Friday, 20 July 2012


by Sandra Davies

Rise before May dawn, middle of meadow, wash face in dew.

Surrender all common sense: next man met so stunned by my beauty he insists on marriage.

Yeah, right.

And such a gullible, desperate, idiot that I almost fail to see the beautiful dog fox just twenty yards ahead.

Abrupt gasping halt, thinking “Christ – if that’d been a man, my luck really would have been in!”

But no: one arm (mine) wrenched up behind, another holding a sharp knife against my throat.

A rasping voice in my ear commands “Stand still my beauty – he’s stuffed – and it’s your turn next.”

Author bio: Recent writer, printmaker, east-coast orientated: and links therefrom


  1. Ooooh, SWEET! Nice little tale, Sandra.

  2. Damned clever and creepy, S. Never occurred to me how taxidermy might be sinisterized (coole made-up word, eh?). My mind immediately flashed back to "psycho" Norman Bates.

    1. Cool word indeed Mike - and I'd've thought stuffed heads were ripe for such ...
      (and thanks for commenting)