An Altered Book of Poe ~ A Clock to Devour Your Soul
Sister Madly left her shoes out last night. She knows this because she stepped on them first thing this morning, which wouldn’t be a problem except that her shoes have spikes all over them.
The reason for this oversight, no doubt, is the new clock. Just last week Sister Madly came home with one lovingly handcrafted by the Elder Ones, themselves, with nuclear blue numbers and an alarm the envy of every doomsday device. She does not like blue numbers; they light up the entire room. Even with her eyes closed, Sister Madly can tell you exactly what time it is.
This clock, which was purchased to help nudge Sister Madly into rational adulthood by way of responsibility, has yet to fulfill its duty. The other night, she was so bored that she actually got mad. She couldn’t come up with any what-happens-when-you-do-this curiosities to engage in, nor could she think of any what-the-hell purchases to make, although her revenge list was immediately updated when one of her neighbors detonated several cans of tuna. She’s just not sure which neighbor that is.
The real issue here is not the nuclear blue numbers as it is the resulting lack of sleep, which reduces Sister Madly to a state of mind-boggling insanity. She was certain that the words ‘Life Stinks’ were printed across a package of hot dogs, that there was someone crouched on the staircase outside her window, that Tallulah was suddenly 3 feet taller and her hair 3 feet shorter, and that there was something methodically devouring the underside of her bed. She still swears by that last one.
So when she was once again subjected to the Rorschach Test, she reacted with the most appalling tantrum by demanding chocolate milk. Should you ever find yourself in this situation, make note that this behavior can usually be contained by bubble wrap, a patty melt*, or a significant amount of duct tape.
*Sister Madly’s obsessions change without notice. While the patty melt is her current indulgence, it may just as well be poutine tomorrow. Or Lucky Charms. Or something sparkly. (She does not eat the sparkly.)
When Sister Madly finally managed to see a Butterfly in the ink, the Professor deduced that she really meant Black Lung Disease and analyzed accordingly.
Her response to this was that Rod Serling has no upper lip.
“Of course he has,” the Professor said, “otherwise, his face would unravel.”
The clock has since disappeared. So has the cast-iron skillet. The two may be related.
On a side note, this is what Sister Madly did to her Poe book.
POST’S THEME SONG: The Lunatics, The Specials and Fun Boy Three