You can find her story here:
I wrote this in a hurry tonight, so if you see any missing words or other errors please let me know. It's a bit of fantasy this week, 631 words worth (no pun intended).
If you want to go to my blog instead, the link is here:
On the Flip Side
The damp stones of the old building exuded a chill as he huddled in its shadow. A shiver went down his back. As uncomfortable as Fenton was, the shadows were his friends now. What he'd stolen was worth quite a bit. He expected the owners would want it back. Surely the police had been notified by now.
He glanced each way, half expecting to find them on his trail. He took a deep breath. Only a couple of people passing by—no one to worry about. It was then something caught his eye.
Though the morning rains had stopped, the street was still wet. There was movement in a puddle not far in front of him. He couldn't make out what might be causing it, but it appeared to be a shoe. Whatever the object was, it quickly disappeared. A moment later, a finger, then a hand, briefly appeared.
Fenton cussed. This was not good. "Some fool must have fallen into an open manhole," he said. "Probably flooded and didn't see it. Now he's drowning. I don't need murder added to theft if I'm caught."
Before he could figure out which way to run, two feet sprouted up out of the hole. Within seconds, an entire person had popped out of the puddle and was standing upright not ten metres away. The man seemed confused, though not as much as Fenton. Oddly enough, he wasn't the slightest bit wet.
He fought the urge to approach the man, still concerned about possible pursuers. Fenton ducked behind the corner of the building as the man turned towards him. When he peeked out again, he saw him running down the street. There was no trail of wet footprints to mark his path.
Despite his circumstances, Fenton's curiosity drew him to the puddle. It looked no different from the others along the street. He reached out to touch it. There was no ripple, no visible disturbance. He rubbed his fingers together. They weren't wet.
"Bloody..." he muttered under his breath. He reached in further, staring into the puddle trying to see what was within. He leaned closer and felt himself being pulled deeper. Whatever force was drawing him in was stronger than his efforts to resist.
He found himself sitting on the street—the same street as before—though in a world around him that was in ruin. The cold rain hitting his face brought him back to the moment.
Reaching into his coat pocket, the clandestine prize which had driven him to desperation was still there. The police were no longer his concern, but he felt an uneasiness as to what, or who, might be here instead. It was time to move. He would have to figure what had happened to him later.
He didn't go far until his path was blocked by debris. He worried about damaging the precious item in him pocket climbing over the twisted metal and stone. Fenton pulled it out of his pocket, still wrapped in an old cloth. He would set it up on some stones, then climb up to it, repeating this until safely over the top. He had just raised it above his head when he heard a familiar voice,
"So, what have we here?"
Before Fenton could turn, something hard and sharp went into his back. He couldn't breathe. As it all went black, a hand reached around him and took the package from his hand.
"Must be something mighty special," the man said. "What do you say we have a look?"
He started to unwrap his prize when Fenton's body fell over. Though life oozed from his mouth and the eyes were closed, the face was one he'd seen before—in the mirror.
"Bloody..." the man muttered under his breath as he backed away.