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Tales From<br />

Wilton Manors<br />

Now in Full Size<br />

Film Script / Photography by Brett Butler,<br />

Short Stories by Fishspit<br />

Zine<br />

13 (<strong>2<strong>01</strong>7</strong>-<strong>04</strong>-<strong>01</strong>)

"Dressing Up The Kitties" - Short Story by Joseph Wilson AKA<br />

Fishspit<br />

How and why did life get so complicated . . . so difficult? Mental<br />

illness and booze have ravaged me since age 13. But I remember . . .<br />

god I remember. Younger days . . . maybe it was age 4 or 5. I’d go to<br />

see my cousin. She was the same age as me. She lived on a farm. I’d<br />

go stay a while. And there were always plenty of cats on that farm.<br />

Some were wild . . . they killed the rats. And a few were tame. The big<br />

mama cat would have her litter . . . and when I came to the farm, Faye,<br />

my cousin, would take me out to the smoke house where they’d be.<br />

She’d gather up some kittens and tell me, “Fishspit! We’re gonna<br />

play house!” Then we’d take ‘em to the back porch where Faye had a<br />

lot of milk . . . and a bunch of the prettiest little dresses she’d made<br />

herself. The mama cat didn’t mind. Sometimes she stayed in the<br />

smokehouse and snoozed . . . other times she’d follow us to watch the<br />

little game of playing house.<br />

Faye would get them little kittens all drunk and sleepy on milk. They<br />

then were putty in her hands. They’d get wobbly . . . they’d get sleepy.<br />

Then she’d pull out her little dresses and bonnets and other<br />

accouterments and start dressing them up.<br />

And I was her husband of course. We’d have 7 kittens. They’d all be<br />

girls. She insisted. Even the little boy kittens were girls . . . them little<br />

boy kittens . . . sleepy on milk . . . dressed up in Faye’s little dresses.<br />

