The Twisted Ones

by T. Kingfisher

Bongo is an excellent watchdog, by which I mean that he will watch very alertly as the serial killer breaks into the house and skins me. But if the UPS guy ever tries to put one over on us, Bongo’s on the case. If dogs had religion, Satan would be the UPS guy.

You have to understand, it’s just not how my family works. We don’t stay where we aren’t wanted. Grandma had made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with me, and if somebody wants nothing to do with you, you leave. We are a family that divorces quietly and without contest. If someone says they are done with us, we take them at their word. But the corollary to that, I suppose, is that we return just as quickly and with just as little fanfare.

If Grandma had called me up in the middle of the night, at any time in all those years, and said, “Mouse, I need you here,” I would have come. I would have gotten in the car and driven all night. I didn’t like her and I didn’t love her, but I would have come because she’d asked.

Maybe I was just inventing tragic nostalgia where none should exist.

It was just the unpleasant little voice that pops up in the middle of the night to remind you about the stupid thing you did in high school, or to whisper that maybe there’s a monster under the bed.

“Maybe the oxygen will help,” I said. “I’m sure it will,” he said, and we both knew he was lying, and we both knew that I knew. But families run on optimistic lies sometimes, so neither of us called the other one out on it and we said goodbye.

Do you remember when you were a kid, and you fell down constantly, and it was just no big deal? Somewhere along the way, that changes and you start to realize how old folks fall down and die as a result.

He used to say that many dark things were cloaked in simple stories of fairies and humble rural superstition.

The whole world was teetering on a thin skin over the top of horrific realization. Definitely weird shit.

Someone must get the oil and refill the lamps, whispered the little voice in the abyss.

My inner dialogue in f-Ed up situations lol.

“Hon, for all I know they’re gonna eat us and are trying to find the recipe book.” On that comforting thought, she closed her eyes and began to snore.

Foxy is my kind of friend lol.

Surely unholy abominations wouldn’t follow me to Walmart.

how dare it touch my dog?