To whom it may concern

Marshall Teller accepted the damp washcloth with ill humour and a distinct lack of gratitude, and used it to clean the worst of the blood from his face and hands.

"What," he said, spitting the words out alongside a decent amount of gore, none of which was his own, "Was that?"

The Mayor looked at him, considering.

"Comforting lie?" he asked, "Or ugly truth?"

"Truth," said Marshall.

"I don't know."

Marshall winced.

"Comforting lie, then."

"A creature entirely under the control of the City Council, which everyone knows about and that you'll never be able to prove exists."

Marshall scowled.

"How would that have been comforting?"

The Mayor shrugged.

"I was working on the assumption that that's a familiar scenario for you," he said. "Less than ideal, possibly a little frustrating, but something you're used to."

Marshall didn't respond right away, mostly because the response he wanted to give would have been considered vulgar in all polite societies, and even a few of the impolite ones would have raised an eyebrow at the language he had in mind.

Then the import of the Mayor's words hit home, and politeness went out the window.

"Fuck," he said.

The Mayor nodded sagely.

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

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The halogen lights clicked and buzzed overhead, casting a sickly yellow illumination that blinked on and off in a manner that seemed random at first, but which, Marshall was pretty sure, was actually designed to let all manner of creepy junk from the Things Incorporated's sub-sub-basement sneak up and perform jump scares on him.

The lights came back up and he screamed as a filing cabinet that hadn't been there a moment ago loomed over him, all dull grey metal and temptingly half-open drawers.

"Marshall," said one of the Micheals - the tall one - wearily. "Can you please cut that out?"

Ongoing Verse: Teller Family History

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Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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Simon smelled them before he saw them, the heavy, cloying scents of cotton candy and fried onion that couldn't quite mask the underlying must and mildew that came from soft things stored too long in damp places.

"Dang it, Harley," he said, pushing back the heap of mismatched coverlets that couldn't quite keep out the chill of the unheated house. "I said no."

"You said no guns," said Harley, not turning from his place at the window. Firelight danced in his eyes as, miles away, the carnival burned. On the lawn below them, stuffed animals looked up, hopeful and smiling.

Ongoing Verse: Holmes Brothers

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Far overhead, lost in the cavernous spaces of the Bureau's high and dusty ceilings, electric lights flickered. They brightened, blinked, dimmed to nearly nothing, then burst into almost incandescent radiance before expiring with a muffled pop and, somewhere too close for comfort, the tinkling sound of falling glass.

Lodgepoole sat in the newly-dark office, listening to the diminuendo scream of something complex and mechanical slowly winding down in the shadows above him. No doubt there was a circuit breaker somewhere in these winding corridors, but as with so many things down here, it's exact location had been lost long ago.

Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

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The fog hung in the air like unravelling skeins of cotton wool, an almost-solid thing too heavy to be stirred by the chill November breeze that rattled bare branches overhead and threatened loose roof tiles as it passed.

Marshall Teller pulled out his torch, more out of a sense of obligation than from any real belief that it would help. The light was a warm gold, and the beam made shining yellow circles against the roiling mass of white that pressed in all around him.

He clicked it off again, stowed it away.

"Okay," he said. "Fine. And now what?"

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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She was Miss Tornado Day, Syndi reminded herself, Maiden of the Twisting Winds, Queen of Whimsical Destruction, an actual, bona fide God of Specific Violent Weather Events. And therefore, she was not going to squeal in shock and discomfort just because the driving rain had turned into an icy air-borne slush that had just hurled itself with malevolent joy and malice aforethought down the back of her collar.

She took a deep breath, clenched her teeth to stop the chattering, and concentrated on building a small pocket of warm air around her exposed face and hands.

God, she hated November.

Ongoing Verse: Weather

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Ongoing Verse: Teller Family History

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"What I'm saying is," said the Mayor, "That if the Eerie Chamber of Commerce wants to invoke the Law of Matchy-Matchy and force you to organise all your stock by colour, then in my view that's an overstep which places an undue burden on Eerie's small business owners."

"Winston," said Radford, setting the bottle down with the exaggeratedly careful motions of someone who, if not already drunk, is at least less sober than he should like, "I'm not voting yes on a proposition to use taxpayer money to assassinate the ECOC."

Chisel sighed. It had been a long shot anyway.

Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

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The woman from the Eerie Chamber of Commerce, all cat's-eye glasses and candy-floss hair, smiled.

