Slim pushed aside the old AM radio. The dust

Slim pushed aside the old AM radio. The dust made him cough. "It's got to be here somewhere," he grumbled "Or else

those it's those damn aliens again." Ever since Nevada he'd been having strange visits at night. He couldn't explain why

his yard seemed to be a hotspot for UFO landings, but he was getting tired of it. He decided

to drink whiskey instead of a bloody mary this morning. It gave him the edge he needed to face these demons from

Roosevelt High, the rival high school. Those jerks didn't know their asses from their

asteroids. However, their nudy magazine collections were the stuff of legends. I just wish I had

learned to read. The pictures were ok, but what were all those words saying? I needed

a more immersive reading experience. Hasn't anyone written a comic version of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea? That would

be sweet!! But that has nothing to do with the fact that parents these days have NO control over their kids. Not because they don't want to, but because

he actually stopped time when he pressed the pause button. He figured out that he could fast forward, rewind, and mute, too. I tried to steal the remote from the kid but

he had reflexes of a large cat - which he was, so that made sense. His claws were pretty sharp too, and I could only imagine what I looked like with a lacerated

face. I had once heard that playing possum was the best tact to take---so I took it. I collapsed, face down, on the floor, attempting not to move, attempting not to display any

signs of life. If I wasn't noticed, maybe I'd survive this thing after all. Dread was in the air, my heart was in my mouth and I could hear the sounds approaching me.

They were the screams of metal against bone. The calls of viscera that were answered only in splatter and pools. The dreams were coming true, but not as I recalled. Darker, rich

and creamy like a Cadbury Chocolate Easter egg. I used to sit in Grammy's lap and eat the cent...DAMN IT, not now. My body houses two souls, and one of them is a boring chick

with comfortable shoes, the other is a vampish woman with chronic agita, and the third soul (I know, I forgot one) a go-go boy from Topeka. Needless to say, I forgot about the egg

in my coat pocket. I couldn't resist the flamboyant little Topekan. So I grabbed him firmly by the lapel and reeled him into a sort of tango posture. He looked at me as if

I'd grown a third head, but in another second, he decided to play along. He caught a rose between his teeth and engaged me in a dirty, sweaty tango between the sheets.

A manage a mois. Pale grunts and whispered breath in each of my six ears. You might call it masturbation, but I wasn't abusing myself. I wanted it. Bad