We built him Tuesday after the first snow, used Mom’s buttons for his crooked smile.
Wednesday he stood taller, thicker. Tommy’s scarf was wrapped around his neck. We didn’t put it there.
Thursday, Tommy was gone.
Friday, Sarah’s mittens appeared on his hands. Saturday, Sarah was gone.
He drags closer each night, leaving wet trails. His crooked mouth grows wider.
Sunday morning, my little brother ran outside. Those branch arms cracked open, and his mouth split wide. It swallowed him whole.
Mom’s calling his name from the kitchen.
If I tell her, she’ll go outside.
He’s at our mailbox now.
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