Horace, calm as always, loaded his muzzle-loader rifle, just in case, then gathered some deadfall tree branches, and built a roaring fire on the riverbank. Abby and his family huddled by the fire while Horace looked all around, watching for predators. Having only an axe, an adze, and a handsaw for tools, Horace created a lean-to shelter on the steep . . . Continue Reading
Anyways, when Mr. Hawkins-Mills arrived on their back porch that day, he was carrying a heavy block of ice to put in her icebox. With the sun still high in the sky, that ice just kept right on dripping all over the place. Mr. Hawkins-Mills slipped on the wet floorboards, and his ice pick . . . Continue Reading
He was more nervous than before and kept looking around constantly. I tried to walk by him, but he grabbed my arm. He said, ‘It’s coming for me. It’s coming for me and there’s nowhere to go. It stalks me . . . Continue Reading
He’d been hiding in the woods, and every now and then he’d get brave and run up behind someone at night to ask for help, but they’d hear . . . Continue Reading
Then one night George had been awakened by singing. He strained to look at the pallets on the cold cave floor, but the sick soldiers slept on, unaware of the music. It didn’t come from any of them. Though his body ached, George rose from his bed to move toward . . . Continue Reading
Standing at the threshold, he searched the darkness. He couldn’t see anything, but that didn’t mean something wasn’t there, lurking outside the reach of light. Watching. Waiting. He knew it was out there. He’d seen it. And it’d seen him . . . Continue Reading
It looked like all his worldly possessions were in the cart. He was holding up a cardboard sign that said, “Please Help.” Next to him, sitting at his feet, was a small brown dog.
Like everyone else, I passed him by, but, as I drove away, it began to bother me. I’m not wealthy, but I could certainly . . . Continue Reading
Grandmother’s button box was always kept on her sewing machine desk. It was more of a small canister, really, made of tin, with a terra cotta-colored plastic lid. The box was decorated with images of people from the Victorian era shopping for fabrics and notions. I do not remember aContinue Reading
No one comes to the front door of the old clapboard house, unless of course they are peddling something, or lost. The gravel drive shoots up a short, steep hill and curves around to the back of the house like a strong arm pulls you in for a hug. LeftoverContinue Reading
The following excerpt is from “The Complete Pitty Pat Hollow Tales” in Curtis N. Coulter’s 2022 book This Is the Way I Heard It . . . Not only does Coulter’s exceptional storytelling and wit transport the reader inside his beloved Sale Creek community, the very place that inspires hisContinue Reading