The nuns in black, they cast no shadows. We waited for them to turn the corner and disappear. We could not imagine how many varied forms they had to take before they got here. The least we could do was to pretend as if they were invisible.
Come to think of it, it took us several lifetimes to come up with the finest end-of-the-world scenarios. Each to his own hell, after all. As long as you burn, no one could see through the wall of flames around you. Continue Reading
In the Victorian era, it was tradition to tell ghost stories at Christmas time, one that’s been sadly lost. Eschatology would like to do its part to revive this tradition. To that end, we are seeking submissions of traditional ghost-stories, the best of which will be published in a special edition Christmas Day. The deadline is December 15. Submission guidelines can be found here or by clicking the above tab.
The newscaster’s voice came faint and agitated from the speaker above the water fountain, going through the motions, repeating it all over again. It was the same news I had been hearing for days from different sources, but maybe this time I would pick up something missed before. Something to point me to the north or south. Something to give me a hint of those I’d left behind.
I surveyed the vacant parking lot, the empty interstate beyond that stretched off to the north and south. Nothing and no one for as far as I could see. Only the squat brick structure of the rest area building before me gave my eyes something to fix upon.
The water from the fountain was warm and tasted faintly of sulfur, but I drank deeply, washing the grit and stale ashy taste from my mouth. If my stomach clenched on me later, I’d know that it had been a bad decision. It wouldn’t be the first one. But it had been four days, just outside of Memphis, since I had last found water. I filled my bottles as well, relieved that the grit covered faucet’s pressure held until I finished.
