The encounter by Jorge Aldegunde

Gobblers / Masticadores // Editores: Manuela Timofte / j re crivello

Picture taken from Pinterest

***

Just like every other day, she’d pay attention to the old lady’s stories about the souls that inhabited the mansion. On that morning, she looked very restless; her keen eyes –like those of a naughty lass– showing deep contrast with a grey hair and a wrinkled countenance. As she lay prostrate in the dimly illuminated bedroom, the caretaker finished feeding her and checked her clock.

“Would you like me to stay, Mrs. Sallow?”

“No, my dear. Have you not listened to me? If you linger here, he’ll refuse to come. And, my dear, I don’t have much time left. I’d rather meet my grandfather in this world”, she said in a calm, collected tone.

She sighed, resigned, and yet surprised at the intense look of Theresa Sallow. She left her a boiling cup of tea and got ready to leave. The weather out there was…

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Nightmares by Jorge Aldegunde

Gobblers / Masticadores // Editores: Manuela Timofte / j re crivello

Picture taken from Pinterest

***

She would cry within, showing a blank stare and immutable silence as tokens of defeat, albeit without wasting a single teardrop. Her teacher felt exasperated before that demonstration of stoicism, which she regarded as mockery.

“Not sure what to do with your kid”, she said bitterly. “She shows no interest. She’s indifferent to everything she is told”.

The teacher was addressing her mother, who had her very same melancholic eyes. The husband –clad in a smart suit and featuring a prominent tie knot– smiled patiently, the very image of a perfect stepfather.

Little did they all know that the girl’s tears would run wild down her face when, at the dead of night, he tore her dreams.

THE END

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Christmas Eve

Gobblers / Masticadores // Editores: Manuela Timofte / j re crivello

Picture taken from Pinterest

******

For me it was yet another day. I got home late feeling ghastly –so worn out from work–, only to find out that those wretches had laid again a table for three and ignored me. I had to help myself, cutlery and everything. I found them in the kitchen, crying helplessly around their mother. They ought to feel ashamed though: how could they disregard me when I only sacrifice for them from dawn to dusk. This is enough: they need to be taught a good lesson. Soon they are to find out who Stephen Wilcox is. And they’ll learn to respect me.

***

The woman in the dirty apron tried desperately to soothe down her offspring:

–Hold on to me, kids. And pray for that thing to leave.

Once again, they had to put up with those yelling voices. Let alone the dragging of chairs…

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