Well! I had to provide for our children. So she’d send me out to my<br />

uncle’s garden and have me pick grapes, and beans, and peaches, and<br />

just about anything. I was a farmer you see. I was a good provider. We<br />

ate the peaches and Faye read English lessons to her children. Her<br />

mother was a school teacher . . . so she’d use her mother’s text books.<br />

But since Faye couldn’t read, she’d just open a text book and make<br />

things up. Things she’d heard. She’d tell the kittens about George<br />

Page 2

Washington cutting down the cherry tree . . . “I cannot tell a lie!” she’d<br />

quote! Then she’d accuse one of the kittens of lying and that kitten had<br />

to go to bed. She’d made a little shoebox bed. The kitten sure didn’t<br />

mind. Sleep was sure welcome to a little kitten buzzed on a belly of<br />

milk.<br />

Soon being a farmer wasn’t good enough for me! Faye wanted me to<br />

be a bigger earner. So she insisted that I get a job at an office . . . an<br />

insurance man or something. She’d tell me to go to work. I asked her<br />

where my office was. “Behind that tree!” she’d exclaim. And I’d<br />

tramp off to work. I’d get bored and lonely over there, listening to her<br />

talk to our children. So, I’d come home from work and she’d ask me<br />

where my paperwork was. “I didn’t get any,” I’d tell her. She told me<br />

that that just wouldn’t do. So she left me to take care of our daughters<br />

while she went inside. I played with the sleepy and precious kittens.<br />

When she returned she’d brought some paper and a pen and a paper<br />

bag. The paper bag was my suitcase. She put my pen in there and my<br />

paper in there, and sent me off to work again. She said to be sure and<br />

write a lot of reports. I didn’t know how to write . . . so I went behind<br />

my tree and wrote fake cursive scribbles all over about 3 of the<br />

pages . . . cursive scribbles that looked to me like the writing the older<br />

kids like my sister did at school.<br />

I’d come home from work (the tree you know) and Faye would<br />

inspect my work.<br />

She was pleased. So then I had to kiss each of our seven daughters.<br />

Then I’d be told how bad the little grey kitten had been (whom she had<br />

dressed up in the tiniest pink dresses) while I was at work. She insisted<br />

I give her (though it was a him) a good talking to. Apparently the little<br />

kitten hadn’t done her chores. What those chores were I wasn’t sure . . .<br />

Faye hadn’t clued me in.<br />

And I’d take the little grey kitten aside and give her (him) a<br />

Page 3

“corrective interview’, as my cousin liked to call it. I don’t know<br />

where she got the term . . . but now I wonder how many “corrective<br />

interviews” she’d gotten from her mama. Faye could be a rascal. I’d<br />

ask the little grey kitten why she’d been so naughty . . . and he’d<br />

(she’d) say, “Mew, Mew, Mew.” And I’d hear my little cousin who<br />

was listening in say, “That is NO excuse!”<br />

Finally Faye would say that we needed a night at the movies. It was<br />

only about noon, but to her it was time for us to get a babysitter. We’d<br />

take the kittens back to their mama. She was the babysitter! Then Faye<br />

and I would go to the movies. This was an afternoon of Buck Rogers,<br />

Banana Splits, Batman, and whatever else was on the television.<br />

Faye would make us sherbet cones and it was so wonderful. Oh how<br />

I miss such times. Faye’s grown up now and married to a fellow that<br />

sells farm insurance. I haven’t seen her in years. She has 3 children<br />

who have left home. Everything goes away in the end. I wouldn’t<br />

want to even see Faye now . . . I want to remember that little girl with<br />

so much innocent beauty in her little soul. I sure wouldn’t want her to<br />

see me. I didn’t turn out so good. Like John Prine sings, “Old man<br />

sleeps with his conscious at night . . . young man sleeps with his<br />

dreams . . . while the mentally ill sit perfectly still and live through<br />

life’s in-betweens.”<br />

God bless all the precious kittens in the world. I hope little girls are<br />

still getting them sleepy drunk on milk and putting little pink dresses on<br />

them.<br />

Page 4

"Mephistopheles and Lilith...“Not My Mephistopheles!”" - Short Story<br />

by Joseph Wilson AKA Fishspit<br />

I once lived with a black, snaggle-toothed, son of bitch named<br />

Mephistopheles. He was a cat. He actually belonged to this chick<br />

named Lilith. But to get him, I had to take her in too . . . so, I got that<br />

cat and the woman that came with him.<br />

She was a good woman. She did the best she could with me . . .<br />

bailing me outta jail . . . cooking healthy meals . . . and listening to my<br />

