Jan 11
3 min read
In an Underground House, Near a Graveyard, with a Raccoon
The Makings of a Peculiar Writer of Unusual Books
I still remember the great Mouse Massacre of ’85. The rooms weren’t quite finished yet. There were walls, but no doors, and no real furniture. I had gone to sleep on a cot in the make-shift bedroom. Then I heard the snap. Followed by another. And another. A cacophony of metallic zings…
