“Where’s the little sneak?” her mother’s boyfriend snarled.
Chloe slid further under her bed.
“Chrissakes Zeke, she’s seven—wouldn’t steal your smelly socks,” her mother slurred.
Chloe tossed crusty socks into the Hole.
Hiding from drunken fists, she’d found it, barely a pinprick. Nourished it with her terror and tears. Then, as it grew, Zeke’s nail clippings, snot rags…
Zeke’s leering face appeared. Chloe shrieked. His arm flailed toward her. Missed. Plunged into the Hole.
Zeke screamed, withdrawing a spurting stump. He fainted. The Hole slurped Zeke down with a peptic pop.
Chloe giggled. Now the monster’s under the bed.
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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"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
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>