To whom it may concern

The moray eels in their human skin suit surveyed the locked doors of the Eerie Museum of Aquatic Mysteries with suspicious eyes and downturned mouths. They carried a backpack, though technically not on their backs, and the straps hung strangely over lopsided and sagging shoulders supported by no scapula or collarbone.

In the backpack was a recipe book, old and worn and much-repaired with sticking tape and the best efforts of creatures without opposable thumbs. Or any thumbs. Or digits at all, really.

"1001 Atlantean Delicacies for the Discerning Piscivore" was a best-seller, and they were determined to use it.

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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A dogfish as seen swimming in the Eerie Municipal Pool:

Tod set the tall glass mug down on his parent's kitchen table, his lips pressed tight in a thin line of anxious concentration.

The liquid inside was the same deep, rich brown as the fresh-tilled earth on the farm his family no longer owned, and masses of tiny bubbles had formed round the edges of the cup. Steam wafted from it, thick with the bitter-sweet scent of dark chocolate.

He picked up the ramekin of freshly-chopped hazelnuts and took a generous pinch, reconsidered, and replaced it with a second, much smaller, pinch.

Deep breath. Don't rush this.

He wrapped his free hand around his wrist to still the tremor that had developed there, and let fall a single fragment of hazelnut.

It landed neatly in the very centre of the mug's wide circular mouth. Dipped a little. Rose slowly back to the surface. Bobbed there.

Remained.

He let a couple more pieces drop, then, giddy with excitement, released the rest.

The hot chocolate sat before him, thick as one of Mister Radford's milkshakes, hazelnut sprinkles floating atop it like body parts in the Eerie Municipal Pool. A triumph.

"Yes!" he cried, his voice shockingly loud in the silent house. "Yes!"

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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