Jerry Schellhammer

Roads From Tennessee Day 1

To start with, people in Tennessee talk funny. It’s also contagious. I had a heck of a time returning back to my normal accent. It must’ve been three days before I stopped combining you and all.

Bob had no idea what town this was that they stopped in front of a building whose lights and neon flashed and buzzed like a swarm of bees. He looked at the site, staring at it, willing it to disappear as snow fell steadily. The sign showing “Treasure Island Resort and Casino” appeared like a siren call.

Night Fear: Part 2

“I guess, what kind of game, Xanadu?” “I ask you a question about yourself, and you answer truthfully. Then you do the same, ask me a question and I answer truthfully.” The thought of this both intrigued and frightened me.

Roads From Tennessee

To start with, people in Tennessee talk funny. It’s also contagious. I had a heck of a time returning back to my normal accent. It must’ve been three days before I stopped combining you and all. My bestie had wanted, no begged me to go and visit his place down in Savannah, a mostly rural community.

Night Fear: Part 1

An angry storm spit rain and wind whipped the trees about. I looked from the comfort of my warm house and hoped the power would return soon. In an instant I saw the lightning crack and the thunder clap so loud I jumped a foot from the wood floor.

Now am Found

There’s a light at the end of a narrow tunnel that became bright and effervescent. Bob saw his dad for one day before he kicked him out again. “I just can’t deal with your drugs and drinking anymore, son,” he told him in an apologetic tone, his graying beard and lined face showing Bob how much he had aged since the last time they met almost ten years ago.

Once Was Lost

Bob couldn’t remember the last time he ate. He also didn’t remember the last time he slept. Though he stayed in the hotel suite, he was fed mostly meth and bath salts, turning, and merging his hallucinations with reality to where he didn’t recognize what was real and what was a fantasy created inside his head.

Crapped Out

Warped

Bob saw the images flashing through his eyes into his brain. Waves of nausea moved from his stomach and into his throat, gagging noises emitting from his mouth. The car he rode in seemingly floated on a black ribbon, headlight beams navigating between flashing white lines and a long snake-like line ran endlessly on his right.

Bob

My loyal readers today I’m treating you to a story told to me from my son in law. It is said that truth sometimes is stranger than fiction. This event is one for the ages. His name isn’t nearly as important, thus I named him Bob to protect his privacy.