Beep beep, went the car.

It flew down the lane like the bullet that had killed its driver.

The driver, a skeleton, mashed on the gas pedal with a bony foot.

“Watch out, you maniac! You’re going to kill someone!” said a figure that dove out of the way of the car.

“OH THAT IS SO TRUE,” said the skeleton ominously, which may have been because it was very difficult for a skeleton to avoid being ominous when speaking.

But in this case, it was an accurate speech impediment.

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Casimir let go of the fire escape. He hit the ground with a thud and skitter of gravel under the soles of his shoes. He glanced upwards to see if anybody had heard the rattle of the rickety old fire escape as he’d crept down it.

As he squinted into the sky to watch for any curious eyes, he realized that he’d never really seen the night in all of its unalloyed brilliance. He could make out the edge of the roof against the thick blanket of stars above and no curious head broke the pointillist canvas above.

Setting out, he tripped over a bag of cans and sent it rattling off down the alley.

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Stanley turned on his bathroom faucet and an evil ghost came out.

Its evil eyebrows hung low over two evil eyes, and together with its evil mouth it formed an evil grimace. It had no nose, but if it had, that would have been evil as well.

“I am hungry! And here is a delicious man to eat!”

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Casimir and John descended the stairs together.

Amy was sprawled on the floor, clutching her head. Dominic, although in his wheelchair, didn’t look any better; he only looked more upright. They both groaned.

“What was that?” Dominic asked.

“Our friend Cazgivicus decided to put in an appearance,” Casimir said.

“Who’s that?” Dominic asked.

Amy and Casimir explained.

“But who chased him off?” Amy asked.

“I did,” Casimir said.

“Hunh,” Amy grunted. “Where’s the infamous Jane?” Amy asked while she stood up.

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Oliver muted his new TV and listened. Marilyn Monroe went on acting. There it was again, a faint knocking. He went to the front door and peered out of the window. Nobody stood on his stoop.

As he turned to head back to his new couch, he heard the knocking again.

This time, Oliver opened the door to check. There was some…thing standing on his welcome mat. It appeared to be a horrible little man. He wasn’t horrible because he was little, but because of every other attribute. He wore a tan trench coat. It was mostly tan, the same way that oceans covered most of the Earth. Continental grease stains divided up its surface. Occasional mountain ranges of substantial debris soared over the wrinkled plains.

“Can I help you?” Oliver asked, holding his nose.

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Someone ripped the bag from Cassandra’s head with a deafening rustle. After it was off of her head, she could see that it had actually been a shower curtain.

And speaking of showers, a large, naked man was in front of her, taking one. He stood in a fancy tub with clawfeet that appeared to yanked off of the world’s largest dragon. A series of chrome fixtures arched overhead, releasing a rainstorm onto his balding head. Rivulets of water described erosion patterns across his girth. He scrubbed his back with a long brush. In his other hand he held a stereotypical rubber duck.

“My people tell me that you ain’t any good for your debt,” the naked man said.

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