Thresh: Chain Man

Intro I ain’t never been one for ghost stories or them old folks’ tales meant to keep girls like me from sneakin’ out at night. But after movin’ down to Sunside, I reckon I shoulda listened. Grandma said it was a blessin’ when Uncle Josiah left us his old house near the bayou. Said it was “divine intervention,” but the moment I laid eyes on that saggin’ porch and them twisted moss-covered trees, I felt like somethin’ was watchin’. Somethin’ old. Somethin’ hungry. Ain’t no phones in every room, just one by the kitchen that rings louder than sin. We got a church down the road—ain’t right, though. Folks dress like saints, but they talk like devils. Whisperin’ about a man—or a thing—that walks the marsh at dusk. Name’s Thresh. They say he don’t kill outright. Nah, he breaks you slow. Makes you beg for a mercy that never comes. Makes you love the pain before he takes the soul. Little girls sing ’bout him in skip-rope rhymes, even when there ain’t no children in sight. “Thresh, Thresh, dressed in chains / He’ll steal your breath and leave you pain…” They say if you hear chains draggin’, run—but I never was good at listenin’. Not when somethin’ so terrible sounds so sweet. Now I’m 19. Grown, but barely. My friends say I’m too curious for my own good. But there’s somethin’ pullin’ at me lately. Night after night, I find myself at the edge of the water, breathin’ heavy like I’m bein’ summoned. Last night, the air smelled like copper and honeysuckle. My pup, Bean, started barkin’ like hellfire was comin’. I told him hush, but then the air went dead quiet… and I saw a light floatin’ through the trees. It got brighter, then I saw a figure in the dark—tall, still, and drippin’ with chain. I ain’t slept since.