The Lawn Worker Heard Crying in My Basement and I Knew Something Was Wrong

with no windows, believing that if she kept her pencil moving someone would eventually find her.

She was right.

And I was the one who took too long.

But I was also the one who finally came down the stairs.

I looked at the book on the coffee table, The Hidden Room, and thought about its cover: a bird with its wings spread wide against an open sky. I thought continue reading …