Cup XVII: 'Tis the Season to Be Crawly

Tea: Renaissance, with honey
Music: My Cocteau Twins station on Pandora

Time: Afternoon

The tea smells like peach crisp with oatmeal -- a homey, comforting smell. And, of course, nothing says "home" and "comfort" like icy, ethereal dream pop and a really good creepy story.

Yeah, I'm weird. Don't act shocked. You know better.

It's October, and the trees are stripped bare of all they wear, what do I care? (OK, Bono, out of my head, please.)

So in honor of the thinning of the walls between worlds, each day I'll post a link to a tale of the uncanny, the unearthly, the uncopyrighted.

I slacked yesterday, for which I apologize. As atonement, I'll post two links today.

Short story:

Charlotte Perkins Gilman, "The Yellow Wallpaper"

Long story:

Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, Frankenstein

Enjoy. And pay no attention to that shadow.

It's nothing, really ...