Counting.

I’m standing at my cash register counting change to balance my drawer. You walk up, a smirk on your old face. Hands shoved in the pockets of your worn out carpenter jeans. A toothpick hanging out of the corner of your mouth. I glance up for a moment and give my customer service smile. Back down I shift my eyes to the money I’m counting. Suddenly you start saying numbers.

“15, 2, 23, 67,9,13.” and you grin, clearly amused with yourself.

I haven’t lost count, you aren’t the first person to think it would be hilarious to shout random numbers at someone who is counting. But now I find myself focusing less on the change in my hand; now with each number I’m counting the number of your bones I’d love to snap. With the thought of each number I hear a satisfying crack in my head and I imagine your scream. It feels so good. It would feel so good.

Unfortunately I must come back to reality. Put on my customer service face and fake amusement at your idiotic joke.

Welcome.

Welcome to A Little Dreadful, an homage to the Victorian Penny Dreadfuls. On this blog you will venture into the minds of the twisted and tormented. Take quick, little trips into the supernatural and the unsettling. I do hope you enjoy your stay.