Texas Suburbs Gothic
- everytime you go to the mailbox, you hear a dog howling, as if in pain. you ask the sweet old lady next door. "honey, there hasn't been a dog in this neighborhood since I was a little girl." you look at her furniture, and decide not to ask when that was.
- you buy your new house and install new fence posts. within a week, they rot. "damn sun," your neighbor shakes his head. you could've sworn he had one less tooth the night before.
- there's a park not too far. do not take your children rolling down the hill. there is a reason for the sign. there is a reason for the dried blood on the grass.
- there's a signless mercedes moving van outside of the house furthest down the block. it's been there for a decade. the gas, however, has only been leaking for three days. you pretend to not notice its dark red color.
- you shove your key into your mailbox. after five minutes, it finally opens. a single card. "I'll see you soon," it reads. it's addressed to the previous house owner. no return address. it's postmarked the same day as his death.
- you find a severed squirrel head in the middle of the road. next to it, a congregation of them. don't look into their eyes. you might be next.
