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The Door

·105 words·1 min
Flash Fiction

“It’s magic chalk, I tell you!”

“More like magic beans.”

The old man huffed, and clutched the battered cigar box tighter.

Steve woke to sounds of commotion. Grabbing his robe, he stepped into the hall. Rosie was standing in her doorway across from his.

“What’s the ruckus?” he called.

Rosie shuffled closer, and said in a low tone, “Frank’s missing.”

“What? No. He’s probably just fallen asleep in the bathroom again.”

“I think he escaped.”

“Nonsense! I’m going to his room.”

Frank’s room was cool, and quiet. On the wall was a chalk drawing of a tall door, opened to show a bright green field.