The Winds by George P. Flick

The H. P. Lovecraft Lunatic Asylum

I’d heard some strange tales on the prairie, but none quite as weird as the winds. There was an old man who lived out by dead oak pass, an old prospector. One night he showed up at my door, he was pale white.  I brought him in and made him coffee, his eyes where wide and blood shot, his hands shanked slightly. It was some time till he spoke a whisper.  At first it’s in the wind was all I could hear. What’s in the wind?  The souls of the lost ones. In a raspy gasp, he said could I not hear them? I looked outside there was no noise, not even a breeze, I turned to him and asked him “when was the last time you slept?” His response was strange: “How could anyone sleep in this wind.”  It happen rather quickly, he stood straight up and said “They’re here.”…

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