ever since i can remember,I've had an aversion to pickles.
When i was little, my grandmother would send me down to the cellar to bring up a jar,for sandwiches for lunch,or maybe a jar of marmalade for breakfast--i would start to tremble just at the thought of going down those long, cool rows of jars, all filled with things that have once been alive and vibrant, and were now shriveled,shrunken,discolored versions of themselves,floating helplessly in sinister- looking brines, or jelled into sticky, pulpy masses.
gran would stand at the top of the stairs,her long shadow falling down them,and scold: "hurry boy! i'll pickle you if you're not up here at the count of ten!" i wasn't the only kid around scared of gran-- the neighborhood kids all avoided her-- but i never knew anyone else scared of pickles and jars.
anyway the aversion grew worse as i got older,becoming pretty much a phobia by the time i was in my twenties. it caused some awkward social situations,but mostly i could live with it. my wife thought it was kind of cute.
or she did,now, we're down in grans cellar cleaning.gran passed away last week.
we've got to clean the place before we can sell it. all these jars,more preserves than any one person could use--and I'm finally figuring out my fear of pickles,and jars,and why all the neighborhood kids were all scared of gran as i was...my wife is starting to get a little hysterical.....
"just throw them in the trash,don't look" i advise,remembering from my youth how some of the jars seem to have things in them that looked almost like body parts,or eyes,or ears."just tell yourself its only pickles...."
YOU ARE READING
the scary book
Horrora book of scary stories that i have collected. i did not write any of these stories. this is my first time writing a book onwattpad.
