Story number 1

They both take turns. Jack glances at his watch. Jill peeks through the curtains. Twelve sugar-energized children bounce between them, giggling with delight because they know something Mary Waddle doesn’t know.

A phone rings. Betty answers. The house smells like cake. A car pulls into the drive. Mary Waddle walks like her name, smiles that beautiful Down’s smile, almost to the front steps now.

Here she comes! Everyone hides from Mary’s eyes, ready to surprise.

Story number 2

The sun, barely a cuticle of light in the darkening sky, is disappearing fast. Underneath the earth, in an ink black basement, hair—broom dry—fans out over a bony body, supine in a pine box. Pale, dusty lids blink open. Beady eyes shine red like two cigarettes, walking in the night. A flaky tongue flicks through missing teeth. Death is on the move.

A human hand tightens and trembles around a wooden stake. The priest whispers to Patrick whose jaw is clenched so tight he can only nod in response. Here she comes.

Story number 3

His wife wanted a waterbed for their silver anniversary—so he rented one—a Bertram 35 yacht and romanced her all the way from South Carolina to Florida. Kelly wasn’t sure at first and hesitated at the gangway. Tim watched her do that cute little thing she does with her mouth, turning her lips to one side, pondering the matter, deciding. She turned to him. Blue eyes locked in faith with his. Tim’s stomach did a silent somersault, a happy flip. It was the exact facial scenario when she walked the aisle twenty-five years ago, precious history repeating itself. Kelly took that first brave step and their little ship sailed into happiness.

Silver stars glittered like silver memories on the salty sea and in her salty eyes as he hovered over her, teasing shallow then pushing deep into liquid silk with the gentle slap and rhythm of the waves cradling their waterbed. She said, Oh… looking up at him with eyes of love. Here comes the bride. Oh….oh…oh… Here she comes.
Andrew Dabar