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The Old Pond at the end of Ducking Stool Lane is supposed to be haunted with ghosts of drowned witches. I won’t swim, despite the dares and the heat of the summer sun. Kipper doesn’t surface. We think he’s playing us for fools. Our nervous laughter dies with our friend.

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A 50-word story written by Bruce Arbuckle, inspired by the Freewriters Writing Prompt on Hive, “at the end of the lane”

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Bruce Arbuckle (felt.buzz)