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People are scared of flickering lights. They are supposed to be a sign of the paranormal, of otherworldly ghouls doing their tormenting dance around you. Their presence should haunt you.
Yet, when my lights flicker, only nostalgia and love warm my chest.
You see, my grandpa was an electrician before he passed.
The last couple of stories were a bit grim, the one from yesterday maybe too grim. So I hope this balances and warmths your hearts with a flicker of light 💡
My granddaughter was sitting next to my bed, holding my hand and crying. She didn't realize that I'd awoken. "I love you, Grandma. I wish you'd live forever." I wanted to tell her it was okay, but I was too weak. Instead I smiled, giving her a flicker of hope.
My granddaughter was sitting next to my bed, holding my hand and crying. She didn't realize that I'd awoken. "I love you, Grandma. I wish you'd live forever." I wanted to tell her it was okay, but I was too weak. Instead I smiled, giving her a flicker of hope.
The flicker woodpecker tapped insistently, its beak striking the aged bark with eerie precision.
With each rhythmic thud, the tree groaned, splintering to reveal a hollow. Inside lay a decayed body, eye sockets wide in eternal shock.
The woodpecker paused, then resumed tapping, feasting on the insects and grubs revealed.