The screaming continued in his mind, though. The cards howled. And the heat from them in his pocket throbbed against his hip – seventy-eight tiny hearts, skipping beats from their wounds. That rotten child had done this. Many people didn’t like what the cards told them, but the little girl had be...
I caress the spine, cracked and aging, and pull the book from the shelf. The musty scent irritates my nose. A part of the old cover flakes off and flutters to the carpet. Poor thing. Another victim of time, and barely a survivor from last year’s flood. Water spots stain the yellowing pages as I t...