It’s Not About That


Look beyond the post. Who gives a damn about it being in the middle of nowhere?

It’s Not About That

What was the attraction? That is, what drew my eye past the post? Was there something beyond it, or was that thing right in front of my face? My eyes could never get a good focus on the thing–they somehow managed to slide off of it each time. Things like that make you wonder: what the hell happened here?

What’s going on?

What am I not seeing?

I never lingered there for more than five minutes. The post and the field it was located in were both on private land.

Until about a week ago, I wouldn’t have called myself paranoid, but when I flicked on the local news I saw the most bizarre story. The owner of the land had been arrested for murder. Except . . . the victims did not match the identities of any missing people.

The remains of ten bodies have been uncovered. So far the DNA results are inconclusive, but as of yet the forensics team have been unable to identify them as human . . .

Paranoid might be the wrong word. I never know what to think anymore. All I can do is wonder about that field, the post, and the forest beyond it where the bodies were found. And, how I knew something was wrong.


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