Grace Simms
Stories (1/0)
Liquor Run
Rain came down on Karmen’s windshield as her old Chevy truck rattled along the two-lane blacktop. No other cars passed as she squinted through the darkness. She kept to a slow speed to ensure that she didn’t collide with any of the critters that liked to skitter across the road at night. Her head began to pound and she rubbed her temple, grimacing. On her left she passed the old green dented mailbox that belonged to no one in particular. It had been there as long as Karmen could remember. The throbbing in her head announced its presence more loudly, and she gritted her teeth, finding it difficult to stay in her lane. The pounding reached a crescendo as she pulled up to the ancient tree with the gnarl twisted in the shape of an owl. She let out a groan, but the pain suddenly dissipated as she drove past the tree. She shook her head and breathed out slowly, feeling a lightness that allowed her to release her tensed up shoulders. Karmen put on her left blinker even though no one was around, and eased into one of three parking spaces at Mr. Jenkins' Liquor and Bait Shop. The time on the dash read 6:00, right on time, just like every Saturday.
By Grace Simms2 years ago in Horror