She plucked the shards out one by one and stashed them in a box under her bedroom floor.
It didn’t even weep ceaselessly. The ghost didn’t throw knives or stomp or bang on the walls. No one’s toes were nibbled.
A skeletal hand was left on the seat Charise wanted. When she poked it, it scrambled under her feet.
Grasp our babies /gently, between
massive jaws / teach them / to chomp minnows / and toes
Peering inside, I saw
what might have been gray cobblestones,
rough-hewn stairs, old pitch torches
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.
Maalphegor came with it’s own door-to-door salesmen; at the beginning, they looked a little like Bela Lugosi clones, but as the years wore on, the shadows in the salesmen’s faces deepened, a bit like Pazuzu from the Exorcist; then increasingly they began to look like Slender Men once Ralph and Edna’s children came of age.
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.