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The Haunted Market

On our way in: The white witch, in her ghost cloak, got caught in a whirlwind escape. She was thrown to the ground and lost her misty ethereal form thudding to the dirt. The town folk cuffed her and took her white hooded mantle off.

You walk into the undead’s strolling character carnival.

Everyone is enticing and selling something.

Surrounded by a library of stained glass; a lady with fine gray hair mixed w/ enchantment does her lost art of glass-cutting.

I find / buy / and now hold my expensive, yet artfully bargained for, Irish calligraphy pen with childlike possessive adoration. The blonde tour guide allures us further into the dim lit market swaying her hips and looking back into our dumb reserves.

Certain areas were concealed, these areas were numbered with invisible arcana which only revealed itself when our guide let us see them. An archway marked 22 led to this cool hid away basement that appeared to have disastrous furniture. A mangey possum snarled at me on a bench with crooked nails sticking out of it. This, however, was an illusion which when wiped away by the seductive hand of our guide, unveiled immaculate plush furniture. The possum which stared me down was actually a fluffy pewter Persian kitten. I took a seat in an English oak chair with intricate floral carvings and bobbin twist framing. GREGORY MARK SONDROL © 05/04/2020