Couches talking, that wasn’t something I expected.

At least without my glasses, I still had the power of the Squint. No matter how much my opthamalogist told me not to, it was the one way I could regain a semblance of normal sight. It didn’t negate my need for glasses, but it helped.

I could make out nothing about the end of the couch, besides that it had eyes. The texture under my hand gave me more evidence that this was not my upholstered Chesterfield. Instead of scratchy, pilled polyester, a cross between dog fur and pheasant feathers ran under my fingers.

“What happened?” I asked the couch, now seriously doubting its existence. Was my medication acting up? Did I combine something I shouldn’t have last night? I wasn’t drinking, but I did go try that new Thai restaurant. Who knows what they put in there.

“Get your arse off me back,” the couch said. “So we can get a move oot.”

The not-couch bucked. I rolled off the side onto the hard dirt as the couch’s tail whisked my face.