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The Thing on My Balcony
By Tom Becker
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There’s this thing – a terrifying, evil presence – living on my balcony.
Well, “evil” is a funny word.
He’s about sixteen inches tall and looks like the gremlin from the old Bugs
Bunny WWII propaganda films. He’s got a red nose, skin as dark and shiny as
Texas crude, and a dick that looks vaguely like a soiled bottle brush.
I almost didn’t take the apartment, as the management had told me that a minor
entity sprung from the writhing, cyclopean breast of Yog-Sothoth was part of the
deal. The only other available unit was a garden apartment. Enough
said.
He seems to enjoy my guitar playing. I’ve been really into the Smiths and
the Cure lately. He feeds on unspeakable sorrow, frustration, and broken
dreams, so a studio apartment in a college town was a natural choice.
Occasionally I’ll turn around and he’ll be there – his face pressed
against the sliding door, his little nose fogging up the glass. It’s kind
of unsettling, but I’ve gotten used to it. The only thing that sort of
bugs me is when he scrabbles around the balcony at night. He has these
little metal claws that look like thumb-tacks. Also, he hums Bright Eyes
tunes in his sleep.
Still – beats having a roommate.
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Tom Becker is an aspiring author. He
thinks about Catherine Keener sometimes. It’s not weird or anything –
he just wants to know the things that touching her could teach him.
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