Slate clouds roiled overhead as Ray walked down a narrow street. He passed an old man wearing a fedora and crumpled gray suit who was standing in the angled storefront of a small shop. A few antiques were displayed in the windows.
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The first night I saw him, the moon hung in the stars like a massive eye, and the wind crooned at my window like the voice of a lost lover. I woke with a rumbling stomach and stumbled through the curtain separating
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When I was young, my hair was very orange—the color of the brightest fruit and of the four-winged tropical bird known as The Golden Orb—and I had (and still do) the sensitivities of people with that color of hair, ones doctors still
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This is a true story. As true as stories can be. Sergio was the neighborhood dancer. He’d show up to all the kickbacks, functions, and celebrations with a twelve-pack of Bud Light sitting on top of his left shoulder, ready to get
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There was only the one painting. But a line formed around the block as soon as the sun peeked over the horizon. Feet shuffled and voices rose and fell. When it rained, umbrellas blossomed. Anticipation hung in the air like a pesky
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I left my hand in the other room. That happens sometimes—it just slides off the bone. I find my hand in the bed, strangled in a clot of covers. Fingers entombed in linen. I try to reattach it, but once the digits
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It was the wind that did it, and that Liam hadn’t had a moment alone for as long as he could remember. He was helping his child wee by the roadside when the night wind came up. The wind turned the poplar
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This story may be triggering for readers who are sensitive to pregnancy and loss. People marvel at doctors and compare them to God. She thinks otherwise. Doctors are closer compared to the modern-day executioner. There may not be a guillotine in sight
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The house was not haunted, that much was obvious, but still she found the teeth. Specifically, chips of teeth that would turn up on her writing desk or on the floor. They were polished like beach glass. The wild turkey running down
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The mill was attached to the side of the stone house. It wheeled, rumbling in the downpour, scooping through the river. Inside the house, a child crouched in the kitchen. “Daddy,” she whispered. Weslan stood at the sink, listening to the pounding
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