It was possible she had lipstick on her teeth, but the Mayor had been in a couple of meetings where some unlucky (and not likely to get luckier) participant had disregarded Robert's Rules of Order in front of her, so he wasn't about to rule out other, bloodier possibilities.

"You have-" he said, pointing to his own mouth.

She smiled wider.

"I know, Winston," she said. "I'm very aware."

"Ah," said the Mayor. "It's that sort of meeting."

"It is," she said. "Or can be."

Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

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"In retrospect," said Bartholomew J. Radford, surveying the black and smoking crater that had until recently been an end-cap display of brightly-coloured seasonal confectionary, "Stocking the Dragon Eggs(TM), the candy-coated novelty Easter chocolate right alongside Dragon Eggs(TM), the embryonic form of a fire-breathing carnivorous reptile with a voracious appetite and few social graces may have been a mistake on my part."

The Mayor produced a spotless red silk handkerchief from the pocket of his crisp charcoal-grey suit jacket and wiped a smear of ash from the tip of one shoe. The fabric appeared unsullied by the action, the soot and blood flaking away almost before contact was made, leaving behind only a faint hiss and the smell of lavender.

"You may be right," he allowed. "Perhaps the dragon eggs which will eventually hatch into actual dragons should be kept in another part of the store. With the fireworks, possibly. Or next to the crossbows."

Radford shook his head mournfully.

"No room," he said. "That whole section is full up with unsaleable metric conversion tables. I've been trying to shift them for years, but nobody's buying."

"Market them to the cows," suggested Chisel. "They're easily confused, but they want to learn."

Ongoing Verse: Easter Weekend

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Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be



Preparations by froodle. Winston Chisel, the morning he became Mayor.

Confluence, in which Eerie experiences a midsummer and a full moon and takes full advantage of both

Harvest, in which it is 1979, and the Harvest Moon is rising

Hungry, in which the Mayor is unimpressed

Licensing, in which Chisel lays down some bureaucracy

Light Pollution, in which there is a newcomer in town

The Storm, in which Mayor Chisel has a very specific job for Eerie's resident weatherman

Not Welcome, in which there is an intruder at the World o' Stuff

Reading Room, in which Marshall looks around

Subsidence, in which the Loya Order of Corn experiances some structural issues

Shattered Dreams, in which there are space whales

Greenery, in which there are hanging baskets

Loss Prevention, in which there is hubbub at the Eerie Mall

Targeted Marketing, in which Radford has some promotional material

Capability, in which the are Bigfoots, and Marshall is unwell

The Listener, in which Eerie dreams, and Melanie watches

Populace, in which it is just another normal day

Still, in which there are worst things than Old Bob

Clockface, in which there is an early start, and a character death

CAT, in which two members of the Canine Liberation Army go on patrol, and have an unpleasant experience

Blue Apron, in which Mayor Chisxel considers an expansion to the town by-laws

National Garlic Day, in which there are vampires, and restauranteurs, and conflict

Housekeeping, in which there is a cult, and things get awkward

Strawberry, in which Eerie celebrates the summer

High Speed Sanitation, in which there is a street race

World Chocolate Day, in which there is a heatwave

Pressure Tactics, in which Chisel faces off against Eerie's ravens

Upgrade, in which there are changes happening at the Eerie Library

Waterlogged, in which there is a problem with the Eerie water supply

Bag for Death, in which Radford is a born salesman, and Radford is learning

Eww... in which Simon makes bad choices

Public Spaces, in which there is a soiree

Deterrent, in which there are pigeon spikes

The Bad News List, in which Dash is himself

Leisurewear, in which the Loyal Order of Corn has a surprisingly generous leave policy

Jackolantern, in which there is a disturbance at the local pumpkin patch

Pest Control, in which the Mayor is an unhappy customer

Frost Spiders, in which Eerie's Christmas decorations are very beautiful

Freelancing, in which Sara Sue takes a consultancy gig

Presentation, in which Chisel has an edict, and Simon has a plan

Email, in which Marshall is 29 and Eerie is never as far away as you think

Agenda, in which the Mayor takes a meeting

Visitor, in which Marshall's grandmother comes to stay

The wooden handle of the spatula was smooth, sturdy, and slightly warm to the touch, as though the ghosts of every chef who'd come before her had left some trace of themselves upon it. The head was a glossy rounded curve of smooth and flexible rubber, supple and unbroken.

And yet...

