The Eyes of Aaron Marsh

By Scott Brendel

Was it West Cedar?  West Maple?  They should have brought the paper with the address.  But no; it sat in the clutter beside the phone at home.

“Hurry,” Amanda said.  “We’re late.”

“How hard can it be to find?” Carl muttered.

Then she saw it, knew it by the prickle that crawled up her spine.  “There,” she said, pointing.

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