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A platypus, cast solid, heavier than it looks.

Eight arms, cast flat, sits anywhere.

Carries its own house. We respect that.

Four wings, every vein cast in.

Mandibles included. Obviously.

Two, sitting. Sold together.

Long legs, cast in one piece.

Claws up. Permanently.

Hunched, and not impressed.

We are not going to pretend it is a beetle.

Beak first, as they go in.

All tail, mostly.

One, swimming, with every scute cast in.

A humpback, going down.

Thumb-sized. Heavier than that.

Everything in the menagerie that came out of water.

Everything in the menagerie that came out of the undergrowth.

All fifteen creatures, both halves, one box.

Three of them, at three sizes, going the same way.

Bare branches, in a ring, and nothing else on it.

A cat asleep, hanging off the edge of itself.

A coffin, with the shelves set inside it.

A crow sitting in a ring of thorns.

The death's head moth, opened out flat.

A raven, half out of an oval frame.

Matte. No batteries.

The thing that goes in the burner.

Four spirals and a dish. Nothing else.

The smoke falls instead of rising.

A horned owl, and the candle goes on its head.

Two cats, sitting up, holding the candles out sideways.

A fish skeleton, and every rib is a hook.

A web, with a cup sized hole in the middle.

Every scale is cast separately. All of them.

A stem of skulls, a cup on top.

Heavy. That is the point.

Thirty minutes, and no way to pause it.

Your glasses go on the nose. Everything else goes in the jaw.

Three mice carrying a tray that is much bigger than they are.

A brass rose, wax to melt, a spoon and a box.

Black lace webs, cut with a scalloped edge.

Black, covered in white bats, big enough for two.

A pair. Wings out, small skull in the middle.

Webs up the leg, plain at the top.

A moth, or a skull. You pick.

Fishnet, but the net is crosses.

It coils twice and it has a head at each end.

Two wings, no bat.

Short, sheer, and a ruffle at the wrist.

The moth again, this time around a finger.

One small silver rose on black lace.

A small bat, a long black drop.

A lace heart, and then a beak.

A fish skeleton on a plain gold hoop.

Filigree arches, long enough to move.

The same moth as the hair pin, worn lower.

A cat sitting still, inside an oval of scrollwork.

A web, with the spider still on it.

A skull from one angle, a butterfly from the other.

Sheer, cropped, and it fastens with toggles.

Black pleats with a band of lace under the hem.

Velvet to the knee, then lace to the floor.

Gathered down the front, sheer from the shoulder.

Two wings, a strap, and somewhere to put your keys.

Square neck, enormous sleeves, short everywhere else.

Black velvet, white collar, and it knows exactly what it is doing.

Long sleeves, lace neckline, buttons all the way up.

Black, laced, chunky sole, nothing on it.

Ankle height, one buckle, flat sole.

Laced high, buckled across, on a wedge.

A long coat that could go to an office.

Long, high shine, buttoned to the throat.

Belted, long, and it moves like a curtain.

Double breasted, cut long, cut big on purpose.

The moon, large. The invitation, small.

The sleeping cat, on natural canvas, at a size you can actually see.

The moth and the crescent, big, on natural canvas.

The window of moths, large, on natural canvas.

The skeleton, the lights, and the cat, carried about.

The moth and the crescent, printed large on the chest.

The skeleton, the lights, and the cat who is not helping.

Five moths on the inside of a window, worn on the chest.

The sleeping cat, printed as a pale panel.

A ghost in a teapot, on a windowsill, on a shirt.

Someone has wrapped the snail. The snail has opinions.

Something is already living in the stocking.

Three mice, one candle, and no sense of pitch.

The moth is handling deliveries this year.

Says it on the front. Asks on the back.

The window of moths, across the chest, on brushed fleece.

The same scene, on something warmer.

The moth and the crescent, on brushed fleece.

The same cat, on something warmer.

The ghost, the teapot, and brushed fleece.

Someone has wrapped the snail. The snail has opinions.

Something is already living in the stocking.

Three mice, one candle, and no sense of pitch.

The moth is handling deliveries this year.

The moth on your chest, the cat on your shoulder.

A small ghost sitting in a teapot, on a windowsill, at night.

A toad on a stack of books, wearing spectacles, entirely unbothered.

A circle of toadstools, and some lights that are not fireflies.

A snail carrying a lantern, taking its time about it.

A cat asleep in a ring of branches and moths.

Five moths resting on the inside of a window at night.

A skeleton untangling fairy lights, mildly exasperated, while the cat sleeps.

A raven with a ring of keys, and no intention of giving them back.

A hare sitting up in long grass, watching a crescent.

An owl, a cat and three moths, all awake at the same hour.

A pale moth against a crescent moon, and gold falling like snow.

An owl on a bare branch, and a moon it is not looking at.

Six stickers. The cheapest way into the house.

Three cards, three drawings, and nothing printed inside.

A dark cover, a pale moth, and ruled pages.

Six baubles. No red, no green.

Both Gothmas prints, rolled in one tube.

The owl, the skull, and six baubles. One box.