To Kill a Dickinson

…tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap…

“The killer was outside the writer’s house. Already dreaming of her throat, the metal wire was tightened once more by gloved hands…”

Emily looked up beyond her notebook, into the foggy night. A shadow seemed to move swiftly through her front yard. Swish through front door/hall/staircase to a candle-lit westernmass studio. A shriek pierces the night as those last words are unwritten…

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