Saturday, October 05, 2013

Crazy Train

by Colleen Foley

Nothing could have prepared me for the alabaster nightmare in that room. Every surface writhed with a coating of something viscous, translucent. And beneath, visible, blinking eyes, moving hands, the lower half of a leg. A nose and lips, perfectly formed and coated with bright pink lipstick, bubbled to the surface, gasped, and withdrew.

Then there were the jars, thousands of them. Shoved into freeform waxwork sculptures, reminiscent enough of sex and your worst dreams to make me want to scream through every pore. I grinned instead.

“Seth, they’re moving.”

“Jesus, Nate. Just find him.”

Then everything went dark.



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