We Just Wanted a Dog

There are plenty of sounds you would never want to hear. Sounds that scratch at your eardrums like airborne razors. I can’t stand the squeal of bicycle brakes, or the cries of my neighbor’s three-month-old child. Nails on a chalkboard? You kidding me? I’d take that any day.

That’s part of the reason we never had a child. My husband doesn’t see a father looking in the mirror, and me? The few glimpses of the future I’ve seen never had our own little thing that would grow up to be its own. I never could imagine it. But for that reason, a few years ago now, we adopted a whippet—Jeffers.

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Mirror

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“You need to hold your hand up to the glass,” Emma’s voice came through the door. “You call out her name three times, and something bad’s supposed to happen.”

“I don’t know that I believe that,” Kathy whispered.

“Then why do you sound so scared?”

“I’m not scared. I just… don’t like standing in here,” Kathy set the candle down on the vanity and watched it flicker for a moment, then looked back up to her own face. Maybe she was a little scared. Her lips curled down slightly, with eyebrows retreating behind the muddy brown of her hair.

She looked down to the sink. The world drifted away, and no sounds prevailed aside the distant tick of a grandfather clock. She wanted to close her eyes, but that proved to be way more frightening than she could tolerate. Instead, she focused on the candle—considering how dumb she’d feel leaving the bathroom without a good try. She raised a hand, and maintaining her focus, placed it on the glass. It was cool, and comfortable. It allowed a little bit of solidity in the shifting darkness.

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Innocent Hobbies | A Short Story

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When something tells you you’re going to die very soon, you listen.

But most important, is to know who you’re speaking to.

He’d given up looking for the misplaced shotgun yet another night, and instead resorted to spending his leisure time on a new hobby. Bradley pressed his palms into each side of the board—leaning in to let the stale air fill his lungs. He’d heard stories—listened to all the talk radio he could fathom—but never had the story gone like this. The candles had blown out in a draft which gave life to the planchette; it moved on it’s own over the scuffed letters wood-burned into the board.

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Door: a Flash Fiction Nightmare

Faces_Sketch“Nobody goes down there,” said Toby, taking a sip of whisky and pausing for a drag.

“Nobody?” I said, “Are you sure?”

“Well, I know some have, but they probably weren’t too happy about it.”

A breeze fled past the alley, and there was a crinkling sound when I shut my eyes. I need water, I thought. Water and a woman.

“You know,” said Toby, “I saw a gal,” I leaned back, because I knew this was gonna’ be a story. Not small talk, real this time.

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