The Twisted Ones

by T. Kingfisher

I made a mental note to buy a new rake. That one belonged to the spider now.

There is probably a sum of money that could have incited me to sleep in that room. I am not wealthy and I can be bought. But it would be up in the thousands. I’m easy, but not cheap.

What I am getting at here is that my dog is not a reliable indicator of Bad Things Going Down.

I told him that I was reduced to instant coffee at home and he looked at me as if I had told him about a great personal tragedy.

“You don’t let your neighbors get et by monsters alone.

Joke’s on you, holler people. I got an IUD in there. Let’s see your monolith get past that

“Shit, what am I, the monster whisperer?”

“You have trespassed into deep places, and the only way out is deeper still.”

I wish I had a tenth of the emotional resilience of a dog.