One of the stories I wrote for October’s horror book.  I found a T-Shirt I hadn’t worn in ages and couldn’t remember whether it was mine or not, and because I am a banal sort of person at times I tweeted about it, prompting the suggestion a creepy story was to be had. 

“This isn’t my T-shirt,” Vicky informs me.

“Mmm?” I say, turning away from her and snuggling down into the nest of blankets.

I should have known she wouldn’t let me get away with it that easily.

“The neckline is wrong,” she says.  Her voice seems unnecessarily loud in the quiet dark of the morning, like she’s shouting, although she probably isn’t.  “It’s my size, but none of my stuff has a scooped neckline like this.”

I sit up with a sigh, bleary eyed, reaching for my glasses.  It’s an early winter morning, and the only light comes from a side lamp with a strange blue bulb, but even with that I can tell there’s nothing the matter with Vicky’s shirt.

“See?” she pulls at it insistently.

“Maybe it’s one of Katie’s?”

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