“They’re not pets, Lily.” Richard rubbed his temples. “I understand why you’re upset. But this isn’t safe.”
“Isn’t it?” Lily perched on the edge of the sofa, hands wrapped around her knees as she pulled herself into a ball. “I’ve lived here for years. Nothing bad has happened.”
Richard gave a concerned frown. “And I’m very glad nothing’s happened. But that doesn’t mean it’s safe. Please tell me you understand.”
In August, Sonny Gebhardt inherited an apple orchard.
The call from the lawyer and a letterhead confirmed it. His great-uncle had no other kin to give it to. When the deed came, Sonny almost crumpled it up.
But ten acres might cover a year's rent, and pizza rolls to boot. So without even seeing the property, he searched for a way to sell it.
My great-great-great-great-great granddaughter's at it again with the Bad Dragon Lil' Vibe.
“Do you see what she's doing, Sissy?” thinks Rue.
“I'm your cousin, not your sister, and I don't see anything,” I think back for literally the millionth time. “Stop psychically spying on her. Give the girl some privacy.”
When you're an immortal brain in a jar, precision is vital.
I rubbed the rough surface of the ancient ring that clung to my finger and felt it bite deeper into my flesh, the pain reminding me of Its impending visit. The wall clock ticked and ticked, its hands spinning mercilessly, begging for my gaze. I refused the call, but the message was crystal clear.
Midnight was approaching.
Emilia tapped the cover of the book I was holding, startling me.
“And then, Mommy?” she asked, her breathing labored but steadier than it had been in months.
From the bench, they could see the children littering.
Candy wrappers were undone, divested of their contents, and discarded in quick succession. Sticks that had proffered sugary baubles dropped into the grass like tiny javelins. One particularly betrayed looking whelp discovered that their baked goods had lured them in with the promise of chocolate only to reward them with dried fruit, and subsequently the stack was dashed against the dirt in a violent rage.
Rose’s cheeks were the embodiment of her name: pinkish, graceful, plumb as fresh strawberries. I trembled at the mere thought of approaching her. I mean, what would I even say?
“Just tell her you’re yummy for her cunny,” Jason said. “If her panties soil afterwards, you’ll know she’s down.”
“Gross. No way I’m saying that. I’d rather die.”
“Hilarious,” he said, rolling his eyes.
It all started when my Grandma was cremated. Her ashes came home in an ornate red urn that Father placed on the living room coffee table, and my Grandpa began to speak to her. “Wife, what will happen to our ashes when I die?” Grandpa murmured, staring at the silent urn. “Who will care for our spirits? Andrew or Benny or Carol?”
My mother caught me staring and told me to give Grandpa his privacy. But eight-year-old me had never seen anyone talk to ghosts before, and it fascinated me to no end. Later on, I asked Father about it.
Lorgo dressed for his job interview. He slipped on his sleeveless tan tunic. He slipped on his stained white trousers. He slipped on his thick silver bracelets. He slipped on the puddle of gore on the floor.
The mad scientist lived in a castle on a cliff overlooking a river running behind a Super Walmart. This was convenient for Lorgo because there was a bus stop at that Super Walmart and he did not have a driver's license, just one for driving carriages and another for driving ice picks.
The perfect treat for when you want to make sure the party ends with everyone’s relationships in tatters!
Jennifer crouched in a large bush in a small suburban park surrounded by busy roads, apartment buildings, and tasteful iron fences, her apprentice by her side. They were trying to determine whether the little girl sitting on the grass was playing with an imaginary friend. Or someone else.
“Mister Humphries, you haven’t eaten your sandwiches!”