Luck Runneth Over

by Lori R. Lopez

Reversing from a stall, puffing a joint to celebrate the new job, Winston’s high crashed when he felt a bump — his tires running over something.  Was there a bag or box under the car?  Braking, he climbed out and found to his stomach-twisting dismay a pair of skinny legs protruding below the chassis.  How?  Nobody had been there!

The legs pulled out of sight.

Enormously relieved, he crouched.  “Are you okay?”

The parking-garage ghost yanked him beneath by his lucky crimson tie.  A choked scream.  The red sportscar bounced.  Then a bloodstain spread like wine across oily concrete.

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