drunken reveries. She was a good woman, as far as women go.<br />

But that cat! Now that was a cat! I was proud of my woman . . . but I<br />

was goddamned proud of that snaggle-toothed, old, alley cat! When I<br />

got up and drop-kicked that flea ridden cur out, I didn’t know where he<br />

went. I figured he went and mooched some milk off the neighbor,<br />

Jonesy . . . then went to town to give the gal cats a pinch or two.<br />

But no! It started with Jonesy! He came on over . . . shaking Miss<br />

Pearl (his white kitty) in my face! Miss Pearl was missing an ear. I<br />

said, “That’s the damnedest thing Jonesy. Didn’t Miss Pearl have two<br />

ears the last time I saw her.” “Goddamned right she had two ears!”<br />

said Jonesy, “Your son-of-a-bitch cat come over and ate the damned<br />

thing off!” I said, with absolute incredulity, “Mephistopheles?! Oh!<br />

Jonesy! That’s Lilith’s cat. You’ll have to talk to her about that.” And I<br />

slammed the door real fast before he could see Lilith. Our house was<br />

very small. Lilith said, “Who was that?” “Darnedest thing Lilith,” I<br />

told her, “Jonesy is accusing Mephistopheles of eating Miss Pearl’s<br />

ear.” “Not my Mephistopheles!” answered Lilith. “That’s what I told<br />

him Lilith. Your cat wouldn’t do that.” “How come Jonesy didn’t<br />

come in and have coffee and cupcakes?” asked Lilith. “Ah, he was in a<br />

hurry Lilith.”<br />

But it only got worse. Pretty soon every neighbor within a ten block<br />

radius came hunting us up. Little Cooch, Miss Montgomery’s cat, was<br />

Page 5

missing an eye! Swore ol Mephistopheles ripped it out right in front of<br />

her! And then he spit in the empty socket of poor Little Cooch! Just to<br />

spite Miss Montgomery! Right in front of her! Poor, dear, kindly Miss<br />

Montgomery! Jehosephat, Bill Bonebury’s mongrel cat, was missing a<br />

leg. Here he came with Jehosephat! Swears to God that<br />

Mephistopheles ripped off old Phat’s leg and then made poor<br />

Jehosephat eat it! His own leg! And Mephistopheles insisted on doing<br />

it all right there in front of Bill Bonebury! He’d seen it all! First rate<br />

witness! Nothing to leave to conjecture! It was Mephistopheles! No<br />

ands, buts, or ifs!<br />

I slammed the door before Bill could see Lilith scoot by. “I’ll tell<br />

Lilith!” I shouted out to old Bill, “It’s her cat!” Lilith questioned me.<br />

“Oh, well, Bill Bonebury claims Mephistopheles ripped off<br />

Jehosephat’s leg and made Jehosephat eat it on up.” “Not my<br />

Mephistopheles!” said Lilith. But after seeing Porgy and Bess, Miss<br />

Kramer, the crazy old Catholic’s two pusses; the one missing his nose,<br />

the other spitting teeth, it got me to really thinking, “Holy Moses in the<br />

split river!” I conjectured, “This Mephistopheles is really something!<br />

My cat is terrorizing the entire town’s felines!” “Not my<br />

Mephistopheles!” Barked out Lilith! All right Lilith, all right.<br />

But then the cat was out of the bag! Lord have mercy on<br />

Mephistopheles’s wicked soul. Lilith and I flew to Washington State to<br />

see our parents. Her mama and my folks. We left Mephistopheles with<br />

my Aunt and Uncle in Jefferson City Missouri. Aunt Mary had the<br />

biggest cat on the planet! Jumbo Buffcakes was his name. He was<br />

supposed to have whipped every cat in Jeff City, as well as all the cats<br />

along the I-70 corridor.<br />

Poor Mephistopheles! He was sure to meet his match. I said farewell<br />

to the old scrapper with a tear in my eye. I figured we wouldn’t be<br />

seeing each other again. Not on this side of the curtain.<br />

Page 6

Lilith and I had us a fine time up there in Washington State. I<br />

thought of Mephistopheles every once in a while . . . but it was just too<br />

painful. I pushed it back to the back of my noodle. I didn’t say<br />

anything to Lilith . . . about old Buffcakes and what he had probably<br />

done to her Mephistopheles. I didn’t want to spoil her fun.<br />

You won’t believe what we returned to! The absolute horror on my<br />

Aunt’s face when she come to get us at the airport. She looked at<br />

Lilith. “Your cat!” She burbled out. “Ah to hell with this godforsaken<br />

planet!” I thought, “Poor Mephistopheles. He is of this world no<br />

more.”<br />

But no! Hell no! It wasn’t Mephistopheles that was pushing up<br />

daisies. It happened this way! So ashamed of the ass whoopin’ Jumbo<br />

Buffcakes got at the paws of Mephistopheles, he went downstairs, into<br />

Aunt Mary’s basement, and he committed suicide! Hung himself on<br />

the girder! A dangling cat!<br />

My aunt was not a happy broad. “Not my Mephistopheles!” said<br />

Lilith. “Yeah, your Mephistopheles,” I told her, in my head, “That<br />

peckerwood is a monster! A serial killer!”<br />

