Short Story
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                         The Gorgon Returns
                                                        by David Lear

The head of Medusa is shrunken and black, and the writhing snakes that
once framed her hideous face are now still and dry like pieces of twisted
leather.  
Since inheriting her from my recently deceased uncle, Medusa has, for the
most part, remained safely stowed away in a velvet sack, for her powers are
as potent as ever.  And I should know – I tried her out on the cat just this
morning.  
Now, instead of mewing incessantly and tangling herself about my shins,
Pursephone, our tortoise-shell tabby, sits at the bottom of the garden,
perfectly still.  
Poor faithful Pursephone.  Faithful – unlike my wife, whose keys now jangle
at the front door.  Yes, the Gorgon returns.  
Clutching the velvet sack I rise, kiss my wife's cheek, and catch her lover's
scent.  She folds her arms and raises an eyebrow. "So – are you finally
going to show me this bloody inheritance of yours?"
I reach inside the bag.
"Oh yes," I smile.