A Bucket of Tiny Madnesses
When you press them down, you hear their angry little squeals.
Crawling In, Crawling Out
When she charmed worms out of the ground, she did so alone, with her wood rattler: a long stick carved with teeth, jammed deep into the earth, scraped so it sang like skeletons clattering.
We’re Being Eaten
J– is studying at the kitchen table, pencil scribbling, lamp-lit, while the things slide in from the back yard. They slide out from holes we never noticed before (or maybe we always knew they were there, burrows with milk-gray wrinkled things inside, like overlarge moles, like leftovers we forgot about). J– needs to pass this…
This Town has too Many Dark Festivals
The rites have been described as highly uncomfortable.
Nothing Fun will Happen this Halloween
no goblins will glare out of dark cellar shadows because/ we all know, for quite certain, that monsters aren’t real.
That Thing Standing Behind You
There’s so little to eat, the icebox is empty Is it too much to ask to dine with a friend?
There’s a Big Demon Alligator Sitting on the Lawn
And the neighbors glared at you, of course, because they think it’s your fault.
“Great, but Too Many Floating Eyeballs”
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.
That Fish is Going to Eat You
What can you do but scramble for shore?