Letter From The Editor - Issue 68 - April 2019

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Issue 64
The God Down the River
by J.P. Sullivan
IGMS Audio
Bar Scenes with Time and Entropy
Read by Alethea Kontis
Vintage Fiction
The Singing Tree
by Rati Mehrotra
Bonus Material

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Selections from the Wolfmonth Catalog of the Fairyland Regional Fürni Store
    by Josh Pearce

Selections from the Wolfmonth Catalog of the Fairyland Regional Fürni Store
Artwork by Michael Wolmarans

Klädskåp--made of the highest-quality particleboard. Takes you to a small, kind of rundown vacant lot where it's always autumn and never Halloween. The lot is surrounded by concrete walls that are too tall and blank to be climbed, which reduce the sky to a cold square far out of reach.

Högplatå--good for pagan Saturnalia harvest. Appears to be made out of slabs of stone in the catalog but is actually painted styrofoam. Breaks in half almost immediately when you place your very sick cat on it. Your cat stops moving, can hardly even twitch his ears at you anymore. So, crying, you take him to the vet, who pushes in a saline solution to clean his veins and then a solution of something else that closes his eyes forever. This cat was nineteen or twenty years old. You've known him longer than you've known some of your siblings. You were the one who named him. You rest him on the broken table. He hasn't come back to life by morning but he doesn't seem to be decomposing, either.

Förstaringlas--full-length looking glass. It's not even glass, just a thin sheet of wobbly plastic. Barely reflective. You have to get right up to it and cup your hands around your eyes before you can see anything within. There's a little blonde girl in there, wearing an old-fashioned frock. Tea-party with her toys. She makes nasty faces at you, stomps her feet, throws herself on the ground to have a shrieking tantrum. You back away slowly and rarely have the curiosity to come back.

Sittplats--assembly required. Its thousand pieces are that plastic cutlery that at first glance appear to be stainless steel but are, disappointingly, only very shiny plastic. Spend an hour melting it all down in a pot over low heat, gagging on the fumes. Press the molten mess into the mold that came with the box, and you're rewarded with a lightweight bucket seat. The plastic feels tacky and sticks to your skin whenever you stand up. Nobody comes to kneel down before you and swear fealty but your house does gain a minor infestation of salamanders, newts, and geckos that run up your walls and hide in the corners of the ceiling, just out of reach.

You use the seat as a desk chair in the home office while you write out invitations to a housewarming party for your revamped living space. You use your finest calligraphy. A party is just the thing to pick up your spirits. You have a preponderance toward papercuts whenever you sit in the half-melted chair.

Brödrost--you buy a cute little toaster and plug it in. It glares up at you and turns its back. "Come on," you coax, "do something brave today." It pulls its own plug out and grumps. Wisps of smoke gather in fuming clouds over its head. Even when you plug it back in and bribe it with raisin bread, the little punkass burns angry black lines into your breakfast.

Kvast--okay, at first they seem to perform as advertised, endowed with self-motivation, packaged in reasonably-priced sets but, come on, all they want to do is go outside and sweep the damn yard. And then they track all that dirt right back into the house, no matter how many times you swat them with a rolled-up newspaper and yell very loudly to assert your dominance. If you don't let them in, they're gonna keep you up all night tapping against the sliding glass door.

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