Sausages

"Enough!" The King waved his polished black trotter, and the tumult ceased. Dust drifted down across the arena. Only one pig remained standing.

"You have defeated all of your foes, Sir Orson," the King announced. "Truly, you are the best and bravest boar in all the land. These others," he snorted at the fallen," will be taken and fed to the dogs. You, and you alone, will ride from this place with honor."

Sir Orson stood as straight as he could, swaying slightly, his tusks stained with blood.

"Fetch the carriage!" cried the King. "And hurry. I'm feeling quite peckish."

Rare Specimens

"This is the butterfly room," said the gray-haired majordomo. The walls were covered with small glass-fronted cases. Kitty examined them with polite interest.

"But these are all the same!" she cried.

I leaned over her shoulder. Every pattern was identical, like some trick in a hall of mirrors.

"The Master is very intrigued by iterations these days," said our guide. "Please, wait here. I will see if he is ready."

I sat. Kitty continued examining the cases, as if hoping to find one butterfly different from the rest. She didn't see the previous guests leaving.

Like some trick with mirrors...

Ensure Your Meat Is Fresh and Preferably Free-Range

Viv and Rinny slumped against the oven door, gasping for breath, Rinny somewhat over-dramatically. Viv had long, thin cuts down her arm, three lines like fingernail tracks. Rinny's bangs were scorched to nothing. From inside the stove, something shrieked and gibbered in languages long dead. From the tone, they were curses of the most dire sort.

"Where did you get that cookbook again?" asked Rinny.

Viv ignored her. She hauled herself upright and limped to the counter, where the stained tome rested. "Now that we've basted the imp," she said, "we just have to bake the Hell out of it."

Bone Spur

The clattering bones stretched overhead, looking like an endless ivory slope. "This isn't even the mountain range," said Yalta. "Only a spur. A small one."

We groaned and trudged on, up the unstable surface of the switchback. "We must be careful," Yalta told us. "The slightest misstep could trigger a skullquake. if we move flawlessly, we may be caught in a downpour."

"I thought you said these were dormant?"

"No new bones for many years, but sometimes still they fall. None knows why. Still, be of good cheer," Yalta advised us. "This part is easy."

"Why? What's next?"

"Viscera Bog."

Stalking the Celery

Sorry about the delays, folks. Working an entire extra week of overtime in three days is taking its toll on me this week. Gotta get prepped for GenCon, monetarily speaking...

---

Myron held his breath for the final bit of stitching. The lapels were the hardest part.

Rich clumped into the kitchen and paused. "What are you doing?"

"Making celery suits," said Myron.

"And these?" Rich poked at the cardboard boxes that littered the floor.

"Celery houses."

"...why?"

Myron looked up, brows raised. "They've been displaced by the war."

"Right," Rich sighed. "I'm going to watch TV." Before Myron realized it, Rich had pushed past and opened the fridge.

"No!" cried Myron. "The radishes..."

He was too late. The pop-pop-pop of peashooter sounded, and Rich fell like a sack of potatoes.