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Nana

Brandon Massey
Chapters (70)
  1. Title page
  2. Prologue
  3. Part One
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. Part Two
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. Part Three
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. Get on the Mailing List!
  69. Also by Brandon Massey
  70. About Brandon Massey

Title page

Copyright © 2018 by Brandon Massey

Dark Corner Publishing Edition: April 2018

Dark Corner Publishing

Atlanta, GA

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Nana/ Brandon Massey – 1st edition

“Beauty is only skin deep, but ugly goes clean to the bone.”

-- Dorothy Parker

Prologue

As soon as Lily Worthy arrived home that Wednesday night after Bible study, she knew something was wrong.

A crisp October breeze followed her as she parked her Ford Escape beneath the carport and walked into her two-story Victorian. The big house was older than even her seventy-five years, and its frame swayed and creaked when subjected to the slightest pressure. Each footstep registered a squeak in the wooden floorboards; closed doors easily shook the walls.

Lily heard strange noises when she entered her home. The sounds came from upstairs. A frown creasing her oak-brown face, she placed her keys, purse, and leather Bible case on the small glass table beside the doorway. Her strong hands, shaped from thirty-four years working on the assembly line at the local Ford factory in Hapeville, were wracked with arthritis, but at that moment, they did not tremble.

Lily lived alone, much to the dismay of her granddaughter. Lord knows, her southwest Atlanta neighborhood had seen its share of trouble over the years. Packs of unruly youth breaking into the modest homes of the very people who had sustained the community for generations. Just last year, while she was out visiting the sick and shut-in, someone had kicked down her front door and helped himself to her television. Lily had stubbornly refused her granddaughter’s pleas to move into her house in the northern suburbs. If all the good people abandoned the neighborhood and left it to rot, how could things ever get any better?

She cocked her head, listening. Age had not diminished her hearing. She heard a tapping noise, faint but deliberate, and it was definitely coming from above.

But the front door had been locked.

She shuffled down the main hallway, the polished floorboards groaning underneath her black leather boots.