Into the Forest of Screams
The dark crept in, stealing silently the wash of light that dayed the eyes. Concealed horrors, vined chaotic inside the frozen air, drank from the lips of the imagination's lair.
A flash of white chamois revealed the form of a young girl standing in the dead tree shadows with teeth as sharp as a scream. She squatted down and dug with her hands at the base of a drowning stone.
Her fingers felt the object of her stalk and she pulled it out with eagerness and smiles. It was a leather satchel with rusted iron fittings along its frayed edges. She unclasped the fasteners and opened the top which spieled the eyes in wonder that rushed the heart that beat inside the ribs in a plethora of curiosity pleated dire.
Her hands, so tender and gentle, reached inside the cloth interior and pulled out her father's head. She lifted it to her face, admiring its gaping mouth and blood splattered skin in a love that only a daughter can comprehend.
She ate for hours.
Written by: Kyle Owens
Kyle Owens lives in the Appalachian Mountains and his work has or will soon appear in Aberrant Literature, Saturday Night Reader, Bete Nore Magazine, Raven's Fang, Jimson Weed among others and several anthologies.