I don’t normally write scary stories often because I just don’t enjoy them as much as other genres but there is time and place for them. The element I do like about them is how fear might come to even the most stable of us. I had tried to write this story as a fear from inside as opposed to a blood and gore piece but I never liked my ending.
For the past month, I’ve wanted to circle back to that story and, since improving an essay is one of the great prerogatives of story blogging, today I offer the new and improved, but still very short story I call . . .