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“This isn't my body,” the monster said, staring into the mirror and poking at his neck bolts. “Some of it is!” The doctor pointed at the tip of the monster’s toenail. “See?” The monster raised his left eyebrow. It was, to his dismay, a different colour than his right one. “Dare I ask where is the rest of me then?” The doctor glanced awkwardly over his shoulder, where his mighty chihuahua was feasting on a rotten thigh. The monster felt a strange kinship with the chihuahua in the corner; like his own, her neck bolts were far from subtle. The doctor noticed him staring. “It’s the only way I can get her to keep the cone on,” he explained. “You could at least have used human neck bolts. We have the same model, me and Matilda over there.” “I did use human neck bolts! Only the best for my pupper. Also, how do you know my dog’s name?” “It was difficult to miss your impertinent shouting, even over the roar of the thunder and that awful blinding from the lightning! And that

“This town ain’t big enough for the two of us.” “Well, that much we can agree on. There’s barely an acre of grass here!” Sheriff Biscuit dismounted and led Darren, her trusty steed, to a well earned trough of refried beans. “Yeehaw!” whinnied Darren, and began to chow down. Sheriff Biscuit looked back at Banjo the Outlaw. Her eyes narrowed. “So why don’t you just mosey on out of here?” Banjo the Outlaw dismounted too, his own steed giving a strained “Boy, howdy!” of relief. “Don’t feel like moseying on,” he said, past the carrot clenched between his teeth. His hoof hovered by the six-shooter at his hip. “Feel like stayin’ a good long time.” An icy silence fell across the hot street. “It’s nearly noon,” observed Sheriff Biscuit, slipping the strap off her own sidearm. Darren stopped eating for a moment and looked at them. Sheriff Biscuit had always marvelled at the way in which he always seemed able to pick up on a tense atmosphere, even though he couldn’t possibly understand what was

Long ago, when dragons flew, Occur’d events I tell to you, Of princess fair and knight so brave (but not of beast inside a cave). This princess slumbr’d in a tower Bewitchèd by some evil power, And so the knight resolved to save Her from this fate so vile and grave. But this was not an easy task, Indeed it was a lot to ask. The knight, he faced these trials three: The first was grove of thornèd tree, The second was a wall built high, And third a fowl with witching eye. With sword and shield he faced the briars, And burned their boughs upon great pyres. This was the way he felled them all, And came at last to that great wall. The wall he could not hope to scale, And knew death waited should he fail. Thus, instead, he dug a shaft, And passed beneath with miner’s craft. But strength and toil would not suffice Against the dreaded cockatrice. Around its hall stood statue-men: Those who would never move again. The knight saw how the creature’s gaze Meant stony fate till end of

“No one can blame you for walking away,” said Grotwick. “I’m not walking away!” shouted Malbreth, stomping out through the gates of Goblin Town. “I’m getting another rock!” Grotwick used the break in their work to examine their target: a big wooden board painted to look like an earth troll. He personally hadn’t thought it was worth spending so much time decorating something they were going to destroy with a cannon. Malbreth had insisted that it would make the first firing much more dramatic. In a way, they’d both been right. It had made the first firing more dramatic, but Grotwick felt the time spent painting was only justified because the thing had survived that shot—and all the others after it. Jareth had been decidedly unimpressed. Grotwick was no geologist, but it was apparent that the stone around Goblin Town was neither particularly heavy nor particularly durable: if it didn’t bounce, it shattered. Malbreth returned, dumping a roughly-the-right-size rock by the base of the

Where does your heart beat when it sleeps? My darling, surely you must know you reap the anguish that they sow, and to your soul, their poison seeps… So plundered by these selfish creeps, such injuries, they do not show… Does your heart beat? I hear your soul, the tears it weeps; your love, it aches to freely flow, so take of mine and come to know, for I declare I play for keeps… Does your heart beat?