life tonight, with no moon,
few stars, swirling clouds above her, and acres of forests on either
side. As so many unpleasant things in her life, this was her father's
fault. She hadn't seen or spoken to the bastard in fifteen years. But
just after falling asleep tonight, no, that was wrong, It would be
yesterday by this time. Out of the blue, her phone rang, and
his voice was on the other end. I need you, Mellie, please
come now. He'd said just that, and then the lion went dead.
The old ass was probably drunk, but he'd never called her before, not
since she was a child, and he was still trying to convince her mother
to take him back. It felt like she had been dreaming, waking up
to hear his voice again after all these years. It sounded like he was
crying. His voice sounded just the same as the last time she'd heard it,
as though in a dream. She had risen, dressed and died in
the car. She was well out of town and halfway to its old place
before realizing that she had no way of knowing if he'd even still lived there.
She received updates from her mother from time to time over the years about
where he was. The last time she heard from her mother about him was
seven years ago. Had he ever stayed in one place that long? Not
to her recollection, she had been seven when her mother finally had enough and
showed him the door. Prior to that, a move had come every few
months. The house they had been living in was their longest day in one
place, a full sixteen months. It turned into two years after that and
in the next house had been the one she left when she moved out on
her own, And all that time she heard from him s verotically at best,
and had finally decided it was best to simply forget about him until tonight.
She had found out, after a two hour drive that she had been
right to wonder if he was still in the same place. His last known
address was a sketchy apartment in a low income area of the town she had
grown up in. Had he been number twenty four or forty two, maybe
he was fourteen, It definitely had a four. It didn't matter. His
name wasn't on any of the buzzers. Bastard, her drunk of a father
had called her at night all but demanded she come to him for reasons he
didn't even feel were important enough to tell her over the phone, and then
just expected that she would know where he lived. Now. In a flurry
of rage, she turned and marched back to her car, slamming the door
and starting off in the direction she came. She was so angry she even
looked where she was going and missed her turn off. The next thing she
knew, she was on a lonely stretch of road. Cars were sparse,
but she took some comfort in the fact that she would pass one every half
hour or so. Her dashboard clock now read two twenty seven am. She
had been driving for more than five hours since leaving her house at night.
Every five minutes or so, she checked her cell phone. Ever since realizing
she was lost, She had checked her phone and found no bars at all.
She even stopped at the gas station closed, of course, just to
make sure that there would be some service around here somewhere, but nothing.
Take stock of your life, Mellie, she thought. You're over thirty,
You hate your job. You and your mother don't get along. You haven't
seen or spoken to your father in just under half your life. You have
no time for your friends or a relationship thanks to the aforementioned job you hate.
And now here you are trapped on a road you've never been on before
at night. You can't even so much as called Ama, let alone check
Google Maps. Smart lady, you are, She briefly considers stopping and flagging
down the next car that passed. She quickly realized the futility of that plan.
Any car on this road would also have no service, so there was
nothing for it. She'd have to drive until she saw a house. She'd
feel bad for waking someone up, but there was no choice. She needed
to find her way back to the main highway. But so far, all
that she could see on either's side was trees, mile after mile of trees,
no light shining through the boughs, no sign that anyone had ever been
here before, except that there was a road and people were obviously still driving
on it. There weren't even any road signs other than the mile markers.
Had she really found the middle of nowhere? She was just in the middle
of this thought when her headlights illuminated something just up the road. A square
wouldn't sign obviously made by someone other than the government. This wasn't a gas,
food lodging sign, or a mile marker or a distance to sign,
like the kind of signs advertising a private business was nearby. She slowed down
to read it. Granny Royce Roadhouse. Come stay at night at Granny's.
She'll take good care of you. Room board, low prices. Next exit.
Her heart sped up. She certainly wasn't interested in spending a night at
Granny's roys. But every business had a phone, at the very least she'd
have a map or note her way back to the highway. She decided she
would stop there. She almost missed a turn. Granny Royce roadhouse was buried
at the back of a long dirt driveway secluded amid the trees. She was
almost past a little dirt road that led back to it before realizing it was
there. She skid to a stop and turned in. The little house lay
ahead. It was two stories and looked to have about eight to ten rooms,
big for a home, was small for anything announcing room and board.
