Mar. 30th, 2020

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The shell fragments were smooth, matt-black, and marked with tiny fragments of silver that glowed like the far-off twinkle of strange stars under stranger skies. The air around them chilled to icy fog, and when Simon reached out to touch one, the cold burned his hand.

He straightened, clutching his scalded fingers to his chest and looked around. Chicks Two and Three had dug themselves little hollows in the dust bath he'd made for them, and sat there quite happily, hissing to one another in a way that sounded suspiciously like speech. Chick Four strutted and preened amongst the tiny statuary that had sprung up one corner of the yard, and Chick One was asleep in the makeshift coop that leaned against the Tellers garden fence, combed and wattled head tucked snugly beneath one irridescent wing.

That's when he saw it, almost hidden in the shadows cast by the half-dead tree that kept their house in perpetual gloom. The cockatrice hatchling was pure darkness, beak to claws to wings to spiny tail. He might have suspected a cockatrice/raven dalliance, but no oil-slick sheen brightened the void of the new chick's plumage.

Harley sat cross-legged in the dirt in front of it, meeting it's petrifying gaze with a smile that put every single tooth on show. He glanced up at his older brother and waved, then went back to feeding his new pet.

Simon slid on a pair of mirrored sunglasses as he approached, skirting a wide circle around the baby cockatrice before arriving to stand at his brother's side.

"So," he said. "What's this little guy's name?"

Harley shrugged. Simon took a seat next to him, the stone grass prickling through his worn jeans.

"Sooty?" Simon suggested. "Blackie? Midnight?"

Harley shook his head.

"Chick Two Junior," he said, firmly.

Ongoing Verse: Holmes Brothers

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"Hobgoblin magic never lasts past sunrise," said Marshall. "No matter how big the spell, it always fades with the dawn. That's why you have to be quick if you want to get proof."

His parents, sleep-tousled, tired-eyed, did not look as though they were swayed by this argument.

"Marshall," said Marilyn, in that quiet, careful tone that meant she was trying not to shout, "It's two in the morning and you're outside in the dark holding garden shears the length of your forearm."

Marshall pointed towards the enchanted creeper vines that writhed outside, but she shook her head.

"Bed. Now."

Ongoing Verse: Teller Family History

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The mermaid's hair glowed in the dark water, dancing around the sharp-toothed maw like the dangling lure of an angler fish. Janet carefully extinguished her cigarette, pulled her bare feet out of the cooling kiss of the waves, and leaned forward.

"If you keep doing that," she said. "I will get a chopstick, cover it in wasabi and stab you in the eye with it."

The glow faded. The mermaid tried looking hurt, but as it still carried a hunting knife carved from the rib of a drowned man, it wasn't very convincing.

"I'm still on break," said Janet. "Leave."

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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There was maybe half an inch of brandy left in the bottle. Marisea grabbed a heavy-bottomed tumbler from the cabinet and emptied the last of the liquor into it. Andrea, sat at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee clutched in both hands, raised an eyebrow.

"It's not even ten am," she said.

"I didn't want it to go to waste," said Marisea, wrapping a layer of cling-film over the newly-poured drink. "But I'm all out of proton packs and this will do in a pinch."

She slid the bottle into her backpack and winked.

"It's for spirits," she said.

Ongoing Verse: Andrea/Marisea

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Eerie Indiana

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