The Boy in the Dryer
When I was a little boy we lived in a small town with a very rural community. My brothers and I were latchkey kids* for the most part. After school we would explore the area and play games like hide and seek or tag..
Check the backseat
I like to think that I take my personal safety very seriously. I don't stand too close to the road while waiting for the walk signal. I have my location shared with my sister and mom. I keep my wits about me when I'm out in public, and I try not to dawdle after getting into my car. If I had only been more diligent about that last rule, I might not be in the situation I'm in now.
Primal nature
The first thing I noticed was the silence. Not the kind of quiet you find in a deserted room or a forest at dusk, but a profound, suffocating absence of sound. No hum of electricity, no distant chatter of voices, not even the rustle of wind through leaves. It was as if the world had been muted, and he was the only one left to hear it.
But, it was just a goat?
I woke up late that morning to a sharp knock at my attic door. My mom’s voice followed, tight with that mix of annoyance and urgency she gets when the goats need to be grazed. Again.
The Flower
Amelia had always loved flowers. Their vibrant colors, delicate petals, and sweet fragrances were her escape from the monotony of her small-town life. So, when she stumbled upon an old, hidden booth at the annual spring fair, she was instantly drawn to it. The booth was draped in faded crimson cloth and adorned with strange, twisting vines that seemed alive. An elderly woman with piercing green eyes sat behind the counter, a single pot of flowers displayed before her.
Which Door?
It’s 3 AM again. I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling fan as it spins in endless, lazy circles. The cold air brushes over my clammy skin, but it does nothing to soothe the goosebumps crawling up my arms. I’m drenched in sweat—cold, sticky, and suffocating.