To whom it may concern

Take up your pencils, class; we are going to discuss the death of Mercutio. Love is stronger than death tonight, as we watch Heart on a Chain.

June 1st is World Milk Day. Let's celebrate with some fanworks themed around the Eerie Dairy, time travelling milkmen, or the tragic and totally preventable mowing down of teenaged pedestrians!

Janet was screening audiobooks for the three puffer fish who now lived a life of coddled luxury in a softly-lit and securely locked room at the back of the Baitshop.

"I don't want them to hear anything too shocking," she said, setting an eighteen-cassette unabridged reading of Watership Down into the "no" pile.

"Do puffer fish have a concept of fiction?" said Melanie. "Come to think of it, do they even understand human languages?"

Janet thought about this.

"The Mackerel Soldiers know rudimentary English," she said. "So do the mermaids. Puffer fish are at least as smart as them, so..."

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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The doors of the Eerie Baitshop and Sushi Bar were locked, and the ghosts of two enormous catfish traced a slow infinity circle in front of them, a wake of faintly glowing ectoplasmic bubbles following them in the cool night air. Inside, the open-fronted refrigerator with it's display of over-priced soft drinks was the only source of illumination.

Melanie pulled into the parking lot, taking both hands off the wheel in order to wave at the guardian spirits. They in turn regarded her with downturned mouths and moustaches that drooped with disapproval.

Catfish. Always so judgey, especially after they died.

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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"Oh good," said Janet, with the sort of sarcasm that would have struck the nigiri dead in their tanks if she'd turned it towards them. "The sun's out, so obviously it's time for every idiot in Eerie to stand around their idling cars with the radio blaring. Apparently this year's Sound of the Summer is just dipshits and exhaust pipes."

"You could just drown them out," suggested Melanie, motioning to the Baitshop's ancient and dusty tape deck.

"I could just drown them, period," said Janet. "But management have said I need to wait and see if they buy anything first."

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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The raw and weeping thing at the bar jumped a little at her outburst, as did Janet, though she controlled hers in time to stop the neatly-plated nigiri from sliding off her serving tray.

"There you go, sir," she said to the skinless corpse, setting the dish down in front of it. "Wasabi, soy sauce and ginger are on your left. Let me know if you need anything else."

She smiled, bright and breezy, then turned to Melanie.

"Mel," she said carefully. "Are you doing okay?"

Melanie took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. This was not the time to go all Marshall Teller on her best friend just because...

Just because...

Because there was a revenant sitting at her place of work, carefully separating a set of disposable chopsticks with bloody fingers that left red-brown smears over the cheap alder wood.

Janet's expression became one of concern.

"Do you need to sit down? We're kind of crowded today because of the King Tide, but there's room at the counter."

Melanie swallowed hard, shook her head, and forced her expression back to something that, if not cheerfully unconcerned, was least pleasantly neutral.

"No," she said. "I'm good. Just stopped by to say hi and pick up some takeout is all."

"It'll be a bit of a wait," said Janet. "Fred's compulsively impersonating a high-strung perfectionist right now, so there's a lot of drama going on in the kitchen. I'm actually hanging out with the customers for some peace and quiet, if you can believe that."

Melanie Monroe looked from her friend, to the heavy steel door that lead to the kitchen, to the bloodied tatterdemalion peaceably eating sushi dipped in way too much soy sauce, and raised an eyebrow.

"Seriously?" she asked.

"Trust me," said Janet. "It's that dire."

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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Soft light, filtered and dim and comforting, filled the room. Soothing piano music tinkled faintly on the air, combining with the bubble and hiss of air filters and water pumps.

Janet Donner paused at the doorway, slipping her shoes off and motioning for Melanie to do the same.

"Don't make too much noise," she warned, her voice soft. "I don't want to scare them."

Melanie made a zipping motion across her lips, then toed off her scuffed black penny loafers before following her friend to a huge fishtank in the centre of the room, where three puffer fish bobbed gently.

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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"Okay," said Devon, a spark of genuine enthusiasm colouring his voice, or at least the memory of his voice that had played in Melanie's head since the day she'd stolen his heart. "Now this is better."

"I remember these photos," she said. "I had some of these, before my parents decided it was probably unhealthy and put them away."

She walked among the various snapshots of Devon as he had been in life, candid Polaroids of him in motion next to moody black and white studio shots.

"This was my favourite," she said, stopping beside one mounted on an easel.

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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The Angler Fish was mottled white and pink, and it's smooth flesh had a greasy rubberized sheen to it. Melanie Monroe walked slowly around the fluted pedestal on which it sat, moving first clockwise, then anticlockwise. She sniffed, then wrinkled her noise.

"Jan?" she asked. "What did you say this thing was made from?"

Janet Donner glanced up from where she was folding napkins into an diorama showing the sunken city of R'lyeh rising from the deep.

"Spam," she said. "It was what Radford had on hand at short notice."

Melanie considered this.

"Hamgler fish," she said. "I like it."