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Not ten minutes ago, I was lying on my back in the cold porcelain of a bath that blocked out the motel sounds a bit, again contemplating my series of ‘gifts‘ that reintroduced the crypt into cryptic.

But then I heard something new.

Tense.   Wait.   Listen.  


Someone is in the next room.  

My room.


Gently, quietly, ease out of the bath, bare feet on the tiles, undead senses and instincts alive, running through attack and defence strategies.


On my guard this time.


No luck.   It’s a fucking bathroom.   Full to the brim with the no toiletries that I don’t need – and the actual towels and plastic fittings and cheap chipboard furniture the motel needs for me.   Nothing heavy or flammable or sharp or even pointed.




I risk the small noise, brace a foot against the wall and smoothly pull the one metal towel  rail out, screws and all, in a little puff of plaster and paint pieces.

Walled up against the wall, one hand on the door handle, waiting poised with the lightweight railing, positing possibilities.


Who?   Armed with what?

Tools of the death to the undead trade?  





One way to find out.


Unnecessary breath in, one quick movement, out the fucking door, and see –


The blind knocking a little against the open window.

My laptop tipped off the bed.

And sitting, nonchalantly, comfortably, complacently in its place –


The Cat.





  1. That f***in’ Cat’s back, now how did he do that?! (Kevin Bloody Wilson song, in case you aren’t familiar?!) =D

  2. *Claps* Kitty!

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