• Who We Are

  • Schedule

    Mondays ~
    Tuesdays ~ Snarky
    Wednesdays ~ Dreamer
    Thursdays ~ Naughty
    Fridays ~ Dreary
    Saturdays ~
    Sundays ~

    Whenever ~ Smokey, Mighty, Eerie and Wicked

  • Snarky’s Tweets

  • Kinetic’s Tweets

  • Dreamer’s Tweets

  • Wicked’s Tweets

  • Eerie’s Tweets

  • Mighty’s Tweets


swamp 2

Gather round the campfire with the Evil Dwarves of the Swamp, as we regale you with tales of horror, woe, laughter, tears, and some seriously messed up story lines. It seems that weary travelers are making it past Eerie’s herd of Free Range Zombies, drinking their way through the Werewolf Monk’s Winery, managing to dodge the Swamp Thing, and finding their way into the heart of our little enclave. As a group, we dwarves have decided if they want to rest their travel-worn bones for a spell, payment will be required.

Our bill–you have to listen to our story. It’s not just any story. Each Sunday one of us will take up the Story Teller’s Rod of Magnificent (or Malevolence, depending on who’s tight grasp it rests in) and you, our guests, must endure…err…listen and enjoy the tale. So you can follow along, we’ve color coded our additions:

Snarky (aka Amber Kallyn) will whip forth the BLACK WORDS (not including these!)

Dreamer (aka Lisa Morrow) shall bring forth the BLUE WORDS

Wicked (aka Jami Gray) will have her way with the PURPLE WORDS

Eerie (aka Dave Benneman) shall bear the GREEN WORDS

Mighty (aka Camille Douglass) will wield the pen of RED WORDS

Kinetic (aka DeAnna Pearce) shall make the MAGENTA WORDS move

If Ninja (aka Jessie Mason) makes it back in one piece, she shall bear the STEEL WORDS

Are you settled in? Good (rubbing hands together)…


Detective Ethan Burke ducked under the crime scene tape and brushed off the left shoulder of his Brooks Brothers suit. His heels echoed off the marble floors and stained glass windows, as he strode toward the waiting uniformed officer standing near the confessional. “What do we have officer,” he strained to read the name tag in the dismal lighting, “Sabroski?”

“One dead Bishop Ketling, found by a Mrs. Wessels, when she came to confession this morning…” His hands shook as he flipped a page in a pocket notebook. Ethan read pain on the young officer’s face, and something else, rage maybe. “At six, as was her daily custom. She’s up front with Father Brian.” Sabroski gestured with his tattered notebook.

 (Eerie, what the hell? You cut in front of Snarky. She’s not going to be happy y’know. Seriously, did you just stick your tongue out at me? *sigh* Fine, Snarky, remember he needs his head to continue.)

“Fine,” Burke replied. “Make sure you get her complete statement, then go ahead and send her home. Let her know I’ll stop by later…” His voice caught, trailing off.

 The pool of blood surrounding the bishop’s torn body had been disturbed by something.  Footprints led away from the confessional booths to a narrow hall. The prints were small, a triangle shaped pad beneath four ovals. Like those of a dog, or a large cat.  He followed the prints into the hallway. Beneath shadows stretching the length of the hall, the prints began to elongate. Burke reached the end of the hall, which opened into a small kitchen area. Across the room the back door stood wide open.

“It wasn’t human.”

Burke spun to find a woman watching him. Dark hair and even darker eyes stood out against her paper white skin. A shiver ran down his spine. “What would a vampire know about being human?”

Her responding laughter wrapped him like a thick, velvet blanket. “You must be new to our world. Not every creature of the night is a vampire.”

Willing his face not to betray his nervousness, he bit down the question he wanted to ask, focusing instead on the one he should ask. “What do you know about the murderer?”

Her full lips pulled into an angry line. “A lot more than you do, but this kind of information will cost you.”

“I don’t think so,” he said, standing up straighter. “I’ve been doing this for a long time. You can answer my questions now or down at the precinct. Your choice.”

Anger flashed in her eyes. “The gray in your hair says you’ve seen a thing or two, but your ignorance of our ways says you’re still a babe to our world.”

He fought the urge to touch the premature graying spreading at his temples. Don’t show any weakness. “I’m only going to ask you one more time…”

“One more time, I like that.” She leaned against the stainless steel countertop, inspecting her nails. “I’ve decided to change my offer. You give me something I want, and I won’t leave the shredded remains of your body for your friends to find.”

