The Pied Piper of Pepperton County By Matt McGee

The Pied Piper of Pepperton County By Matt McGee

The strum of Neil’s opening lines would usually blast forth around 2:45am, a shout into the otherwise quiet night, bouncing off the steeple of St George’s Presbyterian Church and the graveyard that stretched past the church grounds. That was where Freddy first saw the shadows, running through the moonlight. They always came at night. Always late. Silhouettes, outlines. They seemed young.

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Bump by JP Kemmick

Bump by JP Kemmick

The man, our new neighbor Stu, had a head of close-cropped curls and a twitchy, sniffly nose which

gave him the air of a heavy cocaine user, which he was. Curls are one of my personal weaknesses and

the cocaine habit—verified with a glance at his chalky coffee table when I popped over with a piece of

his mis-delivered mail—ignited my lust for the party girl I never was. Those two factors, combined

with a lifetime of indecision and a new spark of fluttery worry at having bought a house with a man

who once yelled, “Thar she blows,” during sex, helped convince me, sometime in the second week of

living in our new home, to sleep with Stu.

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