The Twisted Ones

by T. Kingfisher

Big white rock. Some weird stuff going on with that rock. How we feelin’ about that rock? I had no particular opinion about the rock, other than that it was another creepy thing on the pile of increasingly creepy things. I was pretty sure that it was another rock like the one in the Green Book, and thus there was a slim chance it might try to get me pregnant, and that I was a bit miffed at it for apparently trying to get into my head. I reported this to Foxy.

If I could get to the truck, I’d throw Foxy and Anna and Bongo in it and drive until we ran out of gas. Surely the effigies couldn’t chase us that far, or if they did, I could get to other people. Other people seemed like a talisman. I’d go to… to a mall or a Walmart or something. Surely unholy abominations wouldn’t follow me to Walmart.