Eight Maids a-Yelping

“What’s a milkmaid to do? The only thing bovine hereabouts is the Silly Cow who owns the place. During the first seven days of Christmas, she let her true love convert her manor house into an aviary.”

“Tell me about it! I’m a housemaid, but I don’t do windows and I don’t do guano.”

A barefoot parlor maid lamented, “Look at my bloody feet after half a dozen geese pecked my corns.”

The other five recently-hired maids commiserated with them.

“Let’s tar and feather the harpy. We can substitute pine pitch, in a pinch, and there’s no shortage of feathers.”

From Guest Contributor John H. Dromey

John’s short fiction has appeared in Mystery Weekly Magazine, Stupefying Stories Showcase, Thriller Magazine, Unfit Magazine, and elsewhere.

The Hell Cow

She was no ordinary cow. You could tell immediately by the indecent way she chewed her cud. She almost licked her lips with anticipation. She understood it was wrong, but she chewed anyway.

No heifer had ever embraced all seven deadly sins with such fervor. She had long ago discarded her pastoral virtues, no longer content to play her role of milk-giver. She delighted in corrupting others from her herd. There was no possibility of redemption, and woe to anyone who crossed her path.

And there she was, the infernal bovine, munching the grass in my front lawn. Damn her.