The Dead Girls

It centers around a man named Wilson.  Old man Wilson, people call him.  His house is still up there, back in the trees, a hulking, rotting, two-story abode with boarded windows and significant water damage.  Chris has never seen it, but he knows people who have.  There’s a rumor that junkies use it for a crashpad.  It’s not known if the place was ever actually owned by anyone named Wilson.  That’s only the prevailing belief.

Old Man Wilson lived alone, tilling the land, coming into town occasionally to buy provisions.  Not a lot is told about him, but that’s how legends are: they don’t defer to logic or reason; they exist in a non-specified time that’s all their own.

One day Wilson decided he wanted a pet.  Not any kind of pet, but a human one.  (Not a lot of information is given as to why he desired this; loneliness would seem the obvious answer.)

That night Wilson descended into town under cover of darkness.  He hid out in bushes, lurked in shadows, crouched behind trees, peered into windows.  He was on the hunt for a perfect pet.

And he found her.  A young girl around the age of seven, beautiful, with long golden hair, a smile like sunshine, the cutest of dimples.  Satisfied, he snuck into her room, stole her from her bed, and carried her back to his house.

There he locked her up in the cellar, leaving her in total darkness.  He didn’t do anything overtly cruel to her; didn’t rape, beat, or abuse her.  In fact he did nothing at all.  She was just his pet.  She amused him for a while, and he’d bring her food, peek into her dark cell, watch her eat.  But he soon grew bored and went back to tilling the land and living on his own.





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This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)