When I was in the first grade, I was probably the only girl in my class who’d never gone rabbit hunting with her father.
She couldn’t remember a time before the swamp.
Going home it always bitter sweet. As I crossed into my home county, I felt the anxiety settling in. I was home, and that was only comforting until it suddenly wasn’t.
If you’ve been hanging out with me, you know that I just can’t seem to get Alabama out of my system. Remember when I threatened to turn my childhood into a horror story about demon? Well, it’s arrived. At least partially. As a working title, I call it ‘Appalachia’. Put simply, it details an outbreak […]
So this past week, I spend some time in Alabama. It’s the first time I’ve visited since the blog started almost a year ago, and I’ve gotta say, things have changed. I wish in the good way, but we don’t always get what we want.
Who would believe my stories about the south?
I bet many of you wouldn’t. I could write an entire memoir of horror stories, and most people would find it more believable if I filled them with imaginary demons.
There’s something about the south and it’s ghosts.