We got back to Festus, Kansas, with (my hero) Mestopheles in his<br />

carrier. But . . . well . . . it was looking bad. The neighbors were all<br />

gathering about in front of our little house. They started shouting<br />

things. Their cats had finally started peaking their heads out from<br />

under the beds. They finally were getting used to the calm again . . .<br />

and here was Mephistopheles back in town. They’d heard me say that<br />

they wouldn’t have to worry anymore about that black and fierce<br />

feline . . . both in color and in color of his heart! I’d told them all!<br />

Spread the word! About Jumbo Buffcakes! How Mephistopheles had<br />

surely met his match! A goner for sure! No ands, buts, or ifs! No<br />

more Mephistopheles!<br />

But here he was! Back in town! Looking all around! You could see<br />

Page 7

it in his eyes. Which cat was gonna be the first to get his tail served on<br />

a platter? Lil opened his cat carrier. “Oh! Lilith . . . don’t do that!” I<br />

thought. Out came that snaggle-toothed wonder! “Mew! Mew! Mew!”<br />

Giving the neighbors a piece of his mind!<br />

And there was my Lilith! Shouting at that mob . . . not making them<br />

kittenish over her . . . that’s for sure . . . “Not my Mephistopheles!”<br />

The first rock buzzed past her head and through our front window.<br />

Lilith was a Wop! These town folk were getting a tongue lashing only<br />

a Wop can give! I knew she could handle them . . . the pack of<br />

cowards! For a bit . . . at least. Then I heard someone say that the<br />

farmers were heading into town . . . on a convoy of tractors . . . with<br />

guns and tar and that sort of thing. Mephistopheles was spitting! Lilith<br />

was hollerin’! And I was packing! Just the essentials! The record<br />

player and the records. Out the back!<br />

I called Sargent Jeffo . . . my pal over at Fort Hayes. Told him the<br />

situation . . . told him to get over pronto . . . but discreetly . . . and if he<br />

could . . . to bring a few MPs . . . and a truncheon or two.<br />

I got the records roped up and the player ready to go! I ran out . . .<br />

rocks were sure coming at Lilith now . . . didn’t faze her! She was<br />

hollering some mad dog insults at them yokels! Good thing them<br />

crackers were so lousy at throwing rocks! Hadn’t been in too many<br />

riots I suppose. Takes some practice. But they certainly seemed to be<br />

getting that practice! Their aim was improving! It was time to get<br />

Mephistopheles and Lilith inside! I hopped on the fire spitting<br />

Mephistopheles, and tossed him in the carrier. He wasn’t finished<br />

giving those hayseeds the “what-for” . . . his, “I don’t care what<br />

happens to me! I’ll go down for my Lilith” routine. I was thinking in<br />

my head, “What about me Mephistopheles?” as I got him and my<br />

screaming Wop back inside and behind the door. Windows are much<br />

easier to hit then yelling Wops . . . and them rubes were sure drilling<br />

Page 8

our windows with bricks and bottles and brick brash. I pulled the<br />

curtains. I could hear the tractors! I could smell the oil a bubblin’!<br />

Sargent Jeffo arrived in just the nick of time, with a van full of MP<br />

bruisers whom he immediately sicced on them townsfolks. Brutal!<br />

Those fellas were! Man! They went right at them clodhoppers!<br />

Boom! Shaka! Wham! Heads were being split open. Sargent Jeffo<br />

was shoving us in the van! But I was having a look-see as he did.<br />

Those bastards had wanted Mephistopheles’s snaggle-toothed head<br />

delivered up on a platter! But it was these yahoos that were seeing<br />

their teeth fly! Those truncheons were busy! Wham! Biff! Bang!<br />

Pow! Wham! Those were some brutal sons of bitches! No quarter<br />

given! No favor given! Equally pummeled! Man . . . woman . . . or<br />

child! Smash! Wallop! Gaz-ing! Those bruisers knew what they were<br />

doing! Absolute mayhem! Boom! Whisk! Smash! Tugalamboo!<br />

Sweet Jenny Brown . . . just came to have a look around! As Jeffo<br />

slammed the door . . . it was the last thing I saw . . . a seven foot tall<br />

thug giving it to her in the puss! I saw her neck snap back! She sure<br />

wasn’t going to be eating solids too soon!<br />

And that was the last thing I saw.<br />

Today? Well . . . I don’t know much. I know that there are still some<br />

real hard feelings toward us and those fellows at Fort Hayes amongst<br />

the good people of Festus, Kansas. I know that Lilith is still saying,<br />

“Not my Mephistopheles!” . . . and I know that Mephistopheles is<br />

buried with special honors at the Baptist church on Garfield Street in<br />

Lincoln, NE.<br />

Page 9

"Valley of The Barbies" by Brett Butler - eBook Excerpt Series (Part 1) Film<br />

Script [I came up with the idea for this story, one day at the coffee house<br />

