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Weekly Contest #380
Rachel dug furiously through the plastic bin, tossing items carelessly over her shoulder. A heap of varied seasonal items – a witch hat, fishnet stockings, pastel plastic easter eggs, a kiss me, I’m Irish! pin, and a mini menorah – lay at her feet. Her fiance was supposed to fly home for the evening’s festivities, but his flight was delayed six hours, courtesy of Tropical Storm Harold. Rachel did not deem this a strong enough reason to push back tonight’s allotted Christmas decorating time, even if it meant she would pull a muscle carrying t...
Weekly Contest #275
Main Street was crawling with hordes of festive tourists, hopping from bar to bar in costumes ranging from sexy nurses to bumblebees to superheroes, even a giant blow-up Kool Aid Man, who lost control and tumbled into the bushes after one too many pumpkin ales. Spooky music rang out around the town, coming from a source unknown. Ghouls and goblins lingered in the shadows, hoping to startle a skittish trick-or-treater. True enthusiasts hosted seances, dusted off ouija boards, and even tested out homemade ghost detectors. Still, stranger thing...
Weekly Contest #273
Louise was never one to scare off easily, nor did she ever care to believe in the paranormal. One of her earliest memories was sitting restlessly in a pew during the St. Louis Cathedral’s 11 o’clock Mass, swinging her legs up as far as they could go in her Sunday best. She remembered rolling her eyes whenever the priest would cry out that God can save us from the evil spirits lurking the city. More importantly, she remembered pitying all the fervent church-goers who believed him. Therefore, when the student body of Tulane decided to throw a ...
Weekly Contest #267
“I sincerely appreciate your moral support throughout this process.” I roll my eyes to Louise as the words fall off my tongue. Her head peaks up from the taupe sofa bed floating in the center of my living room, tossing her phone lightly into the cushion. “Huh? Oh yeah, anytime Rach. Do you need any help with that?” I make eye contact with her as I screw in the final bolt to my vintage bar cart. “No…I think I’m all set.” I say, hauling the piece upright on its wheels. I almost tip over the glass of white zinfandel in the process. “I can he...
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