Of Ghoulies and Storms

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From Ghoulies and Ghosties, Long-Leggitie Beasties . . . 

                                                                              

(Part 36)

That terrifying mouth twisted into a near-smile.

(Continued tomorrow.)


And my commentary . . .

We've arrived at the penultimate sentence and, as you'll have noticed, I'm still stalling, putting off the conclusion, cranking up the suspense.  This could go on halfway to forever.  In my time, I've written stories that really milked the moose.  But I am not a cruel man, whatever others may say.  Tomorrow, all will be revealed.

You can read all of the story to date here.

And don't forget . . .

The day after tomorrow, the original typescript of this story, signed, dated, and gothically framed, goes up on auction.   All proceeds will go to the Clarion West Writers Workshop.  Even the postage will be covered by me.

Why?  Because I honestly believe we need fiction.  And to have fiction requires writers.  And CW shortens the process for them.  A good deal all around.

And speaking of monsters . . . 

 Having seen those photos of lower Manhattan, I won't belittle "Frankenstorm."  But it definitely gave us a pass.  I went into the back yard this morning to discover that leaves had been torn from the trees, and one of the lawn chairs had been toppled by the wind.  Oh, and the ground was wet.  That was it.   Even the basement was dry.

So I was fortunate and I'm feeling happy and grateful for it and I wish the same for you.


Above:  Poor Miss Hope was so looking forward to being a refugee!

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