(Java Boys) in Wilton Manors. I was watching and hearing young gay men talk<br />

about their hookups and making fun of others that do not fit into their perfect<br />

world. So, from this conversation, I made the guys I saw “The Barbies” and the<br />

rest of us, who do not fit in, the “Donalds” of the world.]<br />


overweight, with thinning hair and bad skin, walks out of the ocean with<br />

seaweed stuck in his chest hair. DONALD (V.O.) I hate beautiful people.<br />

Beautiful people go into the ocean and come out with water glistening on their<br />

perfect bodies. EXT. BUS STOP - DAY Donald stands as a bus passes and his hat<br />

flies off. Donald chases it. DONALD (V.O.) When beautiful people wear a hat,it<br />

never falls off. EXT. FLOPPY COCK BAR - NIGHT The sign of the bar blinks with a<br />

giant, neon penis that goes from erect to flaccid. Donald stands under the sign<br />

as muscular, shirtless men walk by. DONALD (V.O.) I need to take one of the<br />

beautiful people home with me now. INT. DONALD’S APARTMENT, BEDROOM - NIGHT<br />

Donald sits on the side of the bed. Donald bends over and puts on his shorts.<br />

JOHNNY (21), hairless, muscular, with a large, cross tatoo on his back, stands.<br />

He pulls up his blue jeans and puts on his red, cut off tee-shirt that has<br />

“HOT” printed on it. DONALD You can take a shower if you want. Donald points to<br />

the bathroom. Johnny rolls his eyes, turns, looks into the mirror, and runs his<br />

hands through his hair. JOHNNY My next trick is into sweat. Johnny lifts his<br />

right arm and smells his underarm. DONALD There’s something for everyone.<br />

Donald stands, opens his nightstand drawer, and takes out a hundred dollars.<br />

Johnny turns. JOHNNY You know I charge extra for chubbers. Johnny rubs his hand<br />

on Donald’s belly. Donald opens the drawer and takes out a fifty-dollar bill.<br />

Johnny takes it, and sticks it into his pocket. JOHNNY (CONT’D) Come see me<br />

perform tonight. Johnny grinds his hips. DONALD Why do you hustle if you’re<br />

such a hot stripper? JOHNNY A boy has needs, fat boy. Donald looks at himself<br />

in the mirror as Johnny exits. DONALD I would sell my soul to the devil to be<br />

you for just one night. EXT. DIRTY PONY BAR - NIGHT SNODGRASS (24), short,<br />

overweight, with asthma, wears a yellow, My Little Pony tee-shirt and blue<br />

jeans with green shoes. He takes out an inhaler and takes three PUFFS.<br />

SNODGRASS Where the hell were you? Donald enters the line to get into the bar<br />

in brown pants and a white, button down shirt. DONALD Are you under the<br />

impression thatjust because you have no life...? SNODGRASS Not Johnny again?<br />

That bitch gave me genital herpes, and told everybody it was my fault. DONALD<br />

I have needs, and you got herpes from that Bronie, Mason. Snodgrass takes<br />

Donald’s hand and pulls him towards the entrance. DONALD (CONT’D) Isn’t this a<br />

Brony bar? SNODGRASS It’s open to everyone. DONALD You know they are a cult.<br />

INT. DIRTY PONY BAR - NIGHT Donald stands against the wall and Snodgrass stands<br />

next to him. My Little Pony videos play on the TV screens. HECTOR (23), a Cuban<br />

man, has short, black hair and a diamond earring in each ear. He has on long,<br />

black, gym shorts and a black, low cut, tank top. He walks over to Donald.<br />

HECTOR Bro, what did you do, eat your twin to get that fat? Donald’s face turns<br />

red. SNODGRASS Get out of here, you Barbie. Only Bronies are allowed at this<br />

bar. HECTOR Do you want to take this outside, little bro? CASIO (23) a tall,<br />

muscular, Spanish man has no shirt on, which reveals a My Little Pony tattoo on<br />

his chest. He wears leather pants and has a blond Mohawk. Casio walks over to<br />

Hector and runs his hand down the front of Hector’s chest. CASIO Your kind is<br />

Page 10

not welcome here. HECTOR What are you going to do about it, bro? Casio slides<br />

his hand down and grabs Hector’s groin. Hector’s eyes water.CASIO I will rip<br />

your baloney pony off of your body. Casio releases Hector’s groin. Hector turns<br />

to Snodgrass. HECTOR I’ll get with you another time, little bro. Hector walks<br />

away. Casio walks over to Donald. CASIO Do you want to ride the pony? Donald<br />

reaches out to touch Casio’s chest, but pulls his hand back. DONALD No! I can’t<br />

join a cult! Donald runs out of the bar. Snodgrass walks over to Casio.<br />

SNODGRASS I will take a pony ride. EXT. WILTON DRIVE - NIGHT Donald runs into<br />

the street and bumps into JAMMER (30), a muscular, hairy man, with a tattoo of<br />

a bull on his right shoulder. He wears all black leather with a black whip.<br />