Further discussion was cut short by a shrill, nerve shredding ring.

Burke snapped awake, his mouth dry, hands trembling and his heart trying to carve its way out his chest. Sweat cooled along his spine, leaving a clammy trail between his bare skin and lump mattress. The murky darkness of his studio apartment streaked with warped colors. The flashing neon sign of the pub downstairs played peek-a-boo with the water stains on his ceiling.

The rotary phone crouched on the crowded nightstand screamed another summons.

With a soft groan, he wiped away the disconcerting terror still taunting him. He snatched up the handset, even as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Burke.”

“Detective, we have a body on the steps of Saint Andrews.” Cool and unruffled, the familiar voice of his Sergeant did little to chase away the nassau churning in his stomach. “Officers are on scene. Kelly’s ETA is fifteen.”

Knowing his partner’s predilection for a fine automobile, no sense in wasting the gas in his baby. Two minutes to throw on clothes, and five to make Saint Andrews on foot. “I’ll be there in ten.”

“Update me when you two have more.” The order was followed by a dial tone.

Nine minutes and forty-two seconds later, Burke made his way through yellow caution tape while red and blue lights danced with the shadows cast by Saint Andrew’s intimidating spire. Damn church gave him the willies. He preferred the less dramatic and straight forward approach of the non-denominational gathering a few blocks south. This…he fisted his hands inside the pockets of his Burberry trench coat and took in the ornate structure, avoiding the small gathering on the steps. This was just too damn much. Ah,who the hell cared what your church looked like, so long as the souls inside followed the simple rule-do unto others. Of course, he’d adjusted his a bit-do unto others, before they did unto you. Hazard of the job.

Even as his eyes slid over the nooks and crannies looming above him, like gargoyle vultures waiting to pounce, lightening snapped across the summer heavy sky, searing his retinas. Blinking away the spots, he began making his way to the group huddled around the body he’d yet to see. He came to a stop, his polished wing tips catching Herbert’s attention.

The little, wizened coroner turned his head and peered up at Burke. “Victim has been identified as Brian Kestern, a priest.”

As if the long dark robes hadn’t given it away. At least it wasn’t a Bishop. “Who found him?”

“Ms. Amaura Less.” Under the scraggly mustache with the waxed ends, his thin lips tightened. “And she would be–“

“Taking in the marvelous sights behind you, sugar plum.”

Burke turned to face Amaura Less, registering the mass of hair sprayed curls, sequined sheath, and five inch stilettos no sane woman would wear. Tear tracks etched grooves through the artful make-up, but did nothing to disguise the prominent Adam’s Apple as she swallowed and took a teetering step back. “Ms. Less, do you know the victim?”

(Our next excerpt, in burnt orange, comes from across the pond. Making a cameo appearance, please welcome Red Dwarf AKA Julian West.)

Burke stared up at Amaura Less. She was six foot two barefoot, and with the heels she was huge, the Marge Simpson style hair adding another foot. She spoke, her voice deep and mellow.

“I knew him very well. He was a lovely man. Most people are prejudiced against people like us. He was so accepting. So easy.”

“People like you?”



The routine work done, Burke gathered his team in the squad-room. Kelly had assembled an incident board. It wasn’t complete, but it would do as a start.

There was a buzz of conversation, but it fell quiet when he stood up. They all knew that this was serious business. There was a knot of reporters in the hallway, and the phones kept ringing. Their nerves were on edge. “Ok, listen up,” said Burke, briskly. “We have a bad one here. Two clerics dead. Different faiths, different parts of town – but the lab says the same killer. Muldoon?”

Detective Muldoon stood up. He was the seventh son of a seventh son, and liaised with the morgue. He could talk to the dead, when the stars were right. “They were both torn up by something strong. Very strong. Small though, smaller than human. Cause of death…”

Burke held up a hand. “That’s all right, Muldoon, we’ll read the report later. They were torn to pieces – the details don’t matter right now.”

Muldoon shook his head. “No, sir. They were poisoned. Whatever tore them apart – it was some hours after each of them died.”

Burke stared at him, open-mouthed. “That’s all we need. This whole case makes no sense. Poisoned and ripped to pieces? Who? Why?” His team were silent, and didn’t meet his gaze. He’d seen this before, on the weird ones – the cases where magic was involved. They were scared, and confused. “Kelly? What do we have to go on with the victims?”

