That old place was isolated even when Mr and Mrs Murphy lived there – on the edge of town on a dogleg road that led to nothing but a dried up stream bed filled with dumped refrigerators and tyres.
The couple kept themselves apart. They didn’t use the local store. They didn’t go to church on Sunday. Never even borrowed a cup of sugar. In fact afterwards, no one could remember more than twenty words that passed between the Murphys and their neighbours.
There were rumours, but that’s one thing that breeds well in small towns. When people are starved of the truth, they like to invent their own.
But there was no denying what was found when the men came to unblock the sewer. No denying the smell, the bodybags lined up in the makeshift mortuary.
No denying how well the place burned after the news got out …
Written for What pegman saw, a prompt using Google Streetview. This week we have a picture of St Louis. See here to join in and to read the other stories.
Wow, what a sight you found, and what a riveting story it inspired.
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Thanks so much. A great neighbourhood to write about 🙂
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Yup, that’s more like your style 🙂 Grisly!
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Ha! Sad but true 🙂
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Of course the mind would have to go there with a photo of that…I mean, a mind like yours (and to an extent, like mine). It looks a lot like a shack my friend Loren and I explored in the eastern desert country out our way here, in Washington state…and something palpably ‘wrong’ about places like that, that conjure those images of backwoods horrors.
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Absolutely. I guess watching Evil Dead when I was 12 probably left an indelible mark on my psyche! Must try to look for the brighter stories from now on 🙂
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