The Barlow Boys

by John M. Floyd

About the Author: John M. Floyd's short fiction has appeared in Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, The Strand Magazine, The Saturday Evening Post, and many other publications. His stories have been selected for inclusion in three editions of The Best American Mystery Stories, translated into Russian, taught in schools, and optioned for film. John is also a three-time Derringer Award winner, an Edgar nominee, a recipient of the Edward D. Hoch Memorial Golden Derringer.

Excerpt

The only thing good about the scariest day of my life is that I had seen it coming.

When it began, that day in May, Willie and I were sitting on the wooden steps of our front porch in the first rays of sunlight, looking out at the yard and the shadowy woods on both sides. Our pa was still asleep, in the back bedroom.

“This dream of yours,” Willie said. “What else did you see?”

We were identical twins, Willie and I, fifteen years old the month before, and we also dressed alike. Not by choice; it was just what Louisiana farm boys wore in the 1930s. Blue overalls, white undershirt, and either work shoes or no shoes. Looking at Willie was like looking in a mirror.

But we were unlike in one way. On several occasions in my short life, I had been able to see things others couldn’t, to predict future events. I know how crazy that sounds, but it’s true. Sometimes these visions were clear, sometimes not. This one was, and the one before it as well.

“Just what I told you,” I said. “That they’re coming. Sometime this morning.”

“How many?”

“I couldn’t see that. I figure one or two.”

A silence passed. Both of us stared at the dirt road beyond the weedy and colorless flower garden our late mother had so loved and maintained, in better days. From the tangled forest around us came a chorus of birdcalls. I’d heard somewhere that city folks thought birds sang like this all day long, out in the country. They didn’t. Early mornings were the loudest.

Story Comments