“The Spell for the Dead only works on Halloween, when spirits are earthbound.” My friend Judith states sitting beside me, clutching a photo of her deceased dog, Bronx. This spell supposedly raised the dead and Judith insisted I help cast it.
“We’ll soon know,” I reply as we hold hands and chant the incantation.
A growl interrupts us as a disheveled Bronx enters the room.
“Bro—” I stammer as the dog lunges at my throat, all teeth and claws, knocking me over in a pool of blood.
Judith leans over me, a smirk on her face. “Looks like it works.”
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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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alt="Sitting on Aine's Cursed Stone by Crystal N. Ramos"
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