Here are notes I’m carrying over from my paper notepad for a horror story sketch I started in July. It’s about a boy who gets possessed to do bad things.
Benny stood in the road looking up the path that led to the Magic Place. He wasn’t supposed to go back there but the man told him to. The pathway opened behind a broken fence like a mouth with a green tongue, like a ride at the fair.
The lines of the cul-de-sac curled like a snake too, as did the road bending around the corner of his street. If he closed his eyes he imagined he was surrounded by snakes moving softly, a flicker of a forked tongue.
He had been coming down to the storm water pond and standing by the fence, wondering how to get in, to check the water. That’s how it was getting in, making the snakes come out.
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Benny heard the thunder coming, the wind chimes starting, the leaves kicking up. He pawed at his face in disbelief, felt the point of his nose, the outside of his eyes, where they laid there in the sockets. It felt real, this time.
He picked and picked at the edge of the nail and it broke open: tears of delight, real blood! He was real, again. He pulled back a strip of skin and it was pink, below. His lips curled into a smile and a light sparked in his eyes. His fists had veins on the outside like his dad’s, and felt strong.
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He cupped the rose in his hand and it became a face: he squeezed and pursed its lips, its cheeks pinched to a slit, then he yanked it from the stem, crushed it, and spread the petals on the ground.
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Categories: death
Bill Pearse 
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