Lucy always loved Sesame Street, she loved the Cookie Monster, mainly because he was funny, and partially because he wasn't smarter than her. Her love of Sesame Street was immense: she had a stuffed animal of every character -- yes even the scary but funny Count von Count; she watched every episode that came on; and even -- unknowingly -- hummed the theme song in her sleep at times, usually much to her own embarrassment because Sesame Street was hers. It was her show, as she likes to reefer to it as with her parents and other family members. And even at seven years old, she hadn't even the slightest hint of beginning to grow out of Sesame Street. It was her show, and she didn't see any reason to leave it for another show. In fact, the idea of leaving Sesame Street for another show seemed impossible; evil even, almost as if it was a heinous crime. And because of that belief, the TV only was on four types of stations: the stations that play Sesame Street, news channels, weather channels, and the cooking channel. I think that you can figure out which her father used and which her mother used.

And so ever episode of Sesame Street was watched by Lucy, usually by herself, but sometimes her parents would join her, but for the most part she watched it alone. And she didn't mind, it was her show after all; she had found that watching it with her parents -- for whatever reason -- seemed to lessen the show, her show. It seemed to lessen the experience of watching it, which she didn't like at all.

Her parents, Cameron and Sandy, didn't mind her obsession with Sesame Street; they thought it was perfectly normal for a kid to be so absorbed with a TV show. But between them, when they were alone at night, they both confided in each other that they found several characters rather creepy. Cam thought that Elmo's relentless cheeriness was on the line of being insane; and Sandy thought that Cookie Monster was closer to a cannibal than anything else. These thoughts and opinions they kept between themselves not even their parents or their in-laws knew of their opinions on the Sesame Street gang.

* * *

It was a Tuesday night in mid July. The weather was blazing hot during the day -- Cam jokes that it was hot as hell -- and cool at night; the mosquitoes ravaged any person they found outside this time of year -- it was especially bad this year due to lots of spring rain earlier in the year.

Cam was busy working on his 1967 Mustang out in the detached garage -- they referred to it as the shop; Sandy was in the kitchen starting a roast in the oven; and Lucy was, as always on week night, was watching Sesame Street, smiling brightly, laughing when it was funny, and singing along when they -- the characters -- sang. She was hooked to the TV, or, more accurately, Sesame Street; when she was watching it, it was all as cared about. There were many times where Sandy had to practically pry her away from the TV to eat dinner as a family.

Sandy finished getting the roast ready and after having placed it into the oven, where it would slowly cook for almost another two hours, she exited the kitchen and started walking back to her bedroom, passing the living room as she did. She saw Lucy was watching Sesame Street -- as always -- and stopped to say something to Lucy.

"Hey, Lucy?" She said, calling her. Lucy looked from the screen hesitantly, as if fearing she'd miss some part of the show.

"Yes Mommy?" Lucy replied, showing a small smile, revealing little cute teeth.

"Dinner won't be ready for another two hours, so just stay here and watch your show okay? Me and Daddy need some time together, okay?" Sandy said, and Lucy smiles and nodded innocently. And then without another word, turned back to her show and watched it intently. Sandy turned and walked back to her room.

Sandy reemerged, wearing a long P coat, that went all the way down to her ankles. It was a very warm jacket, and covered her up completely. She walked by the completely innocent Lucy and out the back door. Lucy didn't notice her walk by, she didn't even know that her mom had walked by, but if one were to look, they'd see she was wearing black spiked heels that were the definition of "sexy shoes". After exiting the house by the back door, Sandy let her hair out, waving it about in the way she knew Cam liked; then sexily strutted towards the shop, only one thing on her mind at that moment.

She entered the shop a few minutes later, Cam was busy working on his Mustang, tightening this bolt, replacing this bolt, and such. He was so absorbed in what he was doing that it took a few minutes for him to realize that Sandy was there. He smiled at her when he did though.

"Hey babe, sorry I got to working on the car and you know how it is. I'll coke in for dinner." He said, wiping his hands off so they were mostly clean of the blackness of the car engine.

She smiled and took a few steps towards him, her hands slowly unbuttoning her jacket, but still holding the jacket together.

"Dinner isn't ready for another two hours, and Lucy is practical hypnotized by the TV. We have some alone time." She said and then slowly opened the coat to reveal her lingerie beneath, so that Cam could have do doubt about what she had in mind.

