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  • They called Tim obsessive, compulsive. Mental. His housemates would roll their eyes as he crushed egg shells to sand, and flushed his clipped nails down the toilet.

    But Tim didn’t bear grudges. He knew they didn’t mean anything by their cruel words. So when the witches climbed out of the shadows of ash trees, sailing in their shell coracles he didn’t laugh. As twisted fingers dragged the doubters, trapped in thorn bags, into muddied pools he just shook his head and turned the TV up to drown out the screams.
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