#nc gothic

[biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist]

What are some of the little things in life that you love? Examples: wind chimes when a breeze rolls through, friendly lil moths in the summer evening, sacrificing a virgin via voodoo doll

cicadas cicadas cicadas the swarm

and the green june beetles to match. pests, they say, but their shells glitter in my hands.

winter beaches (empty, the sand packed and cold). you can sit there and the ground won’t shift, but you’ll grow damp with contact. 

the old tree with the tire swing. it isn’t quite haunted but it isn’t quite right

flat terrain with unnaturally wide skies (the gaping maw is just a little closer in these places)

the ocean at night, the waves rocking in the background as you sleep

 shed antlers. arrowheads in riverbanks. smooth river stones that skip skip

pieces of bone in the woods. there’s no reason to suspect human involvement. 

wet decaying leaves sticking to your boots. not quite fall, not quite winter. the world is shedding and fading and not yet covered in white. the last days of the aging phoenix. revel in decay

uneven frozen ponds that will not support weight 

snapping icicles from the mailbox rim. eating them like popsicles. (they don’t taste good but they do taste right)  

sometimes biting a leaf, just to see what it’s like (it doesn’t taste good but it tastes like a piece of the world). don’t eat the berries

mountain fog so thick against your windshield. you drive at a crawl and end up stuck in a winding driveway with no end. there is a strange crooked house. you won’t be able to find it the next day (if you make it to the next day)

that thing that hovers behind you in the woods. you know the one. it’s bad practice to turn around

[imnotgrimimjustagrumpyreaper]

Some very specific NC gothic

There is an old man that runs a little ma and pop gas station on a winding country road. No one knows his name. 25 cents for a soda, gas $1.15-the place is frozen in time. He's there with his sweet, quiet wife and ancient dog, he's been there longer than you can remember, longer than your grandparents can remember...

Out on your back porch, with the temputure still 73 degrees at 1:00 in the morning you hear a deranged laugh ring through the woods. You blame it on the coyotes.

The spring air is heady with the raunchy scent of Braford pears and blossoms of all kinds litter the ground. The heavy snow comes late, freezes the birds and kills the flowers. Winter has the last laugh.

Your footsteps crackle on the long gravel road, echoed by your friend's The friend that lives in the shady sprawling trailer park. Someone's pet peacock cries out. You pause in front of the tiny graveyard. Someone's family, buried by the sewer lines of the trailer. You hope they're at peace. Your eyes drift to the flaking paint of the weeping Jesus statue. You don't think they are.

"Death to those who disagree!" Read the church signs. You can't bring yourself to agree.

[candycoatedbean]

The moon in the sky from yesterday, seemed like a moment worth remembering

[ovisiphorus]

North Carolina Gothic

[wendigho]

NC Gothic from NC Goth Chicks

[aaronburrssexdungeon]

this is gonna get someone killed

[starlesseyez]

north carolina gothic

everyone around you has been chewing tobacco for as long as you can remember. it seems like every year their spit gets darker. redder, even. they smile wide with stained teeth.

you don’t know how long you’ve been driving down this road, and you don’t remember when it became dirt. The cows on the either side of the road stare at you. you don’t look back at them, just like your mother always told you. you can’t remember why she told you.

the deer around here don’t scare. they’re eerily steady, and if you try and spook them, they take it at a challenge. the only way to get them out of your garden is to make them think you’re gone. that way they won’t crave you anymore.

the auction down the road is always bidding on numbered secret items. one day, out of sheer curiosity, you bet on a random number. all heads turn to you, anger evident on their faces. you don’t remember leaving the auction, but you remember a man packing a long, blanketed item in the back of his truck. he smiles at you, and mumbles through his cigarette, “‘bout the same height as you, id say. best be careful.” his eyes make you dizzy.

your friends grandmother makes you sweet tea. she says you’re ungrateful when you complain of a copper taste in the bitter tea.

the farther you drive, the more you realize how many signs you’ve seen. every billboard says you’ll go to hell, and they keep getting oddly personal.

you try and avoid i-85. something about it makes the hairs stand up on your arms. everything is off of i-85.

lake norman gets colder every year. you don’t go out on your boat anymore. you always feel something tickle your feet.

the woods behind your house are often quiet. don’t go into them. they get loud. too loud.

the pavement under your feet is scalding hot. your shoes are in front of you, but every time you take a step closer, they seem to mimic your steps. the bottom of your feet are blistering.

you stand in the middle of an empty 7-11. the lights are on, but dim. the store owner tosses you the keys, telling you “make sure you lock up nice and tight. wouldn’t want ‘em gettin out.” when you ask about what they are, he frowns. “Don’t be asking questions you aren’t ready to hear the answers to.”