The day had begun like any other ordinary day for Barnabas Crackle. That is to say, as extra-ordinarily as his days typically began, which were the usual for our faithful protagonist.

What your mind sees when you close your eyes marks the entrance to an endless universe: your imagination.

I been starin' at the back a Jimmy Nelson's head for four grades now and I been noticin' how his blond hair curls against the skin on his neck and the birthmark shaped like a half-moon I wanna press my fingernail into.

For the first time she realized she'd spent so much time mourning a world that had ended ages ago, hoping to resurrect it, that she'd never paid attention to what it was becoming. Or returning to again, now that it was unfettered. Where were the centaurs, she might have asked instead. Where were the gorgons, the furies, the giants and the gods?

Hanging from every corner, above every window, standing on every shelf and tabletop, were dozens of handmade birdcages. Nomi had crafted them all, mostly out of old fishing twine, scraps of nets, and chicken wire. Woven in between the bars of the cages were bits of seashells, crab shells, pebbles, and driftwood she had scavenged along the beach. In a pinch she had made a few out of old clothes hangers she had scissored apart and woven together with strips of a negligee or shirt. Each one was personal, each one was unique, each one was a story

Spooky Twisties:All things Spooky, here beginThey lay and wait, in books within.They sometimes pass, in open space.Then leave and go, without a trace.Some appear on the spot.Some we know, others not.Sometimes we are afraid to say,__eave us now_, or beg to stay.At times they leave a sign beyond,A gentle breeze, or note from song.Be not afraid, to read story__ close.For in the dark, your spirit goes.