Macabre Magazine

When the hunger comes up on that old mountain, it gives the Wolfman a name and sends it to him through the black timber of a night, in a tongue older than the good Lord ever meant a living thing to be. Whoever’s name it is, man, woman, or child, won’t ever walk back down…

There’s always been a graveyard in our house.Seven of them. Seven graves lined up in our backyard like a row of crooked teeth.Other neighbors didn’t have one. My friends at school didn’t either.It kept away unwelcome guests, which made Mama happy, but it also scared off everyone else. Now a new grave is being dug…

My old man didn’t teach me much before he split last year, but at least one lesson he hammered home with fist and boot has served me well so far.  “Never let the bastards know what you know.” He never really said who the bastards were, but I had a good idea that he meant…