It Is A Small Thing

It is a small thing perhaps.
I straighten his tie and peek to see if
his socks are on right.
No shoes needed for this journey.

They got the part right-his hair glistens
as if
dipped in stars.

Is he smiling?
He wasn’t when I found him-

hanging in the closet-
he of angled head and
blackened tongue and
bulging eye.

He wears his only suit now and
I straighten his tie.

It is a small thing.

Story by Pamela Tyree Griffin
Photograph/Graphic by
(For more stories and poems click "older posts"! or the links at the end of the page)

Defying the Lixcht Studies*

Jeremy had perused the Lixcht studies in great detail for months and according to them, this was not supposed to happen. He had conducted his experiments after work in his own home lab with great success. However, when subsequent work by the respected Dr. Lo, of the famed Carlyle University suggested and then demonstrated flaws in those early studies, Jeremy had acted quickly, if reluctantly.

Unprepared for even the slightest potential of the so-called sentient experiment, he put a stop to it in one fell swoop (or pitch, as it were), into the depths of the murky pond near his house.

Now, in the deepening darkness he heard it. The loud slurping movement along the grassy bank could only mean one thing: It had found its way out and it was bigger now. Much bigger.

Roaming from room to room with the steps of the deliberate, he stopped to peek from a window.

The moonlight revealed a wet, sticky-looking slime shining on the road below. Sweat glistened on Jeremy’s forehead and his palms were slick as well. His feet refused to move.

He thought he saw something, although the unkempt grasses and reeds barred his clear view. The bass drum in his chest beat relentlessly; the pain in his head would not stop.

He’d said it was a beautiful result of chemicals, chaos and care. He would talk to it, sometimes for hours at a time, urging it to grow. He whispered to it in tones admiring of its gorgeous colors — many shades of green and gold — its several eyes and glorious legs. He would often stroke its cool, shiny speckled skin. He’d done other things, too, and these things had pleased it enormously.

It looked up, and upon spying him standing in the window, saw in his eyes an invitation of sorts. Surely that’s what it was.

Experiment gone bad, indeed, it thought as it morphed into something exceedingly flat and slid easily under the door.


Story by Pamela Tyree Griffin
*First published in "Bewildering Stories" 2008
(For more stories and poems click "older posts"! or the links at the end of the page)