by Norbert Gora
Icouldn’t miss such an opportunity. A cuckoo clock for two pounds. The vendor at the flea market looked mentally disturbed, but I always knew that bargains come when you least expect it.
I changed my mind at midnight. The cuckoo only appeared twice. The third time, what came out of the clock terrified me to the core. A shapeless black figure with frighteningly white eyes and bloody mouth resembling a flycatcher.
“I forgot something,” it whispered in an icy low voice and smiled. Then it opened its mouth wide and screamed. “Cuckoo!”
Screw deals, I thought and passed out.