The last house on the street, separated by thick woodland to the left and an old tin shed to the right. Most of the neighbourhood stayed away. They knew the Talbot’s. Arthur Talbot was a cantankerous old fool who chased the kids off his land with his shotgun or threatened them in the street with a baseball bat come Halloween. His wife seemed less of a problem, but she hardly left the house and seemed genuinely scared of her husband. No one could blame her.
She stood in the kitchen looking out into the garden. She really must fix that gaping hole she told herself. The day looked cold and a pale sun cast silvery threads across the makeshift grave. Pouring water into two China blue cups, she added milk, then placed them on a small wooden tray.
‘Here we go.’ Handing her husband his cup of tea, she shook…
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