Mastodonia

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"Out of the rose clump, a face stared fixedly at me — a cat face. The whishers. The owel eyes. The grin. Entranced and frightened, I moved forward slowly, the gun at ready. I was close now. Colser, something told me, than I should be. But I took another step, and on that step I stumbled. Recovering from the stumble, I noticed the rose bush was no longer there and neither was the henhouse. I stood on a little slope that was covered with short grass. It was the longer night. The sun was shining, but with little warmth. The cat face was gone. Then suddenly from behind me I heard a shuffling, thumpin sound and I pivoted around. The thumping shurffling thing stood ten feet tall. It had gleaming tusks and a long trunk. A mastadon, I told myself. A mastadon! Aind it was coming straight toward me…"

A dog’s high kiyoodling brought me up in bed, still half asleep, barely functional. The first light of dawn lay within the room, showing in its ghostliness the worn carpeting, the battered highboy, the open closet door with its array of hanging clothes.

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