Haunted Orlando: 4 tales of creepy flash fiction from There Will Be Words 

Page 4 of 4


By J. Bradley

I rescue the rattiest bedsheet from a nearby clothing donation box. I trim it to where I think I could see Neil's knees and feet. I cut two eyeholes, arm holes, and a slit where I think his mouth would likely be.

Neil frowns when he sees the bedsheet body stretched taut between my fingers. He wants to say: This is the third year in a row. "Pretend you're your mother this time," I say.

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