This is the 15th installment of a 100-day challenge to write a new vignette every morning.
He had a hidden stash underneath the floorboards in the back room of the house. He crept to it at night when he knew—or thought, anyway—that the rest of the household slept soundly.
Sam knew his parents wouldn’t approve; Diane and Timothy didn’t approve of much. Lewis would be livid.
In the hall, the second floorboard from the left always creaked, so he stepped around it carefully. As he reached the doorway, he heard a creak behind him. He whirled around and—nothing. He stared back into the darkness long enough for his heart to find its normal tempo.
Sam reached the middle of the back room and peeled back the corner of the rug. The floorboard popped out easily—as it had every night—and he plunged his hand into the darkness without ceremony.
They’d almost made it to Thanksgiving, and still, some candy remained. Sam considered that a testament to his willpower and cleverness. He unwrapped a Twix. It didn’t matter if the candy remained all the way up to Thanksgiving—he had no intention of presenting it at their feast—but he felt proud it had lasted so long already.
Another creak. Sam sprung up to see a silhouette, backlit by the moon, in the doorway. He recognized the diminutive frame.
“That was mine,” Lewis said, a whine creeping into his voice.
Sam held out a Dum Dum. “We can share.”
Miles Away 