The Macabre Tale of Daniel and Isabel
By
Connor Alexander
He was sure that his father had kissed
his sister's forehead. Daniel awoke from the dream. It was the same
dream he'd had every night since the Terrible Things had
happened. The dream wasn't really something from Daniel's imagination
though. Instead, it was more like a replay of the events of that
fateful night. It was no less surreal or disjointed than a regular
dream, however. It played back in his mind the same way it had played
out in real life for Daniel. A series of foggy scenes and still
images that made no sense to the poor boy no matter how he rearranged
them in his mind, which he often did over the years.
But the tangled story in Daniel's mind
only reinforced the evidence left in the wake of the Terrible
Things. Something horrible had happened in the Hoster's study
that night. Daniel's father, Oswald, was never seen from again, nor
was there a trace of his passing. Daniel's last image of him was his
face contorted and squeezed tight in a grimace. Had there been a
stranger in the room as well? Maybe. Daniel's mother was found on the
couch, her forearm across her brow, her eyes wide open. The only mark
on her was a large bump on the back of her head where it rested
against the wooden arm of the couch. She was wearing a silky black
nightgown.