Kelly stood up, and walked to the whiteboard, which had pictures of the bishop and the priest taped on either side. “Well, first off, they’re both clerics, obviously. But that’s not all. They catered to exotic congregations. Father Kestern…”

“Kestern catered to the werewolf crowd,” interrupted Burke. Kelly nodded.

“And Bishop Ketling held services for vampires. Controversial – outside the church, no crosses, no wine or communion wafers. Rumour says…” He hesitated.

“Go on,” said Burke. “No proof, of course, but they claim that the chalices had blood in. Human blood. Nothing was proved, and the message came from upstairs to leave him alone.”

Burke nodded, thinking furiously. “It was a werewolf found Kestern. And there was a vampire on the scene when I…”

A voice cut across the room. “I already told you, Detective. Not all creatures of the night are vampires.”


The incessant beeping of machines raised the hair on the back of Burke’s neck. His limbs were heavy. Antiseptic tinged with floral perfume pulled at his consciousness. His eyelids refused to respond to his brain’s command for a peek at his surroundings. “Where am I?”

A rustle of fabric followed by a scraping sound proceeded the touch on his right hand. “Hey big brother, how do you feel?”


“Yes baby, right here.” She squeezed his hand. “Kelly’s here too.”

“I can’t see.” “I”ll tell the nurse he’s awake,” Kelly said.

He heard the hiss of the door closing. “Where am I?”

“Mercy, I don’t know why they brought you here, these people don’t like me.” Amaura’s voice rose above the stage whisper she had been using. “They should have taken you to Mayo. I don’t understand why some people—“

“Shush. My head.” He tried to move his hand and felt the restraints. “Water.”

“Right here big brother.” He heard the rattle of water pouring over ice. His mouth salivated. Then the tip of a straw poked his upper lip. “Sorry hon, Take a sip.” The cold water flooded his mouth. He couldn’t remember anything tasting so good. The door hissed again and commotion filled the room. Amaura removed the straw.

“Mr. Burke?” This voice meant business. “It’s detective Burke. Why am I restrained and what happened–”

“Yes well, detective, I’m afraid I’ll be asking the questions tonight. Do you remember what happened to you?”

“I’m not sure, everything is fuzzy. I thought I dreamt…”

“Do you know what day it is?”

Burke rifled through his brain searching for his last memories. “It’s Friday.” Burke heard an intake of breath that could only have come from his twin brother. “Nurse, why are my eyes covered?” His mental dust bunnies were slowly blowing away. “What the hell is going on?”

“The doctor is on his way. He’ll answer your questions. Your vital signs are good and you’re awake. We had to restrain to keep you from hurting yourself.”

“How long have I been out?” “You came to me Friday night, actually, one am Saturday morning to be precise. Today is Tuesday.”

He wanted to scream. The restraints bit into his wrists.

“Hey Ruthie, clear the room so I can examine Mr. Burke.” The sound of the nurse ushering everyone out was accompanied by a firm hand on his shoulder, he turned to his left. “Doctor?”

“Epstein, but call me Sol.”

“Sol, what happened to me?”

A soft chuckle. “Son, I was hoping you could tell me.”

“What can I do Sol,” Ruthie asked.

“Turn off the overhead lights please, and take these restraints off. Okay Mr. Burke, lift your head a little. Good.”

Burke felt the wrapping being removed from his head. He held his breath. Not much call for blind detectives. He let the breath out when he caught a flicker of light and movement. Green displays glowed in the dark, a shadow moved across his field of vision.

“I’m going to bring a lite into your eyes now Mr. Burke.” Sol’s reassuring voice again.

He watched the beam approach from above, he flinched. It felt like his eyeballs were being scoured with a power sander.

“Relax, tilt your head back I’m going to put some drops in your eyes now. They should grant you some temporary relief.” Sol continued to look into Burke’s eyes for a long time. “Okay, here’s the drill. Don’t get out this bed. Don’t even raise it up. I want you flat until I see you again. Low level lights only and nothing direct. Ruthie will put these drops in every four hours or as needed, you’ll have to let her know if your eyes hurt. The neurologist will be in tomorrow. The good news, you have some vision, but your acuity is still in question. Any questions?”

“What happened to me?”

