TITLE: Feathers of Blood
GENRE: YA Dark Comedy
Beware the kitchen stairs.
Who knew chicken poop was slippery as grease? Hitting a clump of the green-grey goo on the last stair, my feet shot out from under me and I landed flat on my backside.
“Oh my goodness,” Aunt Agnes said looking down at me. “Are you all right? I’m so sorry! Murfee don’t rinse his boots like he’s supposed to – the stairs do get slippery. Company never uses the kitchen stairs. We ain’t used to visitors, but it is nice to have you here, sweetheart.”
Speechless, I stared up at her gentle smile.
“Murfee!” She hollered when the front porch door slammed shut, rattling me and the rickety kitchen cupboards of the ancient farmhouse. “You got to rinse your boots off! Poor Charlie slipped on the stairs.”
"Don’t care!” Uncle Murfee’s raspy voice echoed down the hallway. “Yer damn rooster ain't back yet! If he don't come in, I ain't fetchin' him!"
"Murfee, you know where he is ..."
"I ain't go'in git him, if that's what yer mean! That hill is cursed. They had no business diggin' up them bones!"
"Don't be silly. There's no curse. The Town had every right to relocate those graves. Just because you don't want a mall across the street doesn't mean the land is cursed."
"Well, I ain't go’in after him. Don't care what ya say! Ain't even got grass growin' over there ... what's that dang bird eating, huh? There's evil over there. Evil!"
Yup, I was in Hell.