Since working at the morgue, Elmer has learned to appreciate the dead. He looks at the clock and sighs. A few more hours until he can call it dawn.
“Okay, your move,” he says to the poker-faced corpse propped on a seat across from him, with a chessboard between them.
[NOTE: This short story was expanded by Matthew Tonks and posted in SlasherMonster Magazine.]
Slung around Blambi’s fleecey neck is a strap that supports a blue basket with a pink flower etched on the front. Little Tweetsie, Blambi’s main chick, is perched in the basket. She is his first and only love. They are runaways. Neither of their families approve of their pairing. They are too different, from two different barnyards. It is just not right, they claim. Continue reading