Short Scary Stories

Letter from the ritual- Part 4

Part IV

This is the last part.

I'm at the mailbox. It's in the middle of an empty lot. The taxi dropped me off here and idled for a moment; its hazards blinked and flashed. Tall weeds burst out of the pavement here. I see things that look like rats scurrying about. I hear the clicks of their nails on cement. The lot is in the middle of a series of abandoned buildings. There are things moving around behind the broken windows.

Dogs are barking somewhere. I can't see them, but I think they're getting closer. I circle around the mailbox three times. I repeat the words the pasta said three times: "See, the cruel Fates recall me, and sleep hides my swimming eyes."

I think it's from a poem, but when I googled it last night I couldn't find a thing.

The echoing barking from the dogs is getting closer. I'm almost done with this letter.

I don't want to finish. I don't want to put this in the mailbox. I don't want to find out if I was right or wrong, if I remembered all the things I was supposed to do, if I said all the right things at the right time. Because I can't imagine I did. I think I was supposed to say something to the cab driver. I'm worried I was supposed to do something else in the diner. Should I have sat in the fourteenth row on the bus as opposed to the thirteenth? All these parts could have gone wrong.

I can see the dogs now. And I was wrong: it's just one dog. I mean, it's not a dog, not exactly. It has too many heads for a dog. It's snarling and I can see its teeth. They're bright white, like bleached out stars in a dead black sky. I feel the heat coming in waves from under its spiky fur. It paces the perimeter, staring at me with all those dead computer screen colored eyes. I know have to stop writing. I know. This is the last part.

If you're reading this, you know what happened. I'm pretty sure you're going to be reading this. I was supposed to tell the cab driver thank you. I didn't say anything to the cab driver. I just remembered.

I shouldn't have done this. I just wanted to bring my mom back. That's all. I shouldn't have tried. We're alive and then we're dead and we shouldn't pretend we can change a single fucking thing ever.

I'll miss you, girl. Aways remember to look good. Fuck those wannabe normcore bitches. Look fantastic. And don't read scary stories on the internet.

And this wasn't your fault, Emma. I think I wrote that it was. It wasn't. Don't feel bad, Em. I'm going to mail the letter now. Don't feel bad.

Credit To - Kevin Sharp