Ruminating on the day, the peach and purple sky giving way to black, I was drawn back to the morning’s service and the disembodied sound of a dulcimer plucking out the mournful . . . Continue Reading
Growing tired of her chase, the child wobbles across the smooth creek stones down to other adventures, swishing the bottom of Mama’s much too big t-shirt through the water. The steady warmth of July fights off the chill of the mountain creek that has already numbed her legs and toes . . . Continue Reading
The man driver continued to pick up speed. While he concentrated on the road, Mrs. Sanders was able to free her hands from the twine, that thin type they use to bundle books. She pulled the bright red scarf out of her mouth, then considered her feet. They were duct-taped and out of reach . . . Continue Reading
Next morning Lottie joined the men kicking up dust on New Cut Road, stiff from a night on the ground and stretching their shoulder and back muscles. With her battered fedora pulled low over her face, Lottie looked at a distance like any other young hobo clomping along in work boots and overalls . . .Continue Reading
A small boat skims across the surface of a lake, an old man at the helm. His white hair flutters in the wind. He is smiling. The sun is shining. He guides the boat into a quiet alcove and kills the engine and tosses an anchor overboard. He leans over the side of the boat and peers into the emerald water as the ripples disappear and his reflection appears . . .Continue Reading
Appalachia Bare is proud and honored to feature the Write the World contest winners for fiction and poetry, hosted by East Tennessee’s Pellissippi State Community College. The contest centers on an international-focused theme or topic. The college’s participants were encouraged to reflect upon and write about experiences living or travelingContinue Reading
He didn’t know how many generations had lived in the house. All he knew was that the man and woman who’d lived there before had died from cancer and that the woman had obviously been an avid flower gardener. The evidence lay stacked in the old weather-hammered garage above whoseContinue Reading
Creepy things happen sometimes. Halloween is around the corner and this past Thursday I had planned another article in our Appalachian Hauntings series about Richard Drummond, a coal miner (22-23 y.o.) who was lynched in 1893 by Tennessee militia soldiers during the Coal Creek war near Briceville, Tennessee, and whoseContinue Reading
As I slipped out the screen door, Granny caught me by the shirt collar. “I gotta job for you, boy,” she said. She marched me around the house on the upward slope of the hillside; the kudzu was thick, and my feet tangled as she hurried me along. “Not soContinue Reading
He left work early and didn’t expect her to be home. But the hazy air from a fresh shower greeted him as soon as he opened the door. A pungent linen soap pierced his nostrils. He saw her straightaway at the small kitchen table in her pink bunny bathrobe, herContinue Reading