Site icon Alexander Hammil


“Good morning,” chirruped the furniture as he came into the room. He glowered at them in silence and shuffled over the cupboard, the feet of his pajamas whick-whicking against the linoleum. He took out the cereal and hesitated.

“Want some milk, Pee-Wee?” said the refrigerator. It didn’t have a handle. “You know what you have to say!”

He kept his mouth shut and kicked it sullenly until it opened enough for him to grab some milk. He ate in grim, German silence.

There was a whirring at the window. “Aaaahhh,” said Pterri, until he closed the window on him. There was a thump as the pterodactyl, unable to stop in time, slammed against the glass. He smiled to himself.

“Mecha-lecha-hi, mecha-hiney-ho,” said the head in the box. “What’s gotten in to you lately?”

“Shut up,” snapped Pee-Wee, then slapped a hand over his mouth, too late.

“He said the word! He said the word!” gleed everything.

Then the screaming started.

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