I think there are holes inside of all of us, some deep, some shallow. You live and you learn and you try to fill them up as you go. Sometimes people fill them up with an idealized image of someone they crave. I think of Rose, her shy smile and a book always lying open in her lap. Sometimes people fill them with lost loved ones. I think of James and his sharp suits and his little daughter with her daffodils. Sometimes people fill them with the promise of a better life. I think of myself, venturing down into the dark with a flashlight in hand after the electric was shut off years ago.
Everyone has a void inside of them. Every void is personal and you fill it up as best you can. It’s all about driving away the emptiness. You fill the void until you finally feel whole. I’m whole now. My family is whole.
We’re happy.
We’re free.
Chapter 65
Forgotten Holes
Spring has come to Rust Valley and new life is everywhere. The grass is green and the trees hang heavy with newborn leaves. Squirrels chatter and hunt down nuts while robins sing from power lines. Two little boys totter down Legion Lane with colorful buckets and little garden trowels in hand. It’s a warm, sunny afternoon. The perfect kinda day for making mud pies.
They talk about all the popular topics boys their age like to talk about. Cartoons and comics and the next big blockbuster superhero flick coming to theaters in a few weeks. They look for the absolute best spot to make their pies. Making mud pies is serious business and only the best dirt will suffice.
They pass by the empty lot near the end of the lane and they stare through the fencing. There’s a big hill in there all grown over with wildflowers. Best dirt they’ve seen all day! The boys are small and they easily squeeze themselves through a little tear in the fencing.
The boys climb the hill and set their buckets down next to a bloom of wild roses. They start digging and packing dirt into the buckets and patting down their pies. Suddenly one of the boys stops patting pies, his forehead wrinkling in bewilderment. He presses his ear down against the dirt.
“What you doing, doofus?”
“Hush. I hear somethin.”
“What is it?”
“I dunno. It’s like…singing. Sounds like a lullaby.”
The other boy pushes his ear down against the dirt too, his mop of red hair flattening against the earth. He notices a little hole that seems to be the source of the sound. He can almost fit half his pinky finger into it.
“Weird. I hear somethin too.”
“Wonder what’s down there?”
The redhead looks at his friend and shrugs.
“Let’s see.”
The boys take up their garden trowels and start digging.
Something small and slithery crawls up onto a mossy rock to watch them. It rests beneath the shade of a willow tree and twitches many pairs of legs together. Mandibles click and stretch.
The house centipede seems almost to smile.
November 1st 2014- January 7th 2015
Jeremy Megargee
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
When I was still a child and picked up my very first Goosebumps book by R. L. Stine, I knew I’d fallen head over heels in love with all things horror. It’s a love affair that has only grown stronger over the years, a borderline obsession with stories that explore the darkest recesses of the human imagination. I guess you could say I’m like Thorny Rose in that way…always stalking down those special stories that have the ability to invoke a creepy-crawly feeling right down in the marrow of my bones.
As I grew older I discovered the work of some of my biggest inspirations like Stephen King, Edgar Allan Poe, H.P. Lovecraft, Clive Barker…and the work of those authors sent me deeper down the path of the macabre. During my teenage years I had the little tradition of reading Stephen King’s The Stand each summer to lose myself in the devastation of the superflu and marvel at the sadistic magnetism of Randall Flagg.
I’ve devoured horror fiction for as long as I can remember and reading the words weaved by the greats of the genre inspired me to begin writing. I wanted the opportunity to tell my own tales with the intent to terrify, to disturb; to capture the morbid curiosity of the reader just as my own was caught so early on in life.
If I’ve managed to inspire some of those feelings in you, my readers, then I feel that I’ve accomplished something just a little bit magical. There’s still some magic left in this world, and I think it’s most powerful when manifested in the form of words scrawled across many blank pages. Granted any magic contained within my work will be of the dark variety…but I wouldn’t want it any other way. ;)
I live in Martinsburg, West Virginia with my little old pug Cerberus. When I’m not writing, I enjoy hiking mountain trails, weight training, getting tattooed and being a garden variety introvert in his mid-20s. Oh, and reading too (duh).
Connect with me online:
Facebook: www.facebook.com/JeremyMegargeeHorrorFiction
Instagram: @xbadmoonrising
FUTURE WORK:
Stay tuned for my second novel, “Sweet Treats”…release date TBA soon!
Dirt Lullabies Page 17
