Stalkers: An Original Mystery Short Story
by Lew Stowe
So there I was in the woods at 2:15 a.m., shovel in hand, being forced to dig my own grave. Dig, that is, if I could stop my hands from shaking and keep my knees from buckling.
So there I was in the woods at 2:15 a.m., shovel in hand, being forced to dig my own grave. Dig, that is, if I could stop my hands from shaking and keep my knees from buckling.