“It’s the damnedest thing I’ve seen in forty seven years of doctoring. You were bleeding from your eyes nose, and ears. Not a mark on you. CT scan, MRI, x-ray, all clear. Vitals all normal, but your were unresponsive. That’s doctor talk for a coma. I’m going to let your visitors in for a few minutes. Get some rest Mr. Burke.”    


Kelly, feeling reassured that Burke was out of the woods needed to get back to work. Lifting her bulky frame out of the uncomfortable chair she gestured silently toward the door. Amura nodded and followed. Kelly couldn’t help but notice that despite Amura’s kitten heels, she was still able to leave the room without making a sound whereas her own sensible shoes sounded like horse hooves to her own ears. Once in the hallway she turned to Amura.  “How do you do that?”

“Do what, Sugar?”

“Not make a sound, while I sound like a Clydesdale clomping into the barn?”

“Well Babycakes, some of us are born feminine and delicate in nature, ‘course being torn to shreds and awakened as a werewolf didn’t hurt either.”

Kelly felt her fair Irish skin warming, she wasn’t sure if it was because Amura was referencing the fact that she was more feminine despite being born a man or because she had inadvertently brought up the sore subject of being turned.  Amura ignored her discomfort and gave her a once over taking in the boxy mismatched suit, masculine loafers and severe ponytail.

“Honey, we can work with this if you want to. I know it’s a boys club but you can still perk things up a bit.” Amura glanced down at Kelly’s chest.

Kelly’s face flamed further, she didn’t need Amura telling her she had saggy tits, not everyone wanted silicone basketballs up to their ears. “Thanks for the offer,” Her voice sounded hostile even to her own ears.  

Amura’s painted lips quirked in the corner, obviously amused by her discomfort. “Well if it’s not going to be a makeover day I got a tip that Burke was seen Friday night, that is before he was going cuckoo in the hospital.”

Kelly’s head snapped up to meet Amura’s eyes. “Where?”

“At Risen.”

“What the hell is Risen?”

“Hopefully nothing, Sugarplum. Zombie strip clubs are skanky and creepy…even for me.”

Walking into The Risen was what Kelley imagined a bad S&M porno would be like. While the zombies were amazingly agile for the dead, their gray skin was scarred with gaping wounds. Their lifeless flesh hung off gaunt frames. Surprisingly though, their Double Ds were impeccable.

 Kelley averted her gaze from the stage, and followed Amura as she passed the bar and then through a myriad of small tables. The patrons were almost as frightening as the performers. Thick smoke clouded the variety of supernatural beings around them. As she passed one table, a warm breath tickled her neck. She felt the sensation of ice water being poured down her body, but no one appeared behind her.

 “Pick up your pace, Kelley. Unless you came for the show.” Amura called over her shoulder.

 Kelley kept hand on the gun at her hip and followed Amura to a back office. With a single knock, the door was opened. It appeared someone had been waiting for them.

After the dim lights that somehow made the zombies’ rotting flesh seem to glow and the club’s thumping music, the small back office felt out of place. An old-fashioned desk gleamed under a simple chandelier while bookcases held jars of… stuff. Kelley thought she saw an eyeball bobbing in one of the jars, and rosemary crammed into another.

What looked the most out of place was the man standing behind the desk. He wore a thick glasses and a sweater vest. A small smile pulled at his thin lips and he gestured to the two empty seats across from him. Two cups of tea steamed on the desk, waiting for Kelley and Amaura.

“Ladies, please.”

Amaura swept around the desk and exchanged a kiss on the cheek with the man. “Chuck. How are you, sugar?”

“Call me Charles, please. You know that.” But he still smiled at her. His smile faded when he turned to face Kelley. “I understand you come on business?”

“Yes.” Kelley took one the seats, her back ramrod straight. She slipped out a small notebook and pen from her pocket. “What can you tell me about the events that took place on Friday night?”

“The events?”

“Yes, anything… unusual,” she choked on the word, not sure she wanted to know what qualified as unusual in a zombie strip club, “anything odd that comes to mind?”

“Of course.” Charles picked up a third cup of tea and sipped at it.

“Which was…”

“Something unusual.”

“But what, specifically?” Kelley prodded.

“Let’s talk about something interesting first.”

Kelley noticed Amaura roll her eyes.

