― melting; ii:

You know what happened to that one kid, what's her face? You didn't hear? She died — I thought. Water is drip-dropping down the faucet in that old house down the road, you know? The one that was torn down last year―they never put that mall up but I'm sure they will one day. They'll call an exterminator or something. Yeah yeah whatever you say, you always think everythings occult. See you tomorrow. Remember to drink water, stay safe, yeah? Yeah. Bye.

.. (there's this story of a small town that housed a smaller girl. the outskirts were woods, so it was just filled with animals and seventy-odd families. everyone knew each other― shame, then  about the kid ― and they were real tight knit.)

dearest,
I'm writing to you from some backwater town in montana. The mountains here sure are pretty, still. I oughta be careful, there's this story, ya'know? Some cult classic. It vaguely reminds me of scream the original―I know you like the remake. It doesn't matter in particular; hey how's the kid?
sincerely,
run run run―

this is a lesson in trust;

  [   Anastasia is seven years old when her mother dies and her father finds self-medication in beer bottles.   ]

"spilling, the doctors call it. something like that―yeah yeah. i know, half-deaf. shuddup."

you laugh ; theres a record player singing elton john in your apartment back in chicago. you hum it in the space  where neither of us say anything.

"hey," i say, because it's too quiet and your breathing is dead, "night, love you."

"love you too," you say.

― dearest,

Apparently the kid was thirteen when she died, can you imagine? Thats the cusp of everything. Remember when we were thirteen? We were always running from something―ourselves, the future, a joke. Anyway, tomorrow I'm visiting the farm where she―well. Died for lack of better word.

Theres this.. smell around town that I didn't realize before. It smells like― remember when we both rented that apartment for three months and there was that god awful smell that we'd complain about to the landlord and it was because the old guy right next to us dropped dead? He was just rotting on his rocking chair when we broke it. Decomposing there, he reaked. You three up.

Remember?

Okay, so it smells like that. Like there's something buried dead right next to me. Maybe I'm next to a cemetery or something? Whatever.
sincerely,
i made a mistake―

there is a god long dead in the floorboards―can you hear it's hear beating? faster, faster, faster;

ba-thumo―

( hold your breath baby )

SCREAMING!
CAN YOU HEAR THE HEARTBEAT
UNDER THE
FLOOR?

[   Anastasia Lily Jackson dies November fifth, rabies says the doctor; possession says the priest.  ]

"Oh, you're that doctor coming
'round these parts?"

"That's me, yeah."

"You must not have heard."

"Heard what?"

"That girl―she was
doomed for death
far before the cold got her
dealing with the devil and all."

"I'm afraid I'm not Christian."

"Bless your heart."

"I had the weirdest conversation. No you don't get it―okay she was like―she was just killed."

.

.

.

hey, i need you to come home―

/

there's something wrong with this place i swear;

there's something sharp, pungent almost, in the air. i think i might've bitten off more than i can chew.

.. (mama?)