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Dead Horses


You reach into the dead horse’s mouth and remove the envelope. There is a name written on it in cursive, which you check against the piece of paper pinned to your coat. It doesn’t match. Your breath steams in the early morning air as you exhale with relief. While taking one last look into the horse’s dull black eyes, you decide to go see the Tall Bearded Man and show him your find.

No one else seems to be awake as you let yourself back into the big house through the kitchen door, locking it behind you. You shrug off your coat, still holding the envelope in one hand. The cuckoo clock above the kitchen table ticks loudly.

Everyone left their plates of barely-eaten food sitting along the length of the main table last night when they rushed out of the dining room in a panic. Someone knocked over the coffee can ashtray. Cigarette butts and ash splay out across the table. You trace an idle finger through the grey powder as you walk through the dining room and into the rest of the house.

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Posted in Featured Fiction