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McCraw, Wesley
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Fiction
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English
β 9 KB
My bedroom door doesn't have a lock. I watch the doorknob from my bed, imagining the handleοΏ½s slow turn. I hug my knees and rock in sweat-drenched anxiety. On the other side of the door is a foul mist, and in that mist waits a yellow thing, a Grimm fairytale come to life.