The old shaft opened up after a hard rain this past April. It looked as though someone had purposefully buried the shaft entrance in the forgotten past. The Gordon boys were the ones that originally stumbled across the newly opened hole in the earth.
Constable Warren went and checked it out the next day to ensure it posed no danger to the people and animals of our village.
Once again I spent the weekend working on homework. I had to take a lesson plan and convert it over to a different format. I also had a journal entry to do, and a poster to make. I was pretty sure I also had CMP project due as well, but as it was never mentioned in any of the emails that shot back and forth in the cohort, I’m going to pretend I’ve never heard of that project. I have most of what I need for tomorrow night finished. I plan on finishing up the last little bit tomorrow while I’m at work.
I ordered t-shirts for my friend’s girls. They’re identical twins and have just as much of a twisted suite of interests as their mother. They’ll love the fact that they have staff t-shirts from a haunted house. The only warning I had on the subject of the t-shirts is to not include any weeping angels.
“The angels have the phone box.”
“Don’t blink!”
The early winter fog crept inland from the lake. It’s spread was slow, almost incremental but in the end it still blanketed the city of Southport in its muffling cover. The fog wreathed each gaslight along 1st Avenue in a polychromatic nimbus that guided the few people out for their evening constitutionals. These will o’wisps brightened the fog without actually illuminating it.