"Yes ma'am." He said smirking and they met beside the car, their passion and desire being displayed through their actions.

* * *

While her Mommy and Daddy were having their "Alone Time", Lucy was busy watching the TV; the word TV being synonymous with Sesame Street. She was fixated on the TV so much that she didn't notice the blue shape in the shadows of the hallway, the hallway that led to her bedroom. She was simply too fixated on Elmo and Cookie Monster who were currently having a discussion on the screen before her intent eyes.

She heard something -- what exactly she couldn't quite place it -- from behind her that was, for some reason, familiar to her. Spinning her head around, as well as her shoulders, Lucy looked behind herself only to see the shadow filled hallway that led to not only her bedroom, but also every other bedroom in the house. At first she was afraid to look away from the shadowy hallway, afraid that whatever was there would move towards her when she looked away; but then Cookie Monster came on the show and her fears left her without incident or second thought.

* * *

Almost two hours later, the family was sitting together eating their dinner, while having a mild discussion as a family, just talking about their day and so on and so forth. Sandy and Cam kept exchanging "Adult Looks" and smiling at each other. If Lucy had been older she would've been able to guess why but her innocence was still intact, and so she was clueless to the reason for those "Adult Looks".

Lucy was, to a point, withdrawn from the general conversation at the table this night. Normally, Sandy or Cam would've noticed it but due to by heir being so absorbed with each other, they didn't notice in re slightest.

After dinner, they all helped with the dishes and then went to bed. Sandy went to her and Cam's room, saying that she'd be waiting for him, and Cam put Lucy to bed. As they walked down the hallway, entering the shadowy area that Lucy had been staring at earlier, she became scared, as if ice water really was coursing through her veins. She stiffened against her father, who was walking just behind her, as they entered the area in the hallway that is darkened just enough where you can start seeing things -- horrific things -- in the shadows. Cam picked her up into his arms and carried her, thinking that she was getting tired, when in actuality she was scared, scared out of her mind.

Can carried her through the darkened hallway and into her room, which was also just dark enough to begin to see things in the shadows of the room. Lucy's eyes didn't bother with the shadows in the corner, but went straight to the closet which was open, just a crack; but it was open.

When Cam tucked her in and kissed her head she pointed at the closer with a finger, her eyes filled with innocent terror. "There's a monster in the closet daddy! A closet cannibal!!" She said, her hand trembling like a leaf in the wind as she pointed at the closet door, which Cam noticed was just cracked open.

Cam looked at her, surprised at we using the word 'cannibal', he assumed that she was too young to even know what a cannibal was, but didn't bring it up. He was more concerned with calming her down so she could sleep.

"There's no monster in the closet baby. Watch." Cam said as he walked towards the closet. He opened the closet, which creaked on it's hinges. "See." He said, without even looking into the closest. Before he could do anything else, a furry blue arm reach out and grabbed his neck and pulled him into the darkness of the closest, the door still open. And Lucy watched as the Closet Cannibal chopped up her daddy with a bloodied cleaver, calling everything he saw cookie and eating it savagely, as if he'd been starving. The blood splatter all along the inside the closet, even on the closet door, and soon only a bloody heap of flesh was what was left of her daddy. And then the thing turned towards her.

It walked out of the closet, blood scattered over it's blue fur and only then did Lucy realize it was the Cookie Monster, except his eyes were different somehow; they were bloodshot and insane. The Cookie Monster walked towards her, and before she could scream the cleaver came down.

* * *

After almost twenty minutes and Cam still hadn't come into their room, Sandy began to get worried. She put on her nighttime robe, which was white silk, with some lace on the edges. Sandy exited her room and walked down the hallway unsuspectingly and into Lucy's room, where se expected Cam and Lucy to be, but when she entered Lucy's room she saw neither. The room was dark, and the shadows were heavy in the corners of the room. She walked in a few steps and then saw the blood on Lucy's bed -- lots of blood. Just then she heard a noise coming from the closet that reminded her of the sound of a blade cutting through something.

Her heart began pounding in her chest as the get began to enter her veins, slowly but effectively, causing her to take slowly, fearful steps towards the hallway. When she was a few feet from the closer door, she heard a voice, one she recognized but only associated it with a TV show, from within the closet. It said "Cookie!" And then there was some rustling sounds that followed.

