A lurid purple appendage stretched out of the thing’s mouth, rolling like an alien tuber towards the tuna, sucking it up and catching the ceramic plate on fire.
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.
It crawled out of its own pan on nine legs
What can you do but scramble for shore?