Joseph, light-headed, his legs shaking, peered down the ruined stairway that zigzagged down the cliff-side from the haunted mansion to the entrance to the Speakeasy tunnels where the Bethany had left her jeep.
“I sure could use a Scooby Snack about now,” he mumbled, adding, “I’m not so used to moving around on terra firma.” Continue reading
(Click here to view : What the park bench sees everyday)
She supposed she really ought to be scattering bird seed, perhaps corn for the larger ones. So her grandson had often told her, in kind but stern words. “The mold on the bread could kill them!”
But her widow’s pension was meant for sustenance, not luxury, so she shared what she had. The birds didn’t seem to mind, judging by how they gathered about her feet on this park bench, every day at 5 pm. And they never left a crumb behind, so where was the harm? Continue reading