She got closer and looked for a vacancy sign. Nothing. It wasn't that
the sign wasn't lit. There was no sign. The porch light was on,
and the front of the building was illuminated by that light and by her
head lights. No signs of any kind. She almost wondered if she got
in the wrong place, but she was certain that she had seen no other
exits between this house and the sign announcing it. She paused in the driveway
and took out her cell phone. Still no service. She did a quick
search for any available wireless signals. To her complete lack of surprise, there
were none, not even any secured. There's no one here but me,
She thought at this point she wouldn't be surprised to find the house empty as
well. But the light was on, and this was supposed to be a
roadhouse. Someone would be man in the front desk. She got out of
the car and headed for the front porch. As she turned around to make
sure the lights flash. When she hit the lock button on her fob,
she thought she could see a flash of movement in the tree, something human
shaped. She stopped and looked again. Nothing, she decided. She imagined
it at the front door. She hesitated. If it really was a roadhouse,
then she should be able to just go on in. But what if
she got the wrong house. If she tried the door and just walked in,
she could find herself arrested out here and butt fucked nowhere. Cautiously,
she tried a knob. It turned. She pressed gently on the door.
It opened. Relief flooded through her when she saw that she was in a
small but tastefully decorated foyer that had obviously been repurposed as an administration area.
A quaint desk with an honest to god guest book had been placed in the
far right corner, and some cheers had been set out along with magazines on
the table. She read the titles briefly Mademoiselle Blue Book, The New Country
Life, Art, and Art Architecture, before turning her attention to a little
desk. There wasn't a computer that was a cute touch. It was like
the house was from the past era. Perhaps old Granny Royce really didn't like
modern technology. There was, however, a little bell, just like there
would have been in nineteen twenty nine. It wasn't even the round, silver
kind you slapped to ring. It was a little porcelain handbell. Please let
her have a phone, and please let it use the number plan, not
fifties exchange. She picked up the bell and gave it a shake. For
a while, nothing happened. Then she saw a light come on in the
back room and the shadow of an old woman sprang up on the wall.
The shadow moved towards her, and within a few seconds she saw its owner,
Granny Royce, who perhaps looked like every grandmother in every story book.
Well, goodness me, she said, my lance. Good morning, deary.
Pardon my my tardiness, but it's been a while since we got guests
at this hour. Can I take your name, honey. Grannie Royce was
smallish, her gray hair tied in a neat bun behind her head, a
dress that would have looked like it belonged to a senior citizen in the twenties,
and a faded pink sweater. Melinda thought that she looked just like she
would have wanted her grandmother to look like. But her mother's mother had died
when she was young, and she'd never met her father's mother. It almost
hurt to deny this sweet little woman her business, but nevertheless, she had
to get home. Actually, I'm sorry, she began, but the fact
is I'm lost. I'm not even sure where I am in the direction of
Oh you poor thing, said Grannie Royce. You just sit down and let
me fix you some tea or something. You must be cold, really,
thank you, But I'm okay, Melinda said gently. I just need to
use the phone if I could, or if you've got a map, even
that would be lovely. I really only live a couple hours from here,
She trailed off, not knowing if she was even right about that. She
easily could have driven those five plus hours in the wrong direction entirely. Oh
dare, said the little woman sadly. I'm sorry, honey, but the
phone lines are down. As for a map, well, I used to
have on, and if I look, I still might, but it's probably
quite out of date by now. The highway moved since then, I know
that much. Melinda Hart sank. How could her luck get any worse?
No phone, sell all landline, and no map. What could she do?
She had to get back home. She was expected to work at eight
am tomorrow, and why would a phone line down? The weather was coldish
but clear. Were they fixing a lye nearby? She told Grannie Royce the
name of her town, but Grannie only said, believe it or not,
I've never heard of that town. What did you say the name was?
She told her again, No, doesn't ring a bell. I'm sorry,
but I cannot say which direction it's in. Why don't you just stay the
night, sweetie. I'll give you a discount for your trouble. Thank you.
That's very kind of you. But I have to work tomorrow and I
need to get back home. I'm not even sure why I'm out tonight.
The only reason I had doesn't seem to matter anymore. Honey. I wouldn't
advise trying to drive back that far tonight. Grannie roy said, why,
it's almost three in the morning and you've not had any sleep. Maybe the
lines will be up in the morning and you can call your work and let
them know you'll be late. That won't work either, she replied, I'm
the opener. No one will be there. No, sorry, I've really
got to leave. I'll head in the other direction until I find the road
I was on. At that Grannie Roy's expression, already one of kind concerns,
seemed to shift somewhat to one of fear. She paused look at Melinda
as though she wanted to say something else to keep her inside, But finally
she said, reluctantly, all right, honey, if you're sure, just
be careful now. Don't speak to nobody until you're back on the road.
