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The deeper I dig in the grave dirt, the closer my daughter’s panicked voice gets. It isn’t until my shovel crashes through the rotten coffin lid that I can clearly hear her saying “DON’T LET IT OUT DON’T LET IT OUT DON’T LET IT OUT DON’T LET IT OUT”
Short story written by Peter Chiykowski
website twitter facebook instagramStory prompt taken from a photo by Jon Butterworth
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