He continued, “The law seems to only appear here when they want something. A very one-sided relationship has developed. This saddens me. I’ve begun to feel… used. This place, however, is the epitome of equal trade. If you want something, you have to give something in return. Out there,” he gestured toward the main club area, “it’s money.”

“You want money?” Kelley sounded incredulous. It was one thing for people to bribe cops, but to demand money from them was something else entirely.

“Oh, don’t be silly.” He waved away the idea. “I wouldn’t dare to deal in something so mundane.”

Amaura jumped in before Kelley could say anything. “Sweet cheeks, stop beating around the bush and just tell us what you want.”

“Oh, nothing much,” Charles stated, a hint of amusement coloring his deep voice.

Kelley reached for the delicate cup of tea in front of her, sniffed the liquid, then hurriedly set it back on the desk. An underlying odor of rot infused the tea. “And what does ‘nothing much’ mean to you?”

Amaura snorted. “Anything from the world to the universe. These guys see more than the mundane, more than normal–living–people do.”

Charles sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he stared at Kelley. “As I said. Equal trade. Think of it as a barter system. We all walk away happy.”

Frustration welled, and Kelley slapped the top of the wooden desk. “I don’t have time for riddles. I need information or I’m leaving.” The place made her uncomfortable, just the thought of knowing nearly everyone–everything–in this building was no longer among the living tingled the fine hairs on the back of her neck.

“Well, now. Guess we’ll do things your way, your speed. Like I said, we won’t be asking for anything much. Just basic human rights. We were human once, you know.”

Kelley barely stopped her mouth from dropping open. “I don’t do politics,” she replied, glancing at her watch and estimating how much time she’d lost following Amaura’s lead.

Charles nodded, as if approving of her response. She stared into his milky eyes, realizing his opening salvo hadn’t been the true request, but more of a test. Part of the game he continued to play beneath his shell of politeness.

“My request is simple then. Just a favor, sometime in the future.”

“A favor?” Kelley repeated dumbly. It was a heck of a lot better than what she’d imagined. She’d get to keep her brains after all. But a cop couldn’t afford to owe favors, especially to someone like Charles. “No.”

He arched a brow. “That is my deal. Take it, or leave it.”

Kelley took a deep breath. She needed this lead. “Nothing illegal. Nothing immoral. Take it, or leave it.”

“Immoral to whom?” he asked, taking a sip of his tea.

“To me.”

He sat silently for a long minute, staring into the dark liquid in his cup. “No doubt that eliminates a great many things, but as I do not think I can get you to change your mind, it is a deal.”

Kelley nearly sagged into her seat in relief, but kept her professional mask carefully in place. “Then, tell me what you know.”

“I know a great many things,” he smirked, “but you mean specifically about your Detective Burke.” He set down his cup. “He is a regular. Every Friday, when he is not working, he comes here. He likes the girls who are more Suckers and less Biters, if you know what I mean.”

Kelley couldn’t hold back her gasp, or the flush that spread across her cheeks. Old Detective Burke… was in to this sort of thing?

Amaura’s sharp bark of laughter drew Kelley’s gaze. “Charles means he likes the zombies who show a little raw flesh, not the ones all crazed for human brains.”

“There’s a difference?” Kelley didn’t want to admit how terribly lost she was, but there was no way to fake an understanding of this insanity. “I guess I just thought… thought all zombies were the same.”

Charles cleared his throat. “You must be awfully new to the Specials division not to know the basics of zombies.” He sighed dramatically, but continued. “Most of the Biters, the ones who can think of nothing but their appetite, are eliminated by the government, so they cannot spread the infection. But the Suckers, well, as long as they can feed on human emotions, they can act and look almost as human as you or I.”

“And the ones here…?”

He glanced at the gold, antique watch on his wrist. “They are Suckers. Some feed less on human emotions, to keep themselves looking a bit more like Biters. But some, like the girls your detective preferred, show just a bit of flesh, if you know what I mean.” Glancing back at her, he met her gaze. “Time is money Ms. Kelley, so let us get to the point. Detective Burke came in stumbling, he seemed high or drunk, but definitely afraid. He asked for a private showing with his girl Carla. I’ll arrange for you to meet her in the jungle room, and you can ask her the rest of your questions.”

On cue, a huge zombie in a dark blue blazer opened the door and stood beside it, waiting for them to exit.

Kelley stood and reached out her hand, out of habit. “Thank you for your time.”