The last woman seemed a little silly, after all, what was Melinda a
little girl? She'd thanked Grannie Royce for her kindness and headed back to the
car. About halfway to the car, she remembered thinking she saw something moving
in the trees. Her eyes scanned both sides of the secluded, little cleared
area she was in, looking for anything that appeared to be moving on its
own rather than being blown by the slight wind. She saw nothing. Satisfied,
she headed for her car. All four tires were flat. God damn
it. She leaned down and saw a long slash mark on each tire.
Someone in its little slice of green acres had slashed her tires in the time
it took her to find out that she had no way of contacting anyone tonight.
Kids from a local farmhouse. Gotta be, she thought, grimly,
nothing else to do, so you might as well go out at night and
slash tires. She stopped and let the reality sink in. She wasn't going
anywhere tonight. She had no choice. Now she had to stay the night
until morning, when hopefully the phone lines would be up and she could call
someone from work to ask them to go in for her, and then Ama
to get her tires deltware. She sighed and walked back into the house.
She could hear Grannie Royce as she was walking back to her room. She
had already turned off the lights. Resigned to her fate, Melinda rang the
little bell again. That you miss She heard Granny Roy's call. Yes,
it's me, she answered, Sorry to be a bother my name is Melinda
Orton. Sorry I've never mentioned it before. I guess I will take a
room for the night if the offer is still good. Oh of course it
is, dry, said Granny Royce, re entering the room and turning the
lights back on. Melinda. Oh that's such a pretty name, honey.
Well let's get you situated. You put your name and arrival time in the
book there, and i'll get you a key. All the boarding rooms are
on the second floor, and there's only a couple left. There are others
here, This was surprising. Not a single car had been in the front
lawn when she pulled in. Oh, yes, miss Melinda. Granny was
puttering around in the adjacent room. Mister Norris, young Calvin. There's a
few of us here. She came back out with a key in her hand,
just out of curiosity. What made you change your mind? She seemed
to brighten as she asked the question, as though relieved that Melinda would stay
after all. Oh, it's probably just local kids getting kicks, she said,
But I found my tire slashed. Grannie stopped suddenly, her face twisted
with concern and worry. Then she resumed as though nothing was wrong. Nothing
to be done for it, I suppose, she said, with an air
of sadness. Well not until morning at any rate, said Melinda. Then
hopefully the lines will be up, oh, said Grannie roycely, Yes,
hopefully. She led Melinda up to the darkened staircase into an empty, quiet
hall, or perhaps not so quiet. From one end of the hall came
the muffled sound of someone crying. Whoever it was was crying softly, not
with anger or with petulance or fear, but with deep sadness. It sounded
as if crying was something this person was used to, but they were still
unable to stop. Who is that, she asked, pointing in a direction
the crime was coming from. Oh pay that, no mind, honey,
said Granny. That's just mister Norris. He's been like that a while,
older man, you understand, Not all there, she tapped her temples.
I understand, replied Melinda, but wondered privately how an old, out of
touch man would wind up at a roadhouse. Has he been here long a
while, I'd say, answered Grannie. Don't really recall how long exactly?
How does he pay for room and board? I guess he doesn't drive,
she said to the old woman. Actually, it doesn't look like anyone else
here has a car. Granny started at this, looking up with an almost
guilty expression. Oh well, she said, that kind of thing is in
the business of the guests. I don't ask about such things. She turned
the key in the lock of the room she had led Melinda to and opened
the door. Turning on the light, she showed Melinda the quaint little room.
Melinda thought it looked like stepping into the past. She could swear this
room would have looked modern in the early fifties at the earliest. Come to
think of it, so could the rest of this place, she thought.
No wireless service, no computer, the old bell, and those magazines they
look new. But that thought was cut off as Granny put the key on
the nightstand and started in with instructions. Now, the bathroom is down the
hallway there. You'll be sharing it with the whole floor, so please bear
that in mind if you have to go. There's a shower schedule on the
door as well. First come, pert serve. You just add your name
to the first available line, and that's the order the shower are in.
