The Eye. A Horror Story. Chapter One: SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL
1. The first time I saw Joni’s Eye was after a huge argument with Lizzie. Of course, being the chicken I used to be back then, the entirety of the fight had taken place within my dishwashing, soul-searching, rage blowing, bile-venting, and finally, teary admission of defeat and loneliness-succumbing, mind. Father was, for once, at his book club, and I was both happy he was out of the house and scared to be alone. Isn’t it amazing how one can wish so much for something to happen, and when it does, be not kind of sorry it did, but apprehensive, and waiting for the other shoe to drop? I was wearing my reading glasses to get all the grease stains out – I just hated how Father had become so neglectful, he who had always preached about the hospital corners when Mom was alive, and maybe it was the old age, too, and for the life of me I don’t know why I just couldn’t find it in me to say something about it. But that night, getting him to agree that a little night air might be just the thing, I