"Tod," said Janet, trying to pitch her voice at it's most un-judgemental level and probably failing, "Do you have any kitchen utensils without skulls and bats and pumpkins all over them?"

The smile of the grinning jackolantern on her spatular seemed to fade a little.

"Nope," said Tod. "None."

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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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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The window of the little bathroom was plain glass, though fortunately some previous tenant had thought to apply a layer of frosted privacy-preserving adhesive along the inside at one point. Now, as the bright winter sun streamed through the cloudy surface to form a golden rectangle on the aging tiles beside the sink, Simon could see the silhouette of a seated cat clearly outlined against the glow.

He turned the tap off, dried his hands.

"Hello," he said to the shadowy outline. The cat's ears flicked and it turned it's featureless head towards him.

Simon reached out. The cat purred.

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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Marshall Teller gazed in dumb-struck horror at his prized New York Giants sweatshirt, the white of the logo now tinged with a pale and watery blue. Behind him, the boy from the Eeriemat clicked his thick flannel tongue against his nickle-silver in sympathy.

"That's too bad," he said, exhaling fabric softener and the chemical sting of dry cleaning with every breath. "May I offer you a colour saver?"

"Don't you need to add that before you put the wash on?" asked Marshall.

"Not this one," said the boy from the Eeriemat. He held out an unmarked package.

"First one's free..."

Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

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Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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They say that one swallow does not make a summer, but as the swirling mass rose into the pale December sky and the unseasonable heat prickled his skin and scorched the winter-bare branches of the trees around him, Wally wondered how many it took to force the issue.

A patch of dead-brown grass at his foot burst into flame, causing him to start backwards with a cry of alarm and a faint smell of singled suede from his comfrotable brown house shoes.

Above him, the flock chittered happily, wings blocking out a sun that was already too bright, too hot...

Ongoing Verse: Weather

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Sara Sue remembered the girl, all in black, carrying the filmy outline of another person over her own face like a mask sketched in chalk. She felt sick.

The Mayor noticed her change in expression, and laughed.

"Ah," he said. "This one gets it. A shame you never loved your father or brothers; their clinging ghosts would have made you much stupider, and far less of a nuisance."

Sara Sue ground her teeth, fingers aching for a pencil to drive deep into the reality of this man, shutting him up forever.

"And Simon Holmes loved his friends so very much..."

Ongoing Verse: Pay Attention

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Ongoing Verse: Holmes Brothers

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"Oh, I know all about the Holmes boy," the Mayor said airly. "He's loyal as a dog." He grinned, his teeth white and even and blinding. "And when he realises I've taken his little friends, he'll come running like a dog. And then, as usually happens to boys who are loyal and good and true, he'll die like a dog."

Behind a tumble-down veil of hair that she'd thought she was long past wearing, Sara Sue glared hatred. At her side, Dash laughed.

"You're thinking of the wrong brother," he said. "Simon was loyal. Harley? He's just very, very angry."

Ongoing Verse: Holmes Brothers

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Ongoing Verse: Pay Attention

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Simon Holmes sat on the worn but well-padded sofa in the dark and quiet of his early-morning living room, and smiled. Outside, the rain pattered on the windows and the last tendrils of night faded to grey as the mid-winter sun struggled to rise from it's cosy bed. Occasionally the twin beams from a passing car pierced the shadows on the whitewashed ceiling, accompanied by the staticky hum of types on wet asphalt, but otherwise, all was stillness.

These were his favourite moments, alone but not lonely, the silence of a home not empty but only sleeping. A good home.


Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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Ongoing Verse: Holmes Brothers

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The dandelion wine tasted like summer, the sort of summer that Sara Sue had read about in those children's books which had left her sitting, sad and angry, in some secluded corner of the Eerie Library, back when she was Sara Bob and her life was her father's house, her brother's demands, and an almost unbearable need to escape from it all.

"Cheers," said the woman from the Ladies Society for the Beautification of Eerie, raising a glass in one white-gloved hand and clinking it against Sara Sue's own.

"Cheers," said Sara Sue, deciding then and there to sign up.

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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Ongoing Verse: Teller Family History

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Night was falling and the wild flowers that carpeted the gentle rolling slopes at the foot of Wolf Mountain were closing up shop for the night. Mother bluebells dipped deep to kiss their children atop their curving petal heads, wishing them pleasant dreams and a tomorrow full of sunshine and light spring rain. Dandelions with pleasant open faces of vibrant yellow drew hardy greenery about themselves, their expressions closed-off at the coming of sleep.

