Tower 727

You’re the first one to the show. You slide down the row of plush chairs and sit The curtain rises. On the stage is a row of a plush chairs. A masked figure is sitting there. Someone is standing behind them. He’s got a knife “I love this part.” Whispers the person behind you

“It’s the headless horseman!” She fixed her glasses. “That’s no headless horseman!” “He hasn’t got a head!” “Sure he has! It’s right there, he’s holding it in his hand.” The head glanced to the body, who shrugged. It was glad she didn’t think this was a prank show.

Something struck the first deputy between the eyes. The second deputy held up a coin. “It—it’s gold!” Another coin whizzed past his ear, striking the unfortunate first deputy as he was trying to climb to his feet. The deputies all turned to see the leprechaun, slingshot in hand

The skeleton known as Broth lives in a cookpot on the stove. Technically he’s not a skeleton, since he’s made up of whatever ham hocks, turkey legs and spareribs were available. He doesn’t talk much—guests are often put off when the appetizer soliloquies.

The witches are experimenting with new instrumentation. Altimeters made from the ghosts of voles carried off by owls. Compasses made from undelivered love notes. Maps. They were suspicious of the last one. They don’t like the map knowing where they are better than they do

Grandpa was a good man. We all depending on him, more than any of us realized. Why, just today, we didn’t have enough people, so we asked him to be a pall bearer at his own funeral

The most satisfying thing that could happen to The Office is a reboot where Jim becomes the boss and realizes to his horror he is inevitably becoming Michael Scott and it’s the only way to get his employees to do their jobs

@ctrlcreep Singing in breach happens when a leviathan mermaid sings with her head above and diaphragm below the water. Sound travels more quickly through water than air, and so they sing complex arias in two time signatures,

The giant, whale-sized mermaids have multiple sets of lungs and larynxes—some to breathe and others to sing, all different volumes, for hymns of every pitch

She felt the scar where her ring had once been. Devils liked making deals for the power they granted. She’d been traded in one such deal. Her divorce had been extremely final. She’d given him the finger and he’d kept it. But at least now she was free.

@ctrlcreep Houses sick with terrible parasites: termites, HVAC fungus, couch-surfers

The housing crisis could be solved by biological houses capable of growing or atrophying rooms. Architecture which perpetually emerges, glistening and bright, steeped in the slimes of renewal

In all his life, he never met a missionary so convincing as the vultures that hung in the baking desert sky

Due to polluted waters in their narrow channel homes, Scylla is thought to be dead. Unchallenged for resources, the Charybdis is growing. Poisoned by the same pollution, it grows ever angrier, more violent and temperamental, and the strait is no longer passable

@ctrlcreep He read the stars. They predict he will visit a chiropractor

The existence of disaster (bad star) implies the existence of euaster (good star). A sudden, cataclysmic harmonization—the correction of all things, a moment of violent alignment

“Victor! I don’t think we can be friends any more.” Victor lowered the brain, stunned. He didn’t know his Assistant thought they were friends. Or that Igor might even be capable of having a friend. He realized with shame that he did not really even consider the man to be human.

You’re in the store and your husband is talking and for a moment an unforgivable thought crosses your mind. But it’s just a thought. Unvoiced, harmless. A man is watching you, and you can tell he heard you. But he winks. He’s heard worse.

@ctrlcreep There are the Unknown Deaths, stages of decay in the dark and depth, in the crushing places beyond eye or breath even of the mightiest divers. Meat-Death. Bone-Death. And then, in the rising warm waters, in reincarnation, is the Krill-Death

The whales acknowledge two stages of death: float-death, before the oils have left the body, and fall-death, when it loses buoyancy and sinks—and resurrection from float-death is a miracle, but resurrection from fall-death is an abomination

The skeleton considered the celebratory conversation dispassionately, then shrugged. “This is great and all.” It said, sinking into loose soil at its grave. “I’m going back to death.”

“You don’t have friends, man, you have a legion of women you’ve tricked into being your therapists.” He considered the Orb of Truth. It was a little weird to be called “man” by an ancient artifact. It was true, sort of. But you could say true things in unnecessarily cruel ways.

“You know how the empire’s troops can’t aim?” “Yeah.” “I think it’s because they don’t learn to write their names in the snow.” Thr wizard fist bumped the Ranger, and then they zipped up their pants. She’d done hers in cursive.

The Witchhiker checked her stethoscope. It didn’t matter, because she recognized these symptoms. Sluggishness. Unusual appetite. Formation of switches, doors and sliding block puzzles… This dragon had a bad case of dungeons.

You lost the oars hours ago. You would have thought it an accident but you see her following your boat. There’s a knife hung round her fins, and a hook in her ear. And she’s coming for you. She can wait. She and her knife can wait. The Merderer