The Truth About Witches_Roll the Credits_Out of Print_The Sly Fox
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The Truth About Witches
Content Warning: some violenceOn the first day of summer, with the scent of honeysuckle in the air, I learned about the witch.My goal that day was convincing Mom to let me bike to my favorite candy shop in the next town over. When she looked at me, the concern in her eyes went much deeper than I expected.“You know, the neighbors are saying there’s a witch in town. You’re going to need to be extra careful this summer.”“A witch?” I asked. So what? The only witch I knew was Sabrina, and she didn’t seem like someone you needed to hide from.“You know Redwood Lane? There’s an old blue house on the e...
Roll the Credits
Contains sexually explicit languageI sat in the dark next to my best friend, Dylan, in our favorite seats just a few rows behind dead center of our small town’s sole movie theater. We’d just slurped the last of our Cokes and nearly finished the popcorn and Goobers when the movie ended abruptly without a satisfactory landing. I suspected the romantic angle wedged into the story line made Dylan want to puke, but he sat quietly. French film - no plot, no tension, no explosions. “I heard a rumor that theaters across America were getting renovated,” I swww.onedoor.ccaid, preparing to bid adieu to the musty space...
Out of Print
Out of PrintHe was an unobtrusive character, one you wouldn’t look at twice if you passed him in the street.Drab and mousy, outfitted in neutral tones, he was just a wisp of a fellow. You might describe him as shadowy, furtive, ephemeral. His tweed overcoat, an odd blend of tan and grey, lent him the illusion of bulk. Where its collar — turned up at the back of his neck against the wind — met the back of his moleskin cap, there was a suggestion of almost colorless hair.Though young, he had an appearance at once world-weary and otherworldly. He walked with shoulders hunched, as though defending...
The Sly Fox
I wonder if things had been different if I had said no almost thirty-five years ago.Growing up, my mom had a closet full of clothes. The usual–dresses, blouses, dress trousers– but this story isn’t about that. We were not interested in those. What we were interested in were the things she’d exiled to a far, forgotten corner at the bottom of her closet. We would wait for her to go to brunch or something, leaving David in charge so that we could raid it. There were so many beautiful things we never saw her in. We took turns using the Hippie clothes, the bandannas and the miniskirts as props, but...