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Horror is all around us, waiting to be seen, waiting to be discovered in the most banal of circumstances. In the walk down the old stairs to the basement where the washing machine and dryer squat side-by-side, mouths closed…for now. That silence into which the drip-drip of fluid sounds…where is it coming from? Is it blood? No, it’s a leak from the water heater, in it the knowledge that the warm ablutions are no more until treasure has been spent, until the moldering body of the old heater has been dragged out into the forest to be buried secretly before dawn.

The odd silence on the third floor grows thicker as the minutes pass. The  heaviness of it weighs down the soul, and soon memories of past transgressions, of deeds left undone, consume the spirit and force a bitter review of the doors closed to redemption. Who knew how many clothes remained unfolded, away from their proper places?

Let me listen to the howl carried on the wind rather than the speeches made by souls sold for power…too soon? Let’s move on.

Not just blood, not just fear lie in wait for the wary. Our lives proceed down neat paths until the way is overcome with putrid vegetation and the unending tasks of the damned. April is coming, and we know why it is the cruelest month.

Stay with February, Women in Horror Month. Come join us to relish in the power of horror, in the particular force of the female perception of what makes us scream. See what we have for you at #wihm8.

Join us.

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