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Speak of the Devil

Faith Anderson

An acquaintance walked in on me as I was talking about her. It was only simple gossip to a friend, nothing more. I had commented about her hair, noting that she had dyed it red recently. “I think she did it to impress a special someone,” I astutely observed. But she walked in before I could say anything more. “Speak of the Devil,” I muttered, tensing my fingers and waving awkwardly. The ground vibrated, nearly throwing us all to our knees. The earth in front of us split in a neat line, throwing ghoulish red light on the bedrock below. A clawed hand appeared from the crack, sinking deep into the soil. The hand pulled itself up and revealed a man-shaped creature. He rose to his full height, a wide grin nearly splitting his face in two. “You called?”
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