by Alan Smale
Read by Norm Sherman
Originally published in Realms of Fantasy
“I came for my things,” he said.
“If you’d called, I could have been out.” She stood aside to let him in. Reluctantly.
“That’s not necessary,” said Paul. “You don’t have to do that. You look great.”
“Yes, it is,” she replied. “Yes, I do. No, I really don’t. Your stuff’s in the spare.” She walked into the kitchen and he heard the strange squeal again. Perhaps the sound of a sponge against the inside of the oven?
Rated PG For Goats That Will Eat Pretty Much Anything You Can Think Up.
