High above the valley atop a plateau, dangles a sad shack, like a prayer on Satan’s lip.

Even more precarious, is the porch that flirts with gravity, jutting out over the valley with vultures beneath.

The floorboards shine like silver, having been buffed every morning by imps riding on clouds. Facing outward are two ancient rocking chairs, groaning under the weights of two wicked life forms rocking in time to death’s rhythm.

“Hand me your monocle!”, one screeches.

“Leave me be, you dropped yours over the railing, go ahead and fetch it”.

“It was picked up by a raven, it’s far out in the valley now, probably buried under a sorry stone. Maybe a giant pack-rat will find it and bring it back. I would trade that boy’s watch, the ticking puts baby ravens to sleep. Tell me, what’s he doing now?”

“He seems to be looking for his belongings and the female too. He’s covered in mud and blood, he’s a caked-up mess."

“The dust-devil did her part. I’m going to go check on the girl, want anything?”