I wouldn't worry about that if I were you, though, I'm sure you'll
be the first in line. I get up at six am sharp every morning
and start breakfast. But you come on down whenever you're ready, and I'll
whip something up for you. Oh and one last thing, my dear,
I would strongly advise you not leave the house until sun up. You just
never know what could happen out there in the dark. Of course, she
replied, I'd never go there in the dark if I didn't have to.
She stopped that train of thought right out of the gate. After a few
moments, she was alone, alone, without anything to wear to bed,
and nothing to shower, brush her teeth, or hear in the morning.
She sat on the bed and looked out the window which faced front. Her
car still sat where she had left it, the only thing for miles that
seemed like part of her world, and an expensive, over large paper weight.
Until I can get a hold of someone, she thought barely. Despite
the homeliness of the room, she felt an unwillingness to rise and shut off
the light. Somehow, the thought of going to sleep in this backward little
room seemed unthinkable, so instead she continued to sit and stare out the window.
A figure in black detached herself from the shadows of the trees and made
its way to her car. The hell She jumped up and ran at the
window. The figure was tall and seemed to be wearing a cloak made of
night. She saw as its arm extended and its hand was a long,
jagged dagger. It dragged the dagger across the side of the car, leaving
a long gash mark in the pane and the metal. Hey, she shouted.
The figure kept dragging the dagger. She reached for the window to open
it. It wouldn't budge. She looked for a lot, but couldn't see
one. Hey, she yelled again. This time the figure raised its head.
She could see the glint of two eyes under the hood. The figure
raised the dagger slowly, determinedly, a pointed it straight at her face.
She leaped away from the window and ran for the door. A noise on
the other side stopped her footsteps, dragging, shambling footsteps, and crying.
The son of a person for whom deep, long and sadness is a way
of life, mister Norris. She waited somehow, She just felt that she
should let the old man pass before she opened the door. Before he got
very far However, she heard other footsteps, these much quicker and lighter,
run up the stairs and stop near the door of her room. Stop,
it, hissed, Granny Royce. Go back in your room right now,
you know better. She can't see you yet, hopefully she won't have to
at all. Now you go back in there. You've got no business being
out this hour anyway. What on earth how could that sweet old woman talk
to another human that way, let alone an old man with a foggy mind.
She almost opened the door right then, but somehow her hands stopped and
waited until the shuffling, crying man had made his way back down the hole.
She heard his door open, She opened her own door just in time
to see his foot, shod in a well worn house shoe, slide into
his room. The door closed softly after him. That poor man, she
thought. But now she was determined to find out what was going on.
The punk outside in the halloween costume slashing up her car, followed by Granny
yelling and an old man, made her begin to understand that not all was
well here. She went back down to the front desk area, which was
completely unlit except for the moonlight and porch light coming through the window. There
was, however, a light on near the back room that Grannie Royce had
emerged from before. Melinda paused to take a look outside the front window.
The maniac with the dagger was nowhere to be seen for the moment, but
she was now determined that it was he that she had seen moving through the
trees. He could have killed me. She strode in the direction of the
light, seeing that it was the light to the kitchen. She kept going,
expecting to find Grannie roy still puttering about with whatever an old innkeeper did
with herself during the early hours of the morning. Instead, she found Granny
sitting with a young man of about twenty. He had dark hair and a
scruff and a stumble, and was wearing a dark brown corduroy shirt and khakis
along with a pork tie hat. He looked like he was ready to go
sell newspapers on a street corner in the thirties. He was quietly sipping tea
while Granny was admonishing in him from the other end of the table. Now,
that was a horrible thing to say, she said. When I was
your age, young men minded their manners. That's a laugh talking about my
age. Mother the young man with a sneer, And just how old are
you? Do you even remember? Calvin Davison? You are in trouble,
young man, she hissed back. Neither had noticed, Melinda yet one of
these days you're going to say something you'll regret. Oh, come on,
Granny? Or could I possibly say that would make things worse than they already
are? Calvin? I mean, look at all, mister Norris up there,
both of us are. Oh hello, miss I didn't know we had
anyone else here? He had just seen Melinda. Hi, she said.
She had the feeling she'd walk in in an old argument that the two of
them had had many times, and that did not concern her. Her fear
and anger were forgotten for the moment. Calvin had been talking to Granny like
a sullen kid for something about what they were singing seemed wrong. Can I
help you, Melinda asked Granny Royce. Is there anything wrong with your room?
