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The Collector by J. T. Fisherman
My old man didn’t teach me much before he split last year, but at least one lesson he hammered home with fist and boot has served me well so far. “Never let the bastards know what you know.” He never really said who the bastards were, but I had a good idea that he meant…
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The Eighth Grave by Chaimae Belahrache
There’s always been a graveyard in our house.Seven of them. Seven graves lined up in our backyard like a row of crooked teeth.Other neighbors didn’t have one. My friends at school didn’t either.It kept away unwelcome guests, which made Mama happy, but it also scared off everyone else. Now a new grave is being dug…
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The Wolfman of Helltown by Ashley Mangtani
When the hunger comes up on that old mountain, it gives the Wolfman a name and sends it to him through the black timber of a night, in a tongue older than the good Lord ever meant a living thing to be. Whoever’s name it is, man, woman, or child, won’t ever walk back down…
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Rapture of the Deep by K. L. Shepherd
The dark November sky cast a pall over the cove, but the sea lions are what dampened my enthusiasm. I felt their eyes boring into me the moment I set foot on the beach. Their barking cries sent shivers down my spine. Their foul stench, like a fish market gone bad, announced their presence even…
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Phantom Limb by Jamie Sheasley
John’s left hand itched. He awoke, eyes sleep-crusted and head groggy from cold medicine he’d taken to knock himself out only hours ago. He felt a gentle touch that left tingles in the center of his left palm and crawled up the surrounding fingers. His right hand, ever protective of its twin, instinctively crossed his…
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Tradition by Emerson Bell
Winter’s touch had caressed the valley of my ancestors. The twilight before dawn bathed the snow in blues as I watched from the short hill near my home. A crow’s corpse swung gently on a leafless branch. Its blood clung to the bark. Tiny droplets spattered the snow below. Soon, golden sunlight would shatter my…
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Caught in the Dark by Gregory Meece
I would have remembered her first kiss even without the brittle strip of home movie film. That I was six and she was eight doesn’t blunt its truth. I loved Becca from the start, and in that brief, grainy moment, her kiss proved she loved me too. Our parents joked we were inseparable. I never…
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Beneath the Moss by Jennifer Edwards
Bogland is dark, tangled, and treacherous underfoot. Do not go there looking for the lady beneath the waters, for she may find you first. Plants spilled from her gaping maw—tubular pitcher plants, the woody stems of bog-myrtle, butterworts. Tendrils that almost looked as though they were writhing. Her hair had long withered away, leaving only…