September 24th,
1887
Mason Bay, Maine
Why he decided to move to the Bay, four years after his wife died, he did not know. All he knew was the liquor was cheap, and his son was happy. He slammed a dime on the bar, and gulped down the last of his whiskey, relishing in the burn the straight alcohol. Licking his lips, he set down the glass next to the coin on the bar.
"Be seein' ya, Phil." Said the shabby barman, with his balding brown hair, and nearly toothless grin.
"Till' next time, Louis." Replied Phillip, who could only make out a swirling mess of a face, with all the alcohol in his blood.
Phillip left the saloon and walked down the dimly lit main street, occasionally passing the horses littering the town's alleyways. Why the other citizens didn't store their horses in their stables or barns, he did not know. Ten minutes later, now out of Mason Bay's limits, Phillip arrived at his small homestead. The house was built on a hill, overlooking the distant coast of the North Atlantic.
The house was made of brick, which was expensive for Phillip to purchase when building the house. The roof was gabled, which was constructed of wood, which was a budget cut as most of the house's budget went to the brick walls.
Phillip opened the main door to the house, stumbling a bit as he stepped onto the wood floor. He put his trail coat on the rack near the door and took his boots off before he heard the familiar sound of light running footsteps.
"Pa! You're back!" Said his son, Samuel who ran and pulled him into a hug, while Phillip had to bend down to reach his son.
End of Prologue.
YOU ARE READING
Frostbite
Horror"Folk always go missin' around here. Shame that it's always the young ones." One night, Philip Matthews' son was missing from his bed, and not a trace of the abductor was found. The town constables seemed apprehensive to investigate further. Philip...