That brought her back? No, she said, the room is fine,
but nothing else is. I mean, what on earth do you even
have a roadhouse out here where it seems like no one ever stops? Why
are most of the rooms full, even though mine is the only car out
there there. Why did I hear you talking to mister Norris like he was
a dog, And why would you want to make sure I didn't see him?
She got no further before Calvin cut her off. Good Lord, she's
not even been here at night. She can't see it. Why did you
even let her in, Granny? Why don't you just bolt the door?
Hell? If I could go take down that sign, don't you think I
would have? By now? Lord, love a duck, there's something you
don't hear many young men say, thought Melinda. She decided to ignore Calvin
for a moment. Otherwise, And besides that, there's someone out there.
He's a freak who slashed my tire, and he's been out there messing with
my car since then, And you can't even call the police. Are you
gonna tell me you've never had vandals out here before. There was a long
pause in a room. Neither Grannie nor Calvin seemed willing to break it.
Calvin scratched at his neck for the first time. Melinda noticed a red slash
at his throat, half hidden by his collar. It looked like either a
very fresh scar or a slightly healed wound. Listen miss, I don't know
your name, he finally said, Melinda. She told him Melinda, He
repeated, Melinda, I think you should sit down. I have to tell
you something that you may find troubling. Melinda did not like how he said
that. She also didn't like the way his tone had switched from sullen child
to serious adult. He looked several years her junior, but he was talking
to her like he was her uncle or boss. He swallowed a sip of
tea inside. Then he looked her straight in the face and said, the
reason I don't have a car out there is that when I got here,
no one my age, no one in my line of work, would have
owned a car. It would have seemed like an impossible dream. What what
are you talking about, she asked, hesitantly. I worked in the textile
mill, he said. The mill was shut down by the time I got
here. Most businesses were, so I struck out on my own adrift,
looking for what work I could find, and I stopped here forever. Businesses
were shut down. I don't understand, said Melinda. We're having a rough
time of it right now, but businesses are mostly staying open. Not then
they weren't, said Calvin sadly I arrived here in nineteen twenty nine. Melinda
blinked something had exploded behind her eyes. This place was new then, said
Granny. My man and I had just opened it, and young mister Calvin
was a sweet young lad of sixteen. I wortered to take him on as
hired help over my husband's objections. Well, my husband was a well meaning
man, but he knew how to pinch a penny. Twas a year after
I took Calvin on, that mister Royce died. Calvin and I have been
here ever since, and every few years or so someone joins us. Yep,
Calvin broke in. Miss Tilly was the first. She was a woman
of ill repute who ran here pregnant and scared that the man who'd run up
her trade up in New York was going to find her and kill her.
She and that baby. He broke off, now Seamen on the point of
tears. And then Granny said there was mister Standish. He was a traveling
minister. He doesn't travel anymore. Mister Norris got here in sixty nine,
said Calvin. His story is probably the worst. He was a well,
he was a bank robber. You see carry the pistol. And he didn't
like learning how long we'd all been here. He paused, stood and walked
to the kitchen window. He tried to leave on his own. You see,
he ain't the first to try it. That was me, actually.
I warned him not to try, but he wouldn't listen. And when he
got outside and he met him, Calvin hissed, Grannie, we don't talk
about this. She gotta know, said Calvin. There's no point in her
finding out slowly, there's still a chance for her, said Grannie, in
a stage whisper. All she has to do is wait until morning. She's
not gonna wait until morning, said Calvin, with some remorse in his voice.
No one ever waits until morning. The fact that she came down here
is proof enough of that. Besides, what good would that have really done
her? Her car is useless. We have no phone here. There was
no phone when this place went up, and there won't never be a phone
here. You know this. Okay, everyone stop, Melinda shouted, that's
enough now. You can't keep me prisoner here, and I have no intention
of staying any longer. Only that knife wielded maniact out there is keeping me
from running up the road this minute. Now. I need to know what's
really going on here, and I need to know it now. We've been
telling you, Calvin said. Granny may not want you to know everything,
but you need to because you won't be leaving. Oh we're not trying to
keep you prisoner. I don't even care if you run out the door right
now, but you'll never leave this house again afterwards, Like hell, I
won't, yelled Melinda. Listen, child, said Granny, rising from her
spot at the table. Listen, Please, none of us mean you harm
my dear, not even mister Norris. They're scared. He can't do anymore,
and he knows it. That's why he's up there crying all the time.
