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A MURDER OF CROWS

 

In the summer of ’79—when I was ten-years-old—I watched my Granny Shadrick die. And I didn’t care.

My mother had abandoned me at my granny’s place when I was three and she had no choice in the matter. Either did I. It could’ve been worse, I guess. I could’ve been tossed into the trash and left for dead. When I was six granny told me that she only took me in because I’d be useful around the house. As time passed it almost became a tradition to hear how I was like a bad dream; best to forget. Looking back, I would’ve rather been tossed into the trash....

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ALL IN THE FAMILY

 

“Have you ever heard of the Turner Beast?” My grandpa asked while sitting in his wooden rocker by the fireplace.

 

Jane shook her head as I took a sip of Moxie. Anna released a groan. We all sat on the couch in our pajamas. Jane sat on one side of me hugging her favorite stuffed animal, Lonnie, between her arms and chest and rested her pale chin on its brown, furry head. Anna sat on the other side of me brushing her auburn hair and picking at the bowl of kettle corn in her lap between strokes.

 

Well then let me tell you about the creature that roams the woods just outside this very cabin,” he winked at me, “looking to feed on....”

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