So the other night we were getting ready for bed. Preston was in the bedroom, and I was in the bathroom, and we were talking back and forth, which since the two rooms share a wall is difficult. Well, we were tired, and the slapstick set in. Preston was more going through one of the junk drawers in the spare chest of drawers than getting ready to bed. I wish I could remember what I said at one point, but I said it, and left the room. Seconds later, I hear harmonica strains, Amazing Grace slow and peaceful floating through the upstairs. I flew back into the bedroom. Preston started giggling and hardly couldn’t play because of it. And then I said, “Don’t do that! I thought you’d done gone home!” Have you ever heard someone laugh while playing harmonica?
Published by Mari Adkins
Appalachian gothic fiction writer - my works reflect a love of literature flavored by the darkness and magic residing in these ancient mountains. In my spare time, I'm a Simmer, I tumbl, I journal, but I always have a very strange sense of humor. I have lived away from the mountains and lived deep in the mountains. I currently live in Central Kentucky with my lifepartner and his cat. The mountains, their culture, their superstitions, their particular magics, will always be in my blood. View all posts by Mari Adkins