My Cardboard Balcony

Wicker Witch by Belinda Roddie "No one's going to want those silly baskets," the jealous ghoul hissed at the witch, but she wove and wove the reeds together into tight snatches that rose up in curls like trees bursting from a wicker wood, ready to carry water to the other side of the haunted river.

"STAMPEEEEEDE!" That was all we needed to hear as we practically dove behind the registers, preparing for the absolute craziest sale mob we had seen in the past five years. With the economy finally picking up, everyone now seemed to have money for electronics. So I adjusted the collar of my polo shirt and nodded to my coworkers. "Remember," I murmured as the doors opened, "worst comes to worst, we get the helmets." "And the catapults?" one colleague asked, getting the joke. "Especially the catapults," I replied.