The cult section of the literary world
by Alex S. Johnson For Chris Ropes For a long time, I failed to grasp the significance, the true import, of barking squirrels. In my naivete, I thought they might be very small camels braying from the pine woods circling like wagons around my cottage. But I had never heard […]
by Alex S. Johnson Durwood peered down, his toes itching, the rash spreading across his choirboy features like the trail of a strawberry torch. He gasped. Grandpa was in the sidewalk once again. How did he get there? What perfidious psychopaths had made him stand still for the bucket, the […]
