To whom it may concern

Simon took a step back, surveying the display of cleaning products that stretched from the floor of the World o' Stuff all the way to the ceiling. Brightly-coloured warning labels blared dire messages alongside black and white diagrams of corroding flesh and melting eyes.

"Looking for something in particular?" asked Radford, appearing from within the dark places where stock ran out and the shelves lay bare.

Simon shot him a grateful smile.

"What do you use for hair spiders?" he asked.

Radford pondered.

"Diatomaceous earth will dehydrate most species," he said. "Hairy or otherwise."

"Hair spiders," said Simon. "You know, the stringy clumps of wet hair that clog up the plughole in the shower?"

"Oh," said Radford. "Those. They aren't spiders. They're drain vermin."

He pulled down a fluorescent orange bottle and examined it.

"This should do it," he said. "Grease blockages, hair clots, evil clowns..."

"Perfect," said Simon.

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Ongoing Verse: Holmes Brothers

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Because fuck you, Stephen King:

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