Tansy Undercrypt
Author, Illustrator, Purveyor of Doom & Whimsy


September 9th 2017 in Microfiction

It rattled about in the attic for quite some time, but no one came. It thumped in the walls and creaked on the stairs, but no one flinched (let alone jumped or screamed). It went outside and peered into the living room with its glowing red eyes, but no one even looked up. “I hate this,” it said to its friend (who had partially materialized next to it on the porch). “No one appreciates a good classic haunt anymore; it’s all “make my television explode” or “melt my face off in the bathroom”.” “You’re a square peg trying to fit in a round hole,” its friend said. “Look at them; what part of the noise-canceling headphones and portable tablets says “ripe for old school horror”?” It sighed. “I know; I just wanted to stretch – to show that I had the talent for something more than a Victorian walkup. But … I got no chops.” “You’ve got skills,” its friend corrected, “but no instinct for picking the right environment. I have a lead on a dark underground parking garage; you interested?” “YES! YES, I AM!” it replied happily, more excited than it had been in ages.

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In my fevered dreams, I attended a festival – a celebration of this incredible age. There were bright colors and music, exotic creatures, delicious fare, and games of chance and sport. Magic clung to every corner of this place and my heart raced to explore it, waking disappointed and longing to return.
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