New 8-Bit Horrors Preview

Miss Maisie is coming soon

I upload new 8-Bit Horrors stories for paid subs on the 1st and 15th of every month. The latest is almost done, but I thought it might be fun to give all of you a sneak peek without putting in one of those shitty paywall breaks. This one is called STRINGS, and this is the opening.

In modern parlance, people might well have referred to my dad as a hoarder. Yes, he loved to collect strange objects when he traveled for work. Some ended up on display in his home, but the majority ended up in the attic, a place he forbade us from visiting when we were kids. When we whined and complained about the unfairness of it all, he would simply tell us that there were things in his collection that were not intended for young eyes.

When adulthood rolled around, I asked him once about taking a peek at his collection, but he waved away the idea, never once telling me why my siblings and I were still not allowed to set foot in his collection space. Furthermore, he added a padlock to the attic entrance, making it clear, once and for all, that it was his territory and his alone.

Daddy died a few days back, but before he passed, he called me into his room and told me to have a seat. He spent some time talking about his life, telling me how much he loved me, and generally reminiscing about the good times he’d had before illness seeped into his weary bones.

I thought he was done once he went quiet, but as he looked me up and down, I could tell he was taking the measure of me. It was as though he was trying to tell if he could trust me with a dark secret, even though the old fool knew damn well that I was the most trustworthy one on the family.

With a slight nod, more to himself than anyone else, he reached under his pillow and handed me the key to the attic padlock. He told me that the collection was mine now, but after another pause, where he seemed to be chewing at the inside of his mouth, he told me that I needed to make a promise. I assured him I would do whatever he asked, which was when he told me, in a voice firmer than his frail appearance, that I needed to burn it all.

I wish now that I had kept that promise.