Wellington Street

In which we take a stroll down a very strange lane.

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"The Black Annis"

She stands outside my window. The rain is coming down hard. And she watches. Her black hair whips around, the rain running down her skin the color one big bruise. Her eyes bulge. And the trees bend with such violence I assumed they are going to break.

She is happy. So very happy. For weeks I have been dreaming about her. Had seen her sitting in front of a fire in the woods, my parents nestled up to her thighs the way I would when I would watch TV with them late at night. They seemed contented. I never saw them like that.

Not since my brother disappeared.

Parents have a way of listening to you tell something outrageous, without giving away that they think you are making it up. They smile and nod their heads, then they reaffirm with something along the lines of “that must have been terrible,” or “it was just a dream. No need to worry.” So when I told them about the dreams. When I said she grabbed my brother and took him to the woods they just nodded and said they would go look.

It didn't take long for me to stop asking. I knew they weren't going to believe me.

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