In the night he feels her struggling beneath his body, as if trying to escape the prison of his weight. Just a dream, he thinks, but in the morning, stripping the sheets, he sees her shape in silhouette, long legs, the heightened curves of breasts and hips. A woman, unquestionably—but what was she doing inside his new mattress?
Ten minutes on hold with the 800 number before an automated voice warns, Don’t let her out! Too late—he hears the fabric tearing.
A hand, then another, then her face, front teeth bared, her voice hissing a single word: Hungry.
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alt="To Cleave the Crone by E.M. McCormack"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="They Only See Me When I Cry by Alara Rogers"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="The Last Leprechaun by Dakria"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Sitting on Aine's Cursed Stone by Crystal N. Ramos"
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>