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Story no. 53. What a perfect delight this section was to write! I thoroughly advise everyone to pick up A.S. Byatt and P.G. Wodehouse when they are feeling under the writing weather.

As before, if you want to catch up on this story, you can read parts onetwothreefourfivesix, and seven. The illustration for part six is currently in progress. 

If you’d like to support this project, I have a Patreon! $1/month gets you art process posts; $3/month gets you extra stories and illustrations. There are also links to my Kofi and Paypal on the right-hand side of the page. 


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“I can, of course, leave any time I like,” Mr. Jenkins said primly. “I was just performing a bit of reconnaissance to assess the scope of the problem here.”

“Of course,” Aunt Thompson said sourly.

“Of course,” the human echoed faintly. It was staring at a clay hedgehog with its brow furrowed. The hedgehog was wearing a pink bowtie and a purple vest. “Is there any chance this place is—ah—a outgrowth of a real place? Or maybe an amalgation of real places?”

“Almost definitely,” Mr. Jenkins said. “Why do you ask?”

“I recognize that hedgehog,” the human said. “It’s right at the top of Aunt Lara’s garden. Uncle Klaas kept vanishing it into the cellar until she hid it behind a rhododendron.”

“So what?” Aunt Thompson snapped. “It’s only a shadow.” She picked up the hedgehog and threw it at the ground; it dissolved into a little pile of sand. When we looked back at the shelf, the ceramic hedgehog was back in its former location, but now its eyes were narrowed and it was holding a little clay knife.

“If it’s a shadow, it’s still got a link to the thing casting it,” the human said. “I might be able to set up a gate back to where it’s throwing from. If,” it added, inspecting one hand, “you give me back my book.”

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Story no. 52. Friends, we have survived the holidays and the shortest day of the year! Let us bounce forward, hopefully not into a brick wall! 

As before, if you want to catch up on this story, you can  read parts onetwothreefourfive, and six.

If you’d like to support this project, I have a Patreon! $1/month gets you art process posts; $3/month gets you extra stories and illustrations. There are also links to my Kofi and Paypal on the right-hand side of the page.

Edited 5/30/2019: If you would like a print of this story’s illustration, you can get it here from my Society6 page. 


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Aunt Thompson climbed out of the hole first. As low as the ceiling had gotten, it was still no easy task for the human to lever itself after her. Gremlins, as I believe I have already conveyed, are not entirely affected by the laws of physics in the way a non-Lathustran might expect them to be, so I had already swarmed up the wall and flung myself through the opening by the time the human’s rather substantial nose poked over the edge.

“Care for a hand?” I asked.

The human grunted and rolled an eyeball filled with malice in my direction as it jerked an elbow over the edge. Apparently its powers did not include levitation (at least not while its small book remained in Aunt Thompson’s possession).

It had just gotten its other elbow planted when Aunt Thompson grew tired of waiting and hooked a hoof into the collar of its robes and hauled it up to stand with us.

We were standing in a sort of library of towering shelves receding in all directions in tight rows. Instead of books the shelves held a variety of ceramic objectsteacups, teapots, round cats with bobbing paws, and little yapping dogs frozen just at the moment before they catch their tails. Light suffused the space, yellow light, red light, cold white light, coming from any number of directions, in spite of there being no windows in evidence.

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Story no. 51! I had to take a brief hiatus to work on an illustration for Lackington’s issue 18, which should be released sometime this month. I was very excited both about the watercolor I finished and the story which inspired it, so I am very much looking forward to having everyone see it! Besides that, there is also cow art.

As before, if you want to catch up on this story, you can read parts onetwothreefour, and five.

If you’d like to support this project, I have a Patreon! $1/month gets you art process posts; $3/month gets you extra stories and illustrations. There are also links to my Kofi and Paypal on the right-hand side of the page. 


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The magic that rushed forth out of the human as it shouted – from its mouth, sure, but also from its hands, eyes, and curiously, its left ear – formed a thin skin between us and the pressure of the whispering. The onslaught of hostile magic from the voices of the dead sparked and slapped against the barrier, turning it various nauseating colors.

The human took another deep breath and the power of the mummies shoved it back toward us, wrapping the membrane tight against our faces. This seemed like the sort of thing that would be a problem for the human, so I wriggled my way over its shoulder and put my elbow up against the magic near its nose. A bit of pressure, and I was able to make a fist-sized opening; a bit more more peeled the magic away from its lips.

It shouted again, this time a little louder and a little longer, and the bubble expanded. This time when it ran out of air, it threw the little book up in front of its face, sending a shock wave of light out into the room.

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Story no. 49. THE ADVENTURE CONTINUES. The last three weeks have involved two new jobs, a housing search (now concluded with a one-year lease signed), and a lot of existential dread, thus the delay. I am mildly optimistic that things will get more regular soon. I made good progress on the illustration for part three when I had a friend over for a painting party this Saturday, so you can check out some WIP photos on my Instagram.

llustration to follow. You can read parts onetwo, and three of this story while I paint furiously.

If you’d like to support this project, I have a Patreon! $1/month gets you art process posts; $3/month gets you extra stories and illustrations. There are also links to my Kofi and Paypal on the right-hand side of the page, if that’s more your style. 


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In Lathustra, a door hidden in the wallpaper would almost certainly lead into an even smaller worlda fold inside a bit of lint shoved in your coat pocket, if you will. The most notorious of these is a cubby behind a mirror Mr. Jenkins has over his dresser, which can tip you into a fragment of reality where everyone you know is sitting in a train station wearing a bowler hat and eating a jelly donut.

In this pocket world, however, the dusty passage beyond the little door didn’t seem particularly magical. I could feel spell fragments stuck to the boards here and there that must have fallen off previous users of the corridor, but the wood itself smelled perfectly ordinary, if a bit rotten.

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Story no. 13.


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Except for the laces, I probably wouldn’t have even noticed that I had just put the wrong shoes on my feet. The black tennis shoes I had taken off had pink laces and the black tennis shoes I put back on had yellow ones. When I held the shoe right up against my face, I realized that these also had smooth, pleather-y bits on the heels and toes, whereas mine were made of netting.

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