A Horror Comedy of Spotless Streets and Hidden Sin
The gargoyles returned to Fr Primwell, flying with monstrous pride.
“The posture in Perchwick is perfect, Father.” One of them declared triumphantly.
Fr. Primwell nodded sagely —
“Good. I’m sure you’ve elevated everyone’s —
Positions.”
“But everything in Perchwick is so…sordid.” One gargoyle complained. “Our next improvement campaign is eliminating sordiness.”
Fr. Primwell nodded — then worried about how clean they wanted Perchwick.
Pristine didn’t quite suit the ordinary town.
The gargoyles tried everything in their attempt at —
Sanitisation.
Everything had to sparkle.
They removed caked mud from sidewalks.
Cleaned windows that seemed unclear.
They scrubbed every speck of dirt off walls.
They hid gravestones that looked grimy.
They confiscated any artwork that looked remotely like —
Picasso’s.
All evidence of untidiness was removed — Perchwick deserved ultimate moral hygiene.
The townfolk, all concerned for the ethical well-being of their children, applauded the gargoyles’ dedication.
Fr. Primwell flinched. “Aren’t you being a little too —
“Prim?”
But the gargoyles? They grinned their sinister grins and flapped enthusiastically.
The streets were so spotless that they became the town’s main —
Distraction.
And while everyone’s attention was occupied, genuine evil saw its opportunity to grow.
The mysterious monsters continued to congregate beneath the town’s abandoned chapel.
Their activities became increasingly —
Sinister.
Their dire plans took shape, becoming damaging, and —
Sordid.
They stirred mischievousness in the hearts of Perchwick’s unsuspecting
citizens.
Irreverent.
Then bold.
Unnoticed because of their perfect neatness.
While the evil in the town was approving —
Inspection.
Mirrors of the Mind by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt.
