My daughter kisses me. “Heading home,” she says.
Since my cancer, Carrie gives out my treats on Halloween.
I roll my wheelchair to the porch’s edge and watch her taillights dwindle into the night. That’s when I see the girl on my lawn.
“Hello,” the little girl says. She’s dressed as a goat.
“No more candy, I’m afraid!”
“Quite alright,” she answers. “Tell me, did you enjoy your last kiss with your daughter?”
Her eyes go ablaze.
I gape. “You’ve come for me…”
The Devil smirks childishly, in the distance a horn blares; metal crunches, “No. Not for you.”
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alt="Sitting on Aine's Cursed Stone by Crystal N. Ramos"
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