Mooney was never seen again.
Me.
My body is turning to dust beneath the muffled sounds of horse hooves and the stench of manure and straw in that last stall of Cephas Stump's barn.
I can only hope Harryetta's second choice of a husband is lighter on his feet than I ever was.
YOU ARE READING
Cain's Mark
General FictionA short story about a small town deputy in 1952 who is tasked with interviewing a backwoods moonshiner in the case of a missing youth.
