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Headline: Headline writers go on strike

From what my extensive investigation can tell me, we still do not know much at all about young Mr. Mordrake. His crypt is in a lonely patch of dirt in the corner of the cemetery. Everybody knows Edward’s story, and the children are frightened of getting near the small, modest mortuary. They tell each other by the light of the gas lamp on cold, windy December nights that Edward’s ghost still prowls, seeking innocent souls to feed the face. Of course, no adults believe that his ghost still walk...

Alfred stepped from the doorway and looked around the room in awe. He had just awoken – in a concentric elevator that seemed to be made of tempered glass. When the magnetic doors had slid open, this room had appeared. Where was he? It had a large, concave dome, lit by a pale, fluorescent light. One wall came to a vertical edge and dropped to the tiled floor. Alfred approached it hesitantly. He couldn’t remember anything before he had fallen asleep in his apartment... And now here he was, stan...

Ash Williams turns the corner and pushes his chainsaw through the chest of a zombie. Tomato sauce blood sprays like a fountain, and the dismembered zombie sinks to the ground... Even more dead than it was before. Ash steps over the body, and moves on, undoubtedly to ‘kill’ more. So... Is Ash right in doing this? Is it moral to kill a zombie? Is it the same thing as killing another human, an animal, or nothing like any of these at all? That’s what I endeavour to find out. Zombies have always ...

Ozone Park is irregular in the dark A cacophony in Queens The flower shoppe it resurrects Resonates through my dreams The cars pass through the oesophagus that is The highway And pedestrians observe, conserve the reserve that is This little piece of peace in the east As an -urb it is accomplished Not ex- not in- but sub- The terracotta wishes of the projects Lined children’s blocks in the bath tub They cry concrete tears And curse the years That laid asbestos in their Plastered wombs Tarred v...