Patchwork by Kenya Moss-Dyme

Author:Kenya Moss-Dyme [Moss-Dyme, Kenya]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Occult, Single Authors, Genre Fiction, Horror, 30 Minutes (12-21 Pages), Literature & Fiction, Short Stories, Short Stories & Anthologies
Amazon: B00IYVR02I
Publisher: Dyme Publications
Published: 2014-03-11T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Three

Granny now had two full trunks of completed quilts. And the world was that much more free of pain and suffering.

Late one night, I could hear the muffled sounds of Granny crying softly in her room. I slipped quietly out of my room and tiptoed to her door.

“Granny? You okay?” I whispered into the darkness as I pushed the door open.

When she did not answer, I stepped into the dark room. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, holding her hands tightly in her lap. I felt afraid, but I stepped closer to her and knelt at her feet, placing my warm hands on top of hers. Granny winced and pulled her hands away.

"I can't do no more," she whispered and raised her hands up to show me. Even in the darkness, I could see that her fingers were twisted and bent like claws and the sight of them was enough to make me gasp in fear.

"They're useless now," said Granny. I thought she was talking to me, but then I realized that her eyes were staring straight ahead, somewhere over my shoulder, but she wasn't looking at me. I wondered if she even knew I was there. She was shaking and crying silently without any tears. All I wanted to do at that moment was comfort her and take her pain away. I reached out my hand and lightly shook her bony shoulder to get her attention.

"Don't worry, Granny," I said to her. "We can go find a doctor tomorrow and you can get help. Please don't worry anymore." Granny turned her head toward me and smiled weakly as if she understood. Then she allowed me to help her ease back into the bed and pull the covers up around her, maneuvering carefully around her crippled hands, while she looked up at me like a frightened child. This was new to me. My Granny had never been weak, never been afraid of anything. I had seen her take her late husband's shotgun, prop it up her shoulder and dare a man to run. Some ignorant ne'er do well had the misfortune of breaking into our house late one night and Granny caught him loading his pockets with the silverware. Without saying a word, she returned to her bedroom and retrieved the shotgun, loaded it, and confronted the man who had now moved to the hall closet to rummage. I awoke to the sound of the shotgun being racked - a sound I had not heard since my grandfather was alive at least five years earlier. I made it to the top of the stairs in time to hear Granny issue her warning to the stupid fella - "run or die, up to you." He chose to run and it was the smartest decision he'd made that night. This fearful and weak Granny was indeed a stranger to me.

I slept fitfully that night, unable to clear the sight of Granny’s deformed hands from my head. Each time

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