October 30, 2015.

SPOOKTOBER STORY #24:

Soon, the spooking time, rumbles the janglebones, grave barrowly. Fum fum fum, it grolls, and turns wrist to boob-tube infraclacker, desounding feed, hoofing cool sad noises out flat face holes. Sour air swells chest parcels, ticklers grasp leg hinges, and protts it vertical. Crack crack!

Janglebones dums and drums, ambulating westward, braining up to-dos of to-days and to-morrows as it pots black grain to paper mouth, setting brew to black wakewater. Fum fum fum, it grolls again, chattering jawly and dancing eyes. The spooking time peals ever pacer... lo lo, dull of dulls to janglebones! Recco any other! To glug fair breaths or squint a near star!

But janglebones too a quagmire of darkshackle, of spook and of shake, of bite and gnaw unconscious. Snoa relief for janglebones. Burden and bondage and duty. Cloak et now with sorrow?

Snoa wish it, soft thumpered et... for janglebones cloaks too, but snoa sorrow lo et.