⸎

​

♪ Currently playing in my head ♪: Grieg’s In the Hall of the Mountain King.

​

____________________________________________________

​

Right now I’m quietly setting up a forest of stanchions outside a series of linked souvenir shops called Boomer’s Bauble Bazaar in Zinny Yuh’s Neighborhood.

 

They’re the same brass poles that once kept the crowds from killing each other while waiting to ride the rides, herded like cattle. I’ve placed them equidistantly apart, one every 8 feet or so, to form a spectacle of small terrors that will greet one of the scabbers once he finishes meandering through, combing the caved-in shelves for scrap. He’ll exit right here, where I’ll be waiting.

  

He won’t notice me, of course.                Not at first, not while wearing Mausenstein, because upon each stanchion I’ve placed a cartoon mascot head and if I stand still enough I’ll blend right in. At least for long enough to see the look in his eyes untilhe realizes I’m no cartoon at all.

​

These stanchions are also the same ones used for the “welcome pikes” outside each of the major gates, except in this case I haven’t had time to prepare them for maximum effectiveness. See, welcome pikes are crucial in warding off nosy transients. They, too, wear mascot masks but there’s a special surprise underneath, and it’s this surprise that matters most. It’s the one that sends the loudest message.

 

 

 

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

To anyone brave enough to lift up a mascot mask - and they always do, except for  this dumb bunch maybe - they’ll find a human head that once belonged to an intruder like them.

    

QUICK TIP: it’s 500% more effective if you can make them smile. Sometimes this is as simple as asking someone if they wouldn’t mind smiling right before you kill them. (You’d be surprised how many actually agree to this.)

 

Other times, long nails will do the trick after the fact,

pinned upward through the cheeks at an angle, to hold the pose.

 

The most ironic thing, I think, is the use of ketchup packets to stain their teeth; works better than blood, if you can believe that.

​

            Now a loud clank rattles through the next-to-last shop.

​

Almost showtime . . .

 

⸎