Christopher Bloodworth

I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write a story. This is the first date that I’ve missed. I promised you a story on March 1, but shit got crazy. My girlfriend and I drove from Texas to California. I thought that it would be equal shifts, but she had an adverse reaction to a caffeine pill and ended up moaning in the passenger seat for most of the trip.

I didn’t really mind it. I liked the idea of leaving Austin behind on my own steam. I love Texas, but never really liked Austin. I’m more at home camping and hunting than listening to some hipster talk about the latest innovations in Bikram yoga.

It’s just not for me.

Driving to California, I got to think about a lot of things. All the friends and family I was leaving behind in Texas and Louisiana. All the places I loved in Houston and Dallas. The weather.

I like humidity. I know, I know. It doesn’t make sense. I like it though. It feels like home to me.

Once we got to La Verne, twenty something hours later, exhausted and smelling, I met her parents, step parents, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, and neighbors. It was all a bit overwhelming.

After all that, she showed me her room. We met on XBOX Live so seeing where the girl I’d fallen in love with lived and slept hit me kind of hard.

She pulled me in for a hug and whispered into my ear, “I’ll never leave you.”

“I never leave you,” I repeated back, staring at something I’d never seen. She’d sent multiple pictures of her room and bed, but never had there been a thin filet knife mounted above her pillows.

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the knife.

“Oh. My grandfather gave me that.”

“Your grandfather—” I stalled at his name. I’ve never been good with names, and meeting as many new people as I had over the last hour had me struggling.

“Alan,” she said.

I frowned. I couldn’t remember meeting an Alan.

She laughed. “You haven’t met him yet.”

“Oh. Good,” I said. “I thought that I was confused again.”

“Nope.” She smiled and kissed me.

I saw something else when she pulled back. On her desk sat a stack of papers several inches high.

“Is that it?” I asked.

“It’s all yours now that you’re here.”

I picked it up. I hadn’t seen the manuscript in more than a year. The title page read, Welcome to the Family.

It was a novella about scarecrows that I’d written several years ago and then mailed to her to read. She’d read it and liked it so much that she decided to keep it. I asked for it back who knows how many times, but she would never cough it up.

She’d always say, “You’ll have to come and get it, if you want it.”

With the novella firmly in my grip, I nice-to-meet-you’d all the family members at the house and we went to her place. I left the novella in the trunk of my car.

No way was it ever leaving my possession again.

We showered and then she wanted to take me up to The Point.

I’m not from this area so I’m not really sure if that’s the official name or slang for the location.

The Point is a make-out spot that overlooks the San Gabriel Valley. We got up there and parked.

“What now?” I asked.

“What do you think?” She asked back, slipping her hand up my leg.

I smiled and danced in my seat. “Fruit ninja!”

She giggled and I slipped the point of the filet knife into her throat. I dragged her from the car, her gurgling the whole time about whatever nonsense was running through her brain.

I tossed her over the edge like a bag of trash. I’d gotten what I wanted so I didn’t need her anymore. I had my novella back.

I get a lot of messages asking how I write, what I do.

It takes a lot to write the way I do.

Some writers get their inspiration from quotes or forums; I don’t.

When you kill someone, sometimes they come back. Sometimes they whisper stories from beyond into your ear as you drift off to sleep.

Ever woken up, chest sweaty, heart racing?

There’s a reason you woke up. Something was whispering into your ear.

I write down what they’ve whispered the next day.

I wrote Welcome to the Family after getting rid of a crappy boss.

I’ve written quite a few stories. I plan to stick around California for a while and see if I can’t write a few new ones.

Hopefully you’ll get the chance to whisper one into my ear some night.