Status Updates From Throwing Shadows

I didn't care for either of these stories.

Didn't care for this one.

This short story was an especially hard and uncomfortable read, as someone who survived abusive legal guardians that weren't my real parents.

WELL THEN. I WASN'T EXPECTING THAT TWIST ENDING.

I wasn't expecting that twist but I'm certainly not complaining!

“Who are you talking about?” Dolion asked. “The devil,” she admitted. Dolion shook his head in disgust. “If you need me, I’ll be outside.” Dolion was gone before she could answer. The sound of the screen door slamming hard against the frame let her know he was gone and that he didn’t believe her. “Help me, Dolion.” Although her husband was close, she knew it was far too late. Too late for everything.

“There’s an old wives’ tale that says if you die in your dreams,” he paused, turning on the theatrics, “you die in real life.” He focused his eyes on me and waited for a reaction. “Yeah. I think I heard that bullshit before,” I boasted. “That’s what we’re going to assess.”

As I turn left on Elm Street, I glimpse my first victims of the day following behind me. Some are on bikes and the rest run with flapping money in their grubby little hands. The pleasure comes from letting them try to catch up to me for at least a block before stopping the ice cream truck. It’s life’s small pleasures that keep me going.

“Mommy?” I wasn’t sure if he really saw me, and I didn’t care. I yanked my hand back from the teddy bear and saw the basement fall away as well. Alone in my apartment, face to face with a child’s teddy bear, Toby’s voice echoed off the walls.

The door created a loud clack as it swung open. Her arm tingled as her hair stood on end. Even as her chest tightened from the noise, curiosity told her to see who made the sound. The door kept creaking and curiosity evaporated like water turning to steam. Although the urge to pull the covers over her head was strong, she couldn’t take the chance. Whatever came from the cellar would see her in the dark.

The door across the hallway was exactly like hers. Same carved molding—same wooden front, and the same brass doorknob. What drew her attention was the old keyhole. It wasn’t like anything she’d ever seen before. The place a key slid in was like a hungry mouth ready to chomp. Unable to resist, Tabitha extended her fingers to the handle until her palm rested on its smooth surface.