Number 77

The car was filthy, the hose barely displacing the red gunk that clung to the bumper. Liz adjusted the nozzle, focusing the blast. Her fingers trembling, whether with the coldness of the morning or guilt, she couldn’t tell.

The front of the car was a mess though, bonnet crumpled, lights smashed. Getting home from the pub had been tricky, her heart pounding in her mouth. Expecting blue lights to erupt behind her at any moment.

It was just a deer, leaping out of the shadows.

The fact that it had a childlike face was merely a trick of the night.


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