Only the jasmine remained, white flowers spread wide towards the falling night and the awakening stars. It watched over the silent rows of muted colours, waiting.

Ongoing Verse: Harvest

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He called himself Julius Cheeser, and his laurels were carefully nibbled slices of Swiss arranged about his ears. He raised a tiny toothpick sword and squeaked out a defiant war cry as he faced his enemy, and charged without fear.

"Whoa," said Marshall, lifting one foot as the shrieking bundle of fur whizzed past him. "What the-?"

Simon knuckled his eyes and sighed heavily.

"Apparently the Rat King isn't giving the mouse population of Eerie a proportionally representative voice in rodent affairs," he said. "Harley tried to explain it to me, but bottom line is, get ready for some bloodshed."

Ongoing Verse: Holmes Brothers

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Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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The woods pressed close about the town, wet and windswept and filling the streets with the fresh, sweet scent of pine. The boundaries, carefully drawn in ink and blood and maintained each year by a small and usually unwitting group of Boy Scouts who mysteriously vanished while earning their Cartography and Wilderness Survival badges, were holding for now, but if the trees kept this up, they wouldn't hold for much longer.

Mayor Winston Chisel sat behind his huge and gleaming desk, fingers of one be-ringed hand drumming anxiously on the polished surface.

There was, of course, always the Paper Witch...

Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

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The health inspector who had been sent to assess the Eerie Waste Processing Plant and Pizzeria in the wake of numerous pineapple topping-related scandals sat on the pavement outside the red and white storefront, and cried.

The clipboard he held in his hands was covered in a rapidly growing mass of melted cheese, upon which bright red slices of pepperoni floated in pools of crimson-stained grease. His beautiful penmanship had turned to limp and stringy slices of green pepper, the letters already drifting into incomprehensibility as the clipboard itself swelled and distorted like rising dough.

No fines again this year.

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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Andrea Fantucci stood in the alley that ran along the back of the Dragon of the Black Pool Cantonese Restaurant, staring up at the moon.

The moon, fat and yellow and hanging low over the spiny defences of City Hall, did not look back. It didn't scream, or shower the streets below with blood, or drive men to madness and fear at the very sight of it. It was just a glowing ball of reflected light, and sometimes a big rabbit who made rice cakes.

"I like it here," Andrea said, speaking to nobody in particular. For once, nobody responded.

Ongoing Verse: Andrea/Marisea

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There should be a rule, Dash thought, that made it legal to suffocate someone on their third night of snoring. If you couldn't figure out how to sleep without being a noisy idiot, that was on you, not the person lying next to you considering putting a pillow over your stupid loud face.

He sat up, clumsily. If he woke Teller with the movement, so much the better. Maybe then Dash could finally get some rest.

He aimed a kick in the rough direction of the ratcheting noises, missed, and thought again about murder.

Better not. Simon would get upset.

Ongoing Verse: First Kiss

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Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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It had been five weeks of blinding sunshine, and since the mysterious and no doubt Bureau-related loss of his last unbroken pair of sunglasses, Marshall Teller had been squinting for all of it.

Simon had offered him first pick from his own small collection, but as Simon’s taste ran to bright colours and cartoon dinosaurs, Marshall had politely declined. Even Dash, apparently sick of the complaining which accompanied the sight of every sun-soaked line of parked cars, had shoplifted him a handful from the World o’ Stuff bargain bin, dumping them on the kitchen table one night with an admonishment to “just pick one and shut up”.

Marshall wasn’t sure if he’d deliberately picked the ugliest ones on offer, or if the World o’ Stuff didn’t have many good options, or if Dash just had very, very bad taste in eyewear. In any case, none of them were a good fit, and he’d had an awkward moment when Mister Radford caught him trying to sneak them back into the shop and offered to let him keep the lot, since, in the shop-keeper’s own words, nobody in town wanted to pay actual money to wear a single one of them.

Come to think of it, that whole encounter probably added weight to the “nothing decent there to steal” side of things. Marshall, who’d been planning on yelling at his least-trusted associate for one, his horrible fashion sense and two, forcing him to keep Mister Radford’s unsellable trash, decided he might keep quiet about it after all.

Now, staring out the grimy window of their small kitchenette, Marshall Teller took in the grey skies and wet sidewalks, and sighed in relief.

He slipped his hands into his jacket pocket, freezing as his fingers brushed against the smooth, round plastic of an earpiece.

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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Ongoing Verse: Weather

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