weeks ago.
The house had given up her last secret. It was now mine; I would keep it safe, a private trophy belonging only to me, reigning heir to an unspoken tradition. I reached for the chalk, which Brian had so kindly left behind, and signed my name. “Jason Miller, 1978.”
As I stared to descend the stairs, I took one last look at the big window, still marked with splatters of my own blood. Everyone would see my hand prints eventually, and they would tell their own tales of how and why and by whom they were made. I didn’t just conquer the old Dooley house, and the legend, I had become part of it.
About the Author
Brent Seth was born in Bloomington, Illinois during an ice storm which, with the benefit of hindsight, seems to have been something a peak. As a self-destructive, cynical nihilist, Mr. Seth has always displayed a peculiar affection for comedy, especially when used as a club to beat-up that which was never actually alive.
His first novel Short Fuse is currently available on Amazon and Barns and Noble.
When he isn't busy tapping the keyboard, Brent spends his time dusting the cello in his office, indulging in extreme (and sometimes vindictive) gardening, massing even more LEGO bricks to an already insanely large collection, and wishing he knew how to play the cello.
Mr. Seth now lives in Michigan with his husband and several spoiled cats.
The Old Dooley House Page 2
