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Quincy Lee

The children in my houses walls

The Children in my House’s Walls

The head in the wall was crusted and decayed, mummified in its plastic shroud, the withered face open-mouthed in a scream—or maybe the jaw had loosened as the muscles decayed. The plastic is what held in the smell, though I do vaguely remember sometimes an odor permeating, especially during steamy […]

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Does anyone remember the rhyme about the Patchwork Man? And the picture game

Does anyone remember the rhyme about the Patchwork Man? And the picture game

Patchwork Man, Patchwork Man, play a game!Patchwork Man, Patchwork Man, in the frame! And the next line is something about stealing your skin. But for the life of me I cannot remember the end. I’m trying to find it for an old friend. This friend—for privacy’s sake, let’s call her

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