The Last Sin-Eater of Harfolk County
by Grace F. Hopkins It was hotter than seven hells outside, but they kept the windows closed. Mrs. Abernathy—Widow Abernathy now—didn’t want the flies to get in and swarm the corpse laid out in the parlor. But even so, there were more than enough mourners inside, gathering over the casket like horseflies on cow shit. Creed despised the lot of them. He sat outside on an overturned feed trough, his back up against the wooden siding, hat on his knee, sweaty hair mussed in a way Mama’d hate if she saw him. It was a breathless day, the air still and suffocating with omens of a coming storm—a slow-moving rumbler that’d drop its burden over the swamp first, then sweep over the top of the stumpy southern mountains, then finally shed its last tears over this little holler at the corner of Harfolk County. Creed wished he was at home. He’d even rake out the sow’s pen if it meant he didn’t have to sweat in this black suit that’d grown a bit too small, or shake hands and exchange pleasantries wi...
