Saturday, December 5, 2009

Cold stable and besides nobody was paying him to kill rats. Something whipped past his ear and thunked into the wood of the oat bin accompanied by a short squeal. 'Got it. ' A tall rangy man.

And protrusions on the artifact. Only idly did he note that there was no blood or dangling organs visible where Ab's insides should have been. Those interior surfaces were irregular but unbroken. They touched the artifact simultaneously. Four arms slid into four matching holes. Four legs did likewise twisting and curving to fit. Four eyes contacted flat.
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Inside with joyful revellers celebrating Christmas Eve. He headed the old car down Sycamore Avenue and slid to rest outside no. 220. There in the middle of the street a pink neon sign hung over a shimmering archway. There was his exit just as he'd imagined it. On the other side was reality. It started to snow. Christmas Eve. How could he leave them on Christmas Eve? What harm was one more day? He turned away from the dissolving exit and crunched up the drive to 220. One more night of that pinball smile. Just one. He couldn't leave them on Christmas Eve. But of course in Bedford Falls it was always Christmas Eve . . . Scanned OCR'd and proofed by MikeTZ for books2bytes .
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