Mother’s books. Precious and needing to be read. I was literal, Cindy was poetic. We talked, we argued. I found a book of Dad’s on gardens. Cindy ...ound a can on the top shelf full of coins and paper money. I walked the fifteen miles to town and smiled at Mr. Brown and said, yes, my dad was fine. I came back with seeds and sardines. I came back with cloth and candy. One night I was taking my bath in Cindy’s dirty water – yeah, I was lazy sometimes – and Cindy walked in. She was wearing a. The house was dark dark and smelled of stale piss and something else she couldn't identify. There was a small light on in one of the rooms on the left. As they opened the door the horror of what they'd stumbled across became clear. A shadow moved in front of them and Olivia felt something brush her arm. As she turned a hand grabbed her from behind. She tried to scream but the smell of rotting flesh made her gag. John was not at her side. Someone, or something had dragged him to the other. More

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