It was a windy April 3am when a sharp rapping rang out, as if made by a small hard object tapping against the glass of an ordinary front door of an ordinary brick home in an ordinary suburban neighborhood. Investigating, the couple that lived there found sitting upon their doormat a beat up old tophat. And in that tophat was a tattered sleeve cut from an old black sweater. And wrapped in that sleeve, snoring gently, was a tiny human child. And lying atop the child was an old yellowed playing card. Scrawled upon the back of that card in smudgy black ink was simply this: "Ours is no life for a child. Give him a good home and he will bring you good fortune."
... Find the rest of the story of Sean Hexed here.
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