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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