Charles took her hand in his iron-tight grip. “And do not forget my favor. Because I certainly will not.”

* * *

Amaura and Kelley left the neon drenched stretch of pavement where Risen resided, heading towards the pretty filly crouched in the dark parking lot. A click, a beep and xenon lights flashed as the rumble of a well fed engine purred into life. Kelley patted her baby’s hood, the paint a liquid pool of darkness against the less lustrous night. 

“Well, that went nowhere.” What the hell was she suppose to do now? Burke was laid up in the hospital. The skivvy Zombie pimp hadn’t provided any hints as to what or who was hunting down the local clerics or why they were targeting Burke. Carla had been AWOL, something about a family emergency.

“You think she’s running?” Amaura asked, startling Kelley from her frozen, thinking position next to the driver’s door.

Kelley looked over the hood of her baby to see Amaura prop her elbows on the roof, giving her rather dubious cleavage a boost. “Yeah, I’d say that’s a definite. Just wish I knew why.” She reached for the car door, her fingers curling around the cool metal, only to freeze when a thunderous cacophony rocked the parking lot.

“What the hell?” Amaura turned, street lights glinted off the glitter digging furrows in her brow. 

Strange, warped shadows crawled across the lot’s entrance. Twisted forms that sent Kelley’s heart rate skyrocketing. Oh god, what now? Weren’t stripping corpses enough for one poor soul to endure for a night? What fresh hell was coming their way now? The shadows grew and thinned, the deafening roar rattling deep in her bones.

The first shadow cleared the entrance.

Kelley blinked. Then rubbed her eyes. Had there had been some herbal supplement in the Risen’s air vents? Because that’s the only explanation she could come up with for what was bearing down on them.

Red, pointed hat, white curls brushing small shoulders, green shirt paired with a brown leather vest and blue pants, tucked into black bike boots. Boots that were digging their small heels into…were those motorized Flamingos? 

“Sweet baby jesus,” Amaura’s voice held stunned amazements. “It’s a gang of rogue Garden Gnomes.”
“On pink Flamingos,” Kelley agreed, unable to comprehend the slowly, circling miniature biker gang.  Yeah, no way this night could get any weirder. Right?

We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming for this important announcement.

And so reader, you see where clichés come from, for instance, “Too many cooks spoil the soup.” THE MYSTERIOUS DEATH OF BISHOP KETLING. Do you remember Bishop Ketling? This is a story about Bishop Ketling. The good bishop mysteriously died if we are to believe the title. Yet, no mention of Bishop Ketling has been made since the second paragraph of the story. His death remains a complete mystery, even after 4,600 words have found their way to the page. approximately 18 pages into this story we a left unenlightened.

We do know he bled, as is evidenced by the animal footprints leading away from the scene and poisoned evidently. I submit to you if he was reading this story he would have died either laughing or crying, depending on his disposition, which is one more thing we have no knowledge of. In fact we know nothing of Bishop Ketling except that he is apparently dead.

We have met in order of appearance a shifter, vampire, a cross dresser werewolf, the seventh son of a seventh son who speaks to the dead, exotic dancing zombies, and finally rogue garden gnomes riding pink flamingoes.  

 We now return you to your regularly scheduled program already in progress.

A flat-black disc descended from the sky heading for Kelly’s baby. The shadow cast darkness over the parking lot of Risen.

Kelly looked at the smooth surface as it approached. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll slide over far enough to allow a comfortable distance between my car and you spacecraft.” She upholstered her weapon and waited.

Slowly the lumbering craft moved over enough to miss her car.

“That’s better.”

(Please excuse the authorial interruption. I meant to say unholstered her weapon, but in hind site upholstered is better imagery, so I’ll leave it.)


Leave a comment


  1. Nurse Ruthie is very smart!

  2. I’m completely digging this. I love seeing all our styles meshing together. 🙂

  3. I’m not quite sure yet if we’re a train heading for a mountain with no tunnel or if there’s an actual railway in here somewhere =0) But I have faith we’ll get there–kind of….

  4. Definitely no tunnel, The light you think you see, is our own light reflecting off the shiny black wall of marble were about to plow into.

  5. I just hope that the outcome isn’t being left too obvious.

    This is the third time I’ve been involved in one of these. They always end up going somewhere interesting, even if they never make it back.

  6. The murky darkness swirls 🙂


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