by Colleen M. Foley
“There’s no pension, you know," Nate said as Seth, so much younger than he, stared up at him defiantly.
one believes you, even when the thing you just saved them from is
bleeding onto their nice carpet. These things will bewitch you, curse
you… kill you. This life is hard, Seth. It hurts, and it never ends, until you do.”
Seth stood, the hatchet he’d grabbed in terror held loosely at his side, its handle tacky with drying blood.
“I’m in, Nate.”
They looked at the thing on the floor.
“You’re right, though. It really was a nice carpet.”