Donald falls to the ground. Jammer’s black boot rests on Donald’s cheek. JAMMER<br />

Lick my boot, slave. DONALD Excuse me? Jammer whips Donald’s ass. JAMMER<br />

I said lick my boot, slave. DONALD This is not my scene, dude. Jammer presses<br />

his boot down on Donald’s cheek and whips his ass again. DONALD (CONT’D)<br />

OUCH!!! That hurts. JAMMER It’s supposed to hurt, porky. JESUS (29), a darkskinned,<br />

muscular, Puerto Rican man, wears a blue suit. He has thick, black<br />

hair and a hairy chest with a gold badge around his neck. Jesus walks over to<br />

both men. He shows his badge to Jammer. JESUS Take it off the street, boys.<br />

Jammer steps back. Donald stands up with his shirt covered in dirt. DONALD<br />

Thank God you saved me from this crazy man. Jammer looks at Donald as he folds<br />

up his whip. JAMMER Crazy? A lard ass like you should be thanking the gay gods,<br />

a Barbie like me would take pity on you. Jesus steps in between the two men.<br />

JESUS Move it along. DONALD I need a drink. Donald walks down Wilton Drive,<br />

turns, takes a quick look at Jesus, and goes into another bar. INT. FLOPPY COCK<br />

BAR - NIGHT Donald sits on a small barstool next to JUAN PABLO (39), a lean,<br />

muscular, hairless, dark skinned Brazilian man. DONALD What does a guy have to<br />

do to get a drink around here? JUAN PABLO Be a Barbie. Donald looks across the<br />

bar and sees BLAZE (28), tall, lean, muscular, tan, with skinny jeans and a<br />

black, Hugo Boss shirt unbuttoned down to his navel. He has thick, blond hair.<br />

Johnny and Hector stand next to him. All the bartenders surround them. DONALD<br />

What about us? JUAN PABLO We’re just Midges. You know, Barbie’s ugly friend.<br />

Juan Pablo takes his tee-shirt off. DONALD I know they rule this town, and<br />

every guy in this place wants to be them. JUAN PABLO Not me, papi, they are all<br />

mean bitches. Donald gets off his bar stool. Juan Pablo turns to him. JUAN<br />

PABLO (CONT’D) What are you doing? DONALD Don’t worry, you will see. Donald<br />

squeezes his way through the crowd and walks across the bar to the Barbies.<br />

DONALD (CONT’D) Excuse me! I want to get a drink. Blaze turns to Donald. BLAZE<br />

You want a drink, sweetie? Let me buy it for you. Johnny laughs. DONALD No, I<br />

can get it myself. BLAZE Sweetie, please let me. Donald turns red. SIMON (27),<br />

tall, lean, black hair, wears white glasses with a tight, yellow shirt and<br />

tight, white pants. SIMON Blaze, really, this again? Blaze looks at Simon. He<br />

waves his hand in the air. BLAZE I want to have some fun tonight. SIMON<br />

Whatever. BEAR (35), an overweight, hairy man with a long, thick beard wears<br />

overalls and walks over to Donald. Bear scratches his ass. BEAR My Cubs and I<br />

might want to join you. Blaze ignores Bear. Blaze strokes Donald’s cheeks and<br />

turns to the bartender. BLAZE Jordan, Sex on the Beach. JORDAN (21), shirtless,<br />

muscular, wears neon green, tight shorts. He nods his head, makes the drink,<br />

and hands it to Donald. DONALD Aren’t you going to pay for it? BLAZE No,<br />

sweetie. I never pay for drinks. DONALD Am I dreaming? Blaze takes Donald’s<br />

hand.<br />

[Ends with Page 10 of 1<strong>04</strong> of this eBook] More Next Time!<br />

Page 11

Writer / Self-Publisher: Brett Butler<br />

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