Snow comes early in Cloudcroft. Every year a foot covers the cellar doors by Thanksgiving, two by Christmas. I hated it, but that’s life at eight thousand feet, Dad always said.

At eighteen, I left. After a decade, with Dad’s passing, I’m home.

Outside, snow’s falling. Dad would’ve loved it.

Stephen resides in upstate New York and writes flash fiction and dark stories. He has been published in Flash Phantoms, Trembling with Fear, as well as various other non-fiction publications.