Y’all think ghost stories only happen in the dark. That’s jest yer ignorance.
Ruth had no bizness lettin’ her baby go pettin’ that mangy black dog. She knew it were a Keith-Tree dog.
I kin still see the blood a-drainin’ outta that Keith. Hanged men don’t bleed, Pa said, but I seen it. Said that man ‘tacked Dolly. Everbody knew she’d been steppin’ out with another feller.
Keith sure loved dogs. They’s dogs at that tree, since.
Folks say he whispers to ‘em. Say they’s cursed. A-course that child sickened ‘n’ died. Poor thing, thrashing for air, bleedin’.
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Submitted to round 2 of the NYC Microfiction Contest. Awarded an Honorable mention. (one edit made to this version).
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