The Dead Girls

But the best thing of all was her touch.  Her other self was physical, made of actual flesh, and she could touch, and also have herself be touched.  They spent hours doing this, just tracing lines on each other’s skin with their fingertips.  Holding each other.  Hugging.

When Old Man Wilson heard two distinct voices coming from his cellar, he grew deeply disturbed.  He opened the door to find, not one seven-year-old girl, but two, and both identical.

He screamed, threw a fit, nearly went insane.  Terrified, he grabbed the closest thing at hand—the metal bowl in which he served her food—and bludgeoned them both to death with it.

Confused over what had happened, and appalled by what he’d done, he brought the girls down to the water, wrapping them in grass and reeds.  Then he hurled them into the lake—

—This lake.

Lake Erie.





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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. :)