LovelyRita515

Greetings, worried acquaintances of an amiable nature. I write on this fine day to assure you that I am, if nothing else, alive and to tell you the fantastically droll story of my journey.... Once I pulled the door shut behind me, I took a tentative step into the great cavern known to the locals as "Andrew's Garage." I wondered if, in the pitch black darkness that awaited me, there lurked a hungry grue or two. Running, however, turned out to be an unwise decision, as there were strange devices scattered throughout the cave that went "crash" or "thunk" when collided with, and generally proved quite painful. At last, a tiny spark of light al

It was very old, the thing that lived beneath Stringer's Dock. The oldest of the huge piers in the abandoned harbor, Stringer's Dock had, for generations, been used by grandmothers to frighten wayward children into obedience with tales of parents who had tired of their naughty children and had left them there. Grandmothers' stories varied quite a bit at this point, but what with one thing and another, those wicked children were never seen again.               Sailors tell different stories about the pier. They usually involve too much wine and the need to find a suitable spot for being entertained by such ladies as prefer secluded spots for