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Evil Axe

He must’ve dozed off for a moment. The dresser skidding across the wooden floor jerked him awake, terror flooding his exhausted veins, just as Annie—no, the creature inhabiting Annie now—squirmed through the gap in the wreck of the bedroom door and flung herself, itself at him, filthy nails and teeth extended. Instinct swung the axe and that final spasm of his ragged muscles saved him, planting the blade in the thing’s skull as it fell across him. The first light of the sun crept in through the corner of the cabin window. It was over.

*

“If only we hadn’t read that damned book,” he finished, hunched in the jail cell. His hands were still streaked with blood, but he was too numb to notice.

“Son, they gonna putchew way fo’ a loooong time,” said the sheriff, laughing and tossing back the last of his coffee. He shoved his chair away from the bars and made a fist around the styrofoam. “You believe that, Tim? Kid kills his friends with an axe and he wants us to believe they were possessed by a book?”

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