Short Ghost Stories: The Man with the Axe in his Back

The little boy walked down the street, his eyes downcast. His mother walked next to him, a large woman, her tight floral blouse stretched over her hefty bosom. She held his tiny hand in her larger one, and every now and then, she would stop to fuss over him in strained, hushing tones. To her, his T-shirt was too grubby, his posture too stooped, his walk too listless.

The little boy listened to her admonitions in silence, his mind still reeling from his earlier shock. Today had been his first ever day of school, and the sudden flurry of activity, coupled with the scores of same-age strangers, had been overwhelming for him. He had shuffled at a sluggish pace, struggling to keep up with the other children while his mother looked on with tight-lipped disapproval.

Now, his mother was teaching him the path he will be taking to and from his classes. He will be walking this path with her at first, and then by himself when he gets older. She, meanwhile, would alternate between criticism and instruction, squeezing his hand a little too tightly as they turned the corner into a shady little lane.

‘Will you stop looking at your feet, Casey? Will you just stop looking all sheepish and look up proper for once?!’

The little boy looked up quickly, recognising the end of the tether in his mother’s increasingly shrill voice. Immediately after, he stopped, his eyes widening as his feet became glued to the pavement.

He had seen it.

It was something of a mystery. Its feet dangled a good three metres from the ground, while its other end was a rope, tied to a low-hanging but sturdy tree branch.

What it was exactly, the little boy did not know. He had seen nothing like it before, except in his darkest, murkiest nightmares.

The little lane they were in was shady, but not dark. Sunlight filtered through the bare branches of the trees arching above, making grey silhouettes of everything. On both sides of the lane were high brick or wooden fences, encasing the backyards of people who preferred to keep their lives private. They were in a long, narrow corridor, one that contained the boy, his mother, and it.

The little boy gave a soundless whine, unable to go any further. His mother felt him yank at her arm, and she turned, irritated.

‘What’s wrong with you, Casey? Get a move on! We don’t have all day.’

The little boy could only shake his head frantically. To continue moving would mean walking directly under it, under the shadow of this dead-eyed, lifeless creature hanging like a curse from the sky. His mother, ever strong, just decided to pull him along. His shoes scuffled and scraped against the pavement, as she ignored his protests and dragged him forward.

Eventually, he could no longer take it. He found his courage, and pointed his finger at it, the monstrosity above them.

‘But ma! That thing there! That thing!!’

CONTINUED ON THE NEXT PAGE...