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I Grew Up

My father died from pulmonary hypertension when I was only four years old. I still remember the night he had the heart-attack, watching from the third-floor window of my great-grandmother’s bedroom as he was wheeled on a stretcher across the driveway. Hell, I still remember the bare and twisted trees […]

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Toby

It was in the year of our Lord 1778, when I, Frank Aaron McDougall, made voyage from Ireland, carried upon the wind of freedom was I bound towards that shining light across the sea, to meet up with me brother Newly and his kinfolk, in the Carolinas. It was a

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The Holy Drinker

As Nick lifted the glass to his lips once more, he felt his shirt sleeve pull free from the sticky puddle of spilled cocktails that had accumulated throughout the night. He tilted his head back and tossed the remainder of the drink into the back of his throat. The burn

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The Man In My Bedroom Window

For as long as I can remember, there has been a man in my bedroom window. It seems strange to say, I know, but it is true. From the earliest, fuzziest memories I have all the way up to now, he’s been there. Looking at me. In my first memories

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I Was a Ghost Hunter For Just One Day

GHOST HUNTERS WANTED. NO EXPERIENCE NEEDED. That was what sucked me into all this, that stupid ad. They even used the Ghostbusters logo. Totally illegal, sure, but it’s a Facebook ad and who cares, right? The familiar logo caught my eye, the text made me laugh, and I thought, “Sure, why not?” And I clicked their stupid ad.

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I Found a Mask in the Basement

The top half of Councilman Jones’ body hung by a steel cable looped around his neck and tied off to an old oak tree on one end. It was still dripping blood, bones and veins and torn bits of intestines dangling down where the legs should start. The cable was stretched through the air, over to an ash tree ten yards away from where the other half of the body was hanging by the legs.

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They Need Help

Shawn took one last drag of his cigarette. He didn’t smoke regularly, but this occasion nearly called for one. It had been years since his last job interview, and it was all he could do to stop his hands from shaking. He looked at the cigarette and remembered the time

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Does it Hurt When You Die?

Katy took a long hit on the pipe. Her eyes rolled up and back into her head. She choked on the smoke that invaded her lungs, and an attempt at a giggle was unsuccessful. Her blue eyes watered and her almost-laugh was strangled by another coughing fit. “I’m gonna die!”

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Letters From Ben

I don’t think I’ve ever told this story before. I’ve done my best to repress the memories of that year of my life. Maybe I’ve vaguely referenced certain aspects about the ordeal here and there. It would have been impossible not to, considering its impact, but I’ve never regaled it

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Dawn in Texas

Adam kneeled on the ground to inspect his freshly flattened tire. As he drew closer, he could hear the last bit of air hiss out from around the nail. Swearing under his breath, Adam pulled off his baseball cap and used it to fan himself. Summer days in Texas were famous for their intense heat, and this one proved to be no different. As beads of sweat already began to form on his forehead, he heard the crunch of gravel from behind. Spinning on his heels, he was met with the site of a beaten and battered pickup truck coming to a stop behind his own vehicle. The brakes emitted out a load squeak before the monstrous machine came to a halt. The door opened on rusty hinges, and a tall, slender man stepped out from the cab.

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I Went To a Funeral That Was Supposed To Be a Wedding

I was supposed to be at my friend’s wedding this weekend. And the thing is, maybe I was there? Only I’m pretty sure it was canceled. I went to the bride’s funeral. But—let me back up. I knew both Aldin and Petra from college. They met in Intro to Shakespeare sophomore year and hit it off immediately. They were both dramatic types, so their relationship was pretty entertaining for all of us. You know the type I mean, right? Nothing was ever middle of the road. Things were always either fantastic or ruined. Nothing in between.

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I’m Not Myself These Days

Late last year, I suffered a stroke. The doctors tell me that I was lucky, by which they mean I survived. On the whole, I’m not certain that counts as luck. The left side of my body was all but paralyzed. I can manage to move my leg by swinging it like a club, but all dexterity is gone. My hand is useless, its feeble movements too erratic to even hold a book. My speech is slurred into incoherence, and I have a hard time making the words I want come out, anyway. Children point and whisper when I’m out in public. I can’t blame them. Half of my face hangs slack, the muscles drooping until I look like a wax figure left out in the sun.

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