It sat on the front door stoop: one large, seeping box, addressed to both of us, and we did not, of course, remember buying such a thing.…… Read more “We Bought a Box of Organs”
When you leave I’ll preserve you (your memory, I mean). I’ll tuck my dreams of you away in a bed of Egyptian sand for centuries and centuries,…… Read more “A Letter from Your Love Interest (who is not an Embalmer)”
The rites have been described as highly uncomfortable.
Rather than xenophobia, I think, good cosmic horror and weird fiction practice something closer to exophobia–this fear of things outside human perception or outside what it means to be intrinsically people.
no goblins will glare out of dark cellar shadows because/
we all know, for quite certain, that monsters aren’t real.
I will return: Monday, Tuesday, Friday. Blank checkboxes sit beside each day’s name.
There’s so little to eat, the icebox is empty
Is it too much to ask to dine with a friend?
Arturo’s body was never found, and that was all well and good because after getting chased around by that chainsaw-wielding maniac, he could have really used a break.
And the neighbors glared at you, of course, because they think it’s your fault.
She wandered for what seemed like forever, picking through the racks of skull skulptures and skull wine holders, skull key chains, skull mandolins, skull chaise lounges, skull guillotines, skull pendulums, skull jack-in-the-boxes.
Our room was bitter cold and no manner of warmth from the fireplace could chase away the chill, so snuggling deep into the pillows on the antique canopy bed was just the ticket. The moaning from the hallways really helped my husband get to sleep in the absence of his white noise generator.
Mom lifted her arms and all the cutlery leapt from the drawers. A few stray forks impaled the zucchini she’d been slicing before the ruckus began.