There's something in my closet. Its raspy monster breath makes my curtains flutter at night. I tell my mom, but she says it's just the sound of the wind whispering secrets to the moon.
He wakes with a veil of fading orange sunset falling over his face. Slowly, he raises a hand, twisting it through the shards of light. There are no callouses. No dry cracks of peeling skin. It is
...
[+]
The power in my town goes out at 2:15 p.m. every day, but it's not about the power.
It's about what disappears with it. The whirr of the fan, the static of old FM radio, the illusion of time moving
...
[+]
