Talented Failure: The Works of A.T. Prenger

  1   It weren’t the first time somebody’d locked me in a casket. What was odd was that they didn’t seem too eager ta’ bury me. I tried ta’ keep my wits about me, but it was hard without any light. Best I could figure we’d been travellin’ for about two days. I could barely hear my three captors talkin’ through the cheap pine. They were a jovial sort, their conversation often punctuated with bouts a’ laughter. Glad they were having a good time. It was good ta’ die in high spirits. Because when I got free of the casket I was gonna’ murder the hell outta’ them. The only thing worse than being trapped in a casket for two days with nowhere ta’ relieve yourself was being trapped in that same box with the ghost of a woman you killed. Well, truth be told, I didn’t kill her. Not really, though I was kind of the reason she died. What happened was that she needed a human soul ta’ sacrifice, but ended up usin’ me instead. Needless ta’ say things went bad and she got pulled down ...

  My day started out like it always did, which is to say poorly. I spent most a’ the morning kicking my freshly dead horse. More outta’ frustration than anything the poor beast did. Was my fault anyway since I was the one who got run outta’ town and I’m the one who rode the horse ta’ death. Sometimes I forget that, on account a’ selling my soul, I tend not ta’ feel the affects a’ dehydration or fatigue like most living things. I tired myself out a bit kickin’ the horse. I was breathing hard and that’s when it hit me. It was faint, but unmistakable; the stench of decay and rot. I looked at the horse as if it were the culprit, but it was too early for the horse ta’ put out a stink like this. The sun was just high enough in the sky that it blinded me. After squinting for a while I decided I could, in fact, see a town in the distance. It was in the right direction. The right direction being the opposite direction a' the town I’d been run out of. I took what gear I could carry fro...