by Morgan Griffith

Josh fetched a soda and returned to his desk. His story about an elderly couple who barricaded themselves in their home, not to stave off Death, but keep relatives from interrupting the process, was nearly finished. His word program was still open. Halfway down the page, after huge spaces someone had typed:

— can’t      see       me—-

Farther down, after a flood of asterisks was typed:

— I’ll crawl along the floor in the dark, and devour your soul—-

He shuddered involuntarily, glancing at the shadows in his bedroom. The PC curser trembled, and a spectral hand reached through his monitor.

About Russ Thompson

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