Story 1. The Old Manor
I live in the small town of Grangley Cove. It's a little hell hole in the heart of Tennessee, and I guess it's okay if you like that kind of thing. Grangley Cove is one of those places where everything is just a little too perfect. The grass is just a little too green, the dogs are just a little too friendly, and the air is always just a little too still. The fences are all white, picketed straight in a line, the neighbors always smile, and we always have town meetings on Thursday nights. Nothing bad ever happens here, which is a little creepy if you ask me. Nobody ever falls out of line, and that's the way we like it. It's almost as if we've all been brainwashed, but that's ridiculous right!? Everything is shaped to fit the perfect little mold that is Grangley Cove Tenesnesee. Well, everything except one tiny imperfection. The kids call it the old manor. It's a huge, rickety house with big, creaky windows that overlook the town. Nobody ever goes in and nobody ever comes out. Everyone avoids it all costs and pretends like its not there to ruin their pretentuios, perfect lives. Well, everyone but me. I heard father say that a man once killed his wife there, on a sunny Thursday afternoon, and dissected and mutilated her body until there was nothing left of it except the shiny, metallic-smelling blood on the walls. If you ask someone in the streets who lives there, they'll say a rich old man smiling down on the city. I haven't yet figured out the truth, but one thing's for certain. If you're up on the hill by the old manor late on a Thursday night, you'll see an old man with a crooked back and a malicious smile appear in that big creaky window, which is a little creepy if you ask me.
