Short Stories

Hanged Man

Sinara Foss

The awkward noise of something heavy, grinding back and forth, made Marcus approach the house. He was anxious to find out what was causing that row which was dragging on his ears. Room by room, he walked slowly looking for its origin. At dimmed light he opened and closed doors along the narrow gloomy corridor. The window vents cried nonstop. Tree branches touched the window glasses as eager hands knocking at the door. The strong wind entered, however it got trapped provoking a whirlwind. At the last bedroom, the riddle was solved. A male corpse, hanged by a rope around the neck in one of the roof beams swayed tirelessly. At the beginning he would not be able to define the body’s identity backwards only by the blond hair. Marcus did not want to touch the suicide. He walked slowly so that he could see the perished face. Insofar as he could observe it better a chill entered deep his limbs. The static eyes and the color of the skin were altered, there was no doubt though. The hanged man was him.


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