A House With Good Bones

by T. Kingfisher

“Maria says gringos are shit at mourning.”

I missed Arizona, where you got out of the shower, looked at the towel, and then ignored it because you were already dry.

“The roses say to say your prayers,” whispered a voice in my ear. My breath came in short, miserable gasps. It has to know I’m awake, I thought. It has to be able to tell by my breathing. This was bad, because if it knew I was awake, it could do … something.

I asked my phone if it was connected to the internet and it told me that it had a very close relationship with the internet. I attempted to pull up a web page and it informed me that it was not that kind of relationship.

Doll arms don’t have dirt under their fingernails.

“Go back where you belong, Mae Mills. Leave the living alone. If you cannot find the way, I will show you.”