From the Archives: Pigeon Forge

Beatriz feels alarmingly soft in your hands, and you graze her body with your palms the way you would pet the long grass by the river where you live. She tosses her dark hair aside, wraps her hand over yours, and clenches down on her own flesh.



Buzzkill

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A picture of a road in winter. Snow is piled on both sides of the road with rows of tall trees nearby. On the left-hand side of the picture, the sun shines through the canopy, casting a summery, brownish tint across the road, the snow, the trees, and the gray-blue sky. Photo is by Bora Sözüer on Unsplash.

In February

The highway almost
voluptuous, beckoning: Follow me.


A spooky-looking mansion in the fog.

The First Wife

To be haunted from the inside, from your own mind, is so much harder than being threatened by a real person.


Image shows a close up of gasoline on wet pavement. The pavement is dark gray, and the gasoline spill is a crescent arc of chromatic colors that radiate outward. The colors are bright and vivid, with pink, green, blue and purple. White light dimly shines down from above. The image is focused on the area in the middle of the gasoline streaks and other areas appear slightly blurred.

On Devotion

what will you whisper into my crevices this time?


An almost completely black photo of a door open ajar, outlined in light.

From the Archives: The Den of Earl

It was a favorite line of his. More than him saying it, I was frustrated by the expectation that a nine-year-old should know how to thaw and cook red meat. I was forever failing at things I was never taught to do.