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Skeleton Boy Saves His SkinO' Gather 'round, children. I'll tell you a tale
Of a skeleton boy who was bony and pale.
For the first act, our story is all fun and games
But at the end of part one, we see everything changes
We see Skeleton Boy's snatched by the prince of all darkness.
'Tis back to trickster mythology that this storyline harkens.
And so Skeleton Boy must get out of this fix
And find ways to outsmart all his captors with tricks
So prepare for fantastical mischief in:
Skeleton Boy Saves His Skin
by Thomas Boguszewski
Deep underground, there was a boy who was dead
Then out of the ground popped his skeleton head.
He pulled his dead body up through all the red stone
And sat, his head rattling, upon his old headstone.
Skeleton Boy wanted mischievous fun
So he took to his heels and had a good run.
Our hero was hungry, and he saw a big rabbit,
So he set up a trap in order to nab it.
Once the rabbit was caught, the boy made rabbit stew.
But since he was bones, it fell right on through.
Soon after tha
Inspector Wolf The old lady was dead. I could smell it before I even got into the house. The whole place reeked of adrenaline, sweat, fear, copper and steel. He’d dropped her right in her living room. Chopped and chopped until she stopped moving. But I could tell I was getting close. This had been done in a hurry, and the killer didn’t have the time to clean up after himself like he usually did.
Across the room, the phone rang. The shrill sound set my teeth to grinding, but I ignored it. Instead I followed the killer’s bloody footprints into the back bedroom. He’d climbed out the window. If I hurried, I could catch up to him and end this disgusting spree he was on.
Then the answering machine kicked in. “Hi, Gramma! It’s Red. Sorry I’m running late. I kind of lost track of time. But don’t worry. I packed the picnic and I’m heading out the door right now. Love you.”
She’d been expec
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More