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Weekly Contest #275
Stevie has known that he could listen to souls since he was four. It started the night his Pawpaw died. He’d been woken from a dream about being pushed in a wagon full of maggots through a sunlight-filled garage door. His blanket weighed more than a mountain, pinning his body to the bed where he lay staring up at his Pawpaw. The old man had turned on Stevie’s velociraptor lamp and stood towering over the bed, his body long and stretched out. Stevie had never seen his Pawpaw stand before. He’d been sick since before Stevie was born. At that m...
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