But we're stuck here, all of us. I hope there was a
chance for you to run for it in the morning, but Calvin's right,
there's no guaranteed you'll be safe in the morning anyhow. What the hell is
wrong with this place? Choked out Melinda. She was beginning to break down.
She could feel the tears well in her eyes. It was about a
month after mister Royce died, said Calvin. When he came he was wearing
that long black robe and carrying that ridiculous dagger. I saw him when I
was trimming the hedges in the back. I told him he needed to get
out of here because I didn't like his look. He he moved so fast
I never saw it coming, and he got me from here. Calvin touched
his neck to here. He touched his lower abdomen on the opposite side from
the next slash. He began to undo his shirt. Melinda almost vomited.
Under his shirt was a long, ugly slash that went deep and was still
seep in blood. She could see bone, muscle, and intestines wriggling within
that mangled ruin. I died that night, said Calvin, But then I
didn't. The next thing I knew, I was being dragged into the house
by Granny, and when I woke up, I narrowly scared her to death.
She was sure that I was gone. The thing is I was,
but I was awake. I could talk, walk, do anything I could
while alive, well, except take any enjoyment or nourishment from food or drink
anymore. I still drink that tea because it keeps my skin from turning ash
gray. I learned that about fifty years ago. He didn't go away though.
I went out to deal with him carrying my axe. He took my
axe and carried it in my back. I won't show you the wound,
honey. Calvin shouldn't have shown you his either. No one should have to
see it. But that's how it works, Melinda continued, Halvin, he's
got that knife. If you try to use a weapon on him, he
just moves like he does and takes it from you. You never stand a
chance. He'll use whatever weapon you try to take him down with to end
you. Mister Norris learned that the hard way. This, this is not
happening. Belinda was ready to break down. She had to hold it together.
She had to get out of here. Somehow. Nothing about this was
right, nothing about it could be real. It was all a dream too
much. Did it make sense? Her father calling her out of the blue,
her leaving to go to him without a second thought, getting lost so
quickly and so irreversibly, no cell phone service anywhere on the road, this
place, everything about it she was dreaming. That had to be it.
But if so, she was going to survive this dream. She turned and
ran for the stairs. Her purse were still in her room, but she
was going to grab it and go. She'd had enough protest, and voices
began babbling behind us. She cared not one whit. Mister Norris was right
on the top of the stairs. Contrary to Granny Roy's description of him,
he was not old at all, no more than about forty. But she
saw instantly what she meant by not all. There. The top half of
mister Norris's head looked normal, like a reasonably attractive man, with dark hair
peppered with gray hair. And there his eyes, a clear green, were
moist with fresh tears. The lower half of his face was a ruin of
bone, fragments, shredded muscle, and blood so much blood. Left side
was similarly destroyed. His arm hung on a few hanging strings of muscles.
His hip was just as much a mess of bone and blood as his face
was. He kept his one good hand on the banister as he shuffled towards
her. Behind him, said a young woman in a broad and a pair
of pennies. Her stomach was cut open, and looking out of the wound
with bright, intelligent eyes, was the mangled remains of a baby. Melina
turned and bolted for the front door. Her hand had just closed around the
knob when Calvin rushed up to her, placing his freezing cold hand over hers.
They're not going to hurt you, he said quickly, But he will.
If you step out for so much as a moment, he will kill
you, and it will hurt, and it will go on hurting forever.
After a while, you'll learn to function with the pain, but it never
goes away. Sobbing, she asked the question she'd been afraid to ask since
coming here. Who is he? We don't know, said Granny from behind
Calvin. He just came here and he won't go away. He likes to
watch us and do things to invite us to come out again. As soon
as someone does, he hurts them more. But no matter how many times
he kills us, we don't die. Believe me when I say we all
wish we could. Melinda had had enough of this. She pushed Calvin away
and threw open the door. He was staying on the porch. A knife
was held out in front of him, just at face level. Melinda ran
into him at a rush, the knife puncturing her right eye and its tips
sliding on through out to the other side. She just managed to see the
grin and pure white face of her killer before everything went black. A few
hours later, the house he rough with screams from upstairs as Melinda awoke to
a world of pain the like of which she'd never known. This episode of
Tales was written and edited by author George Parker and narrated by d Madison.
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