Insomniac Nightmares

You know those little roadside shrines, the ones they put up when some kid gets hit by a drunk driver or drug into the woods and murdered or decides to take a leap off some mountainous hard curve? Everybody’s seen at least a few; battered homemade crosses, always planted too shallow and cocked to one side. Half the time any writing has been so weatherbeaten that you can’t read it anyway, and there’s usually the tattered remains of streamers dangling off it like stringy hair and a faded Polaroid of someone who could be anyone stapled to the middle.

Sometimes there’s other decorations; usually old toys or maybe votive candles if the area isn’t too dry. But there’s on decoration that, if you see it, you should walk away from.

Three blue hearts.

They look like gemstones, at first. If you make the mistake of touching them – like a lot of people do, more than would probably admit – you’ll find out they’re just glass. They’re strung in a line from a piece of twine, always looking clean and shiny and new regardless of how old the shrine is and how poorly kept up it is. They’re heavy, too; they’re solid glass, the size of a fist, and if you prod the bottom of the heart you’ll notice they’re plenty sharp. Sharp enough to draw blood.

You’ll find out. I did.