Read Online A Penny Down the Well: A Short Story Collection of Horrifying Events by J. A. Crook - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: J. A. Crook
Ads: Link
talking to himself, however, Clint seemed to begin a
therapeutic conversation with his only remaining
passenger.
“ That
was insane? Did that just happen?” Clint shouted, looking into the
passenger mirror again. “That did not just happen.” He shook his head,
letting out a long breath. “That guy just got into the car and
started talking about all of that stuff. That’s insane. Absolutely
crazy.” Clint wiped at his forehead as the lead car took a slight
right to a set of newer plots. Clint thought he could see the
funeral site a short distance away. “And then he just got right
out? Who does that? I can’t believe that!” Still, in disbelief, the
lead car arrived and Clint parked himself right behind
it.
The family members
filtered out of the cars one by one, filling the seats of an area
beneath a large lawn canopy. Clint watched intently as people
arranged themselves in the seating area, looking for the individual
who’d shared the morbid story with him. As Clint watched, many men
in uniform exited the vehicles, but none of them appeared to be the
man that spoke to him. Clint looked through the rear view again to
see if anyone else was coming, but it seemed that the majority of
the group, if not all of them, were already out and seated. Clint
sat back in his seat, expecting only at this point that he had
missed the individual while looking for him. It seemed plausible,
with so many other old men in the same uniform. He took a deep
breath, releasing it in a burst of shock as the hatch behind him
shot open.
Clint jumped in a near
scream and looked back behind him. Three middle-aged men and a
young teenage boy stood in the midst of the casket, all inspired to
look toward Clint with a bit of surprise at his
reaction.
The teenager, the one that
would be less inhibited, asked aloud, “Everything alright, Mister?”
And he quirked a brow to accompany the question.
Once Clint’s shaken heart
settled, he nodded furiously. “Y-Yes. I’m fine. Here to take
it?”
The group looked between
each other. They nodded and one of them asked. “You know how to
unlock it?”
Clint thought quickly over
what he was taught about it. The pins. He opened the driver’s side
door and went around to the back. He slipped within the group and
released the pins that kept the whole thing situated. A moment
later, with absolute delicacy, the group gripped the sturdy bars on
the side of the casket and hoisted it out of the hearse.
Clint admired the large
American flag that draped over the casket. While not superstitious
(though today had rattled him some), Clint was a proud American,
respectful of the sacrifices made for his freedom. He didn’t know
anything about World War II other than what he’d been taught in
school. Clint didn’t think about the individual stories or the
impact that it made on people at a personal level. Everything was
taught in a generic survey, broad and ideological, influenced and
cliché. It was about then that the story the man shared with him in
the hearse a few minutes prior began to sink in.
Clint leaned back against
the side of his car, watching as the casket was carried toward the
funeral site and eventually placed on a large stand. Clint thought
about what the man had said. The screams of his “friends and
brothers.” The “blood-stained ocean.” The Germans and their
torpedoes. The absolute fear something like that might have
encouraged. Clint realized only then that he’d never thought about
the wars from history class quite like that. He’d always thought of
warring nations, political heads and speeches, great battles both
won and lost... but never of the people in them, making each bit of
it happen. None of the defining moments in any war happened without
the individuals sacrificing themselves to ensure it was even
possible. People that pressed on after losing friends. People that
could keep their head up or maintain some semblance of morale
against the odds. As the preacher began the
therapeutic conversation with his only remaining
passenger.
“ That
was insane? Did that just happen?” Clint shouted, looking into the
passenger mirror again. “That did not just happen.” He shook his head,
letting out a long breath. “That guy just got into the car and
started talking about all of that stuff. That’s insane. Absolutely
crazy.” Clint wiped at his forehead as the lead car took a slight
right to a set of newer plots. Clint thought he could see the
funeral site a short distance away. “And then he just got right
out? Who does that? I can’t believe that!” Still, in disbelief, the
lead car arrived and Clint parked himself right behind
it.
The family members
filtered out of the cars one by one, filling the seats of an area
beneath a large lawn canopy. Clint watched intently as people
arranged themselves in the seating area, looking for the individual
who’d shared the morbid story with him. As Clint watched, many men
in uniform exited the vehicles, but none of them appeared to be the
man that spoke to him. Clint looked through the rear view again to
see if anyone else was coming, but it seemed that the majority of
the group, if not all of them, were already out and seated. Clint
sat back in his seat, expecting only at this point that he had
missed the individual while looking for him. It seemed plausible,
with so many other old men in the same uniform. He took a deep
breath, releasing it in a burst of shock as the hatch behind him
shot open.
Clint jumped in a near
scream and looked back behind him. Three middle-aged men and a
young teenage boy stood in the midst of the casket, all inspired to
look toward Clint with a bit of surprise at his
reaction.
The teenager, the one that
would be less inhibited, asked aloud, “Everything alright, Mister?”
And he quirked a brow to accompany the question.
Once Clint’s shaken heart
settled, he nodded furiously. “Y-Yes. I’m fine. Here to take
it?”
The group looked between
each other. They nodded and one of them asked. “You know how to
unlock it?”
Clint thought quickly over
what he was taught about it. The pins. He opened the driver’s side
door and went around to the back. He slipped within the group and
released the pins that kept the whole thing situated. A moment
later, with absolute delicacy, the group gripped the sturdy bars on
the side of the casket and hoisted it out of the hearse.
Clint admired the large
American flag that draped over the casket. While not superstitious
(though today had rattled him some), Clint was a proud American,
respectful of the sacrifices made for his freedom. He didn’t know
anything about World War II other than what he’d been taught in
school. Clint didn’t think about the individual stories or the
impact that it made on people at a personal level. Everything was
taught in a generic survey, broad and ideological, influenced and
cliché. It was about then that the story the man shared with him in
the hearse a few minutes prior began to sink in.
Clint leaned back against
the side of his car, watching as the casket was carried toward the
funeral site and eventually placed on a large stand. Clint thought
about what the man had said. The screams of his “friends and
brothers.” The “blood-stained ocean.” The Germans and their
torpedoes. The absolute fear something like that might have
encouraged. Clint realized only then that he’d never thought about
the wars from history class quite like that. He’d always thought of
warring nations, political heads and speeches, great battles both
won and lost... but never of the people in them, making each bit of
it happen. None of the defining moments in any war happened without
the individuals sacrificing themselves to ensure it was even
possible. People that pressed on after losing friends. People that
could keep their head up or maintain some semblance of morale
against the odds. As the preacher began the
Similar Books
