It's the summer of 1979, the sun is shining, AC/DC is on tour, Missy Perkins has her first real photography gig, and there's something in the water at Loon Lake.
—Imogen, Shakespeare's Cymbeline, Act IV, scene ii
Our courtiers say all's savage but at court:
Experience, O, thou disprovest report!
The imperious seas breed monsters[...]
"Dear Da," she says a bit hysterically, "I've made a terrible mistake. I've been robbing carriages, you see, a dreadful pastime for a young lady but one I find I'm quite good at, and I made the incalculably stupid mistake of deciding to hold up the one carriage in the whole of three countries containing my employer."
How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made
By looking on thee in the living day
“'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.”
The voice came through on the wireless, low, warm, and crackling a bit with the distance in counterpoint to the fire going in the living room.
"It's a bit of an insult, don't you think," Clementine Amaretti said, punching down the dough for what was destined to become six very fine loaves of white bread, "that they only consider the creatures in that tale? What of the people? Or the inanimate objects? I have it on very good authority that there was an overnight roast going in that house, do you think it wasn't moving?"
The dough, wisely, remained silent.
Tia Y’Shyroth Omrani, Princess of Kel’tai, General of the As’shya legions, destroyer of galaxies, stares blankly at the woman standing in front of the host stand.
The hauntings start in middle school, which honestly, Thaïss Grey thinks, years after the fact, is the best and the worst time to discover that not only are ghosts real, something about you makes them want to hang around.
"They want you to do pairs with Baryshnikova—"
"Excuse me?"
"It's good for morale."
"Whose morale?" Kadriye asks, pushing through the front doors, "The Americans?"
"Whatcha got for me?" she says, popping in next to Maya as Palmer calls "Next!" in the bright, peppy tone of someone who has lost the will to live and the patience to deal with people who refuse to look up from their phones.
"Uh," Maya says, blinking for a moment, hands moving on autopilot. "Three pineapple smoothies with Greek, two strawberry-pineapple shake-ups, one pineapple-banana sparkle, and—" her voice drops "—that fucking guy with the fucking ice cubes and the fucking Splenda."
Purchas thy copie of this moste Useful & Edifying Tome today, where-ever Books are Sold
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timeasmymeasure
