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Jack-in-the-Box

A final screech of unoiled, rusty hinges and the coiled puppet springs out,lusting full from its hiding place.





Ahead, a snaky path through rickets of trees, and lightening incinerates straggling limbs. Pebbles at my feet, and the howls of plotting animals through the bush beyond. the slash of sharpened teeth, the cloying musk from unyielding fur, and the smoky hiss of putrefaction.

Where is this dense and murky nightmare?
Where is clarity, where is light?





"Tyger, tyger burning bright,
in the forests of the night.
What immortal hand or eye
dare frame thy fearful symmetry."