Slowly she opened the door, but what she saw inside was pure horror and evil. A thing, that she recognized as the Cookie Monster from Sesame Street, was sitting in the closet, which was bigger than she remembered. There was a red-ish light that filled the closet, only because of the blood that splattered over the lightbulb and when the light shone through the dried blood it have the room some red tinted light. The thing was chopping away at a small body with a bloodied cleaver, saying "Cookie!" every now and then and then eating a hunk of flesh with enthusiasm. Sandy felt her blood freeze, and her legs begin to shake, she looked to the other side of the closet and saw two heads sitting on a shelf, each other frozen in an expression of horror and terror. They were the heads of Cam and Lucy; Sandy lost it and screamed over and over again. The Closet Cannibal aka the Cookie Monster, turned to her and yelled cookie when it saw her.

"No, no. I'm not cookie." Sandy said staggering backwards, tripping on her own two feet and falling back on to her butt. The Closet Cannibal, rose to its feet and exited the horrific closet quickly.

"Cookie!!" It yelled and began to bring the clever down again and again on Sandy, who screamed with pain and terror until the fifth blow which cut clean thorough her neck and stuck into the hardwood floor beneath her. "Cookie." It said again before diving in to eat it's third course of dinner.

- Michael Hall

Props to @fire_theft who gave me the idea for doing a sequel to Sesame Street Horror

The things you see in the shadows of your room,

Dance at your fear,

Smile at your pain,

And cheer at your death;

They cry for your blood,

And devour your flesh,

Leaving the head as their remembrance,

Of you.

- Michael Hall

This week’s guest blogger needs no formal introduction.

You’ve read her work. You’ve laughed, cried. Perhaps you’ve even “snorked” (read: snawrk’d) at the clever command she takes over the English language.

She’s New York-based blogger and humorist, @AnitaRosner. Also author-admin of Snorkfest.com, she was kind enough to divulge to us the secret to her success as a writer.

Without further ado...

Recently, the fine folks at Prose asked me if I’d mind sharing details of my writing process with their community. Well, I must say, I was flattered that anyone would think I actually have one. But after some consideration, I realized that I do. It isn’t particularly remarkable, but it’s mine, and it looks something like this:

I wake up in the morning (always a blessing) at 6:30 and let my neighbor, Donato, drag me to the gym. Then my trainer, Mike, abuses me for about an hour. After that, I hobble home, walk the dog, drink two cups of coffee, and then…

Wait for it…

I shower.

It’s here that the magic happens. For some reason, I do my best thinking in the shower. It may be the white noise of the running water or the relaxation of the act itself after all that physical activity. Whatever the case, the shower flips a switch in my brain.

Some days, the creative thoughts come at a rapid pace; in 5 minutes, I might come up with fodder for 3 or 4 blog posts. On other days, my mind takes a more scenic, languid route – I’ll daydream about an idea, get distracted by random, incoming thoughts, then eventually circle back to the original concept. These are bad days…for my skin. For my blog, however, there are no bad days as long as I’m coming up with content - which brings us to the dreaded subject of “writer’s block.”

On the archery range, it’s called “target panic.” To an actor, it’s known as “stage fright.” For the author, it’s “writer’s block.” Well, I have some very encouraging news for you: it doesn’t exist. In my opinion (not that you asked for it, but Prose did – just sayin’), “writer’s block,” and the other aforementioned phenomena, is nothing more than a momentary lack of confidence. This minor mental hiccup is occasionally triggered by a dearth of inspiration. It is fleeting and benign if I don’t pay any attention to it. To acknowledge it as anything more powerful is just asking for trouble.

Let me tell you what I do when I’m feeling a little stuck…(and no, I don’t jump into the nearest shower)… I take a Prose challenge. These challenges are fantastic exercises for getting the creative juices flowing. Recently, I set a goal to accept at least one challenge per day - whether I need it or not. They keep me in the game, even when I just don’t feel like playing.

Another quick pick-me-up is to read. I recommend reading something you love, written by an author you admire. This always manages to inspire me. Or, you can take the flip side to this approach by reading a published piece that you consider utter and outright garbage. Pour over it. Take it in. Then read a piece that you’ve written. In comparison, your own literature will seem like something from Shakespeare, composed on his very best day. See what a great writer you are?

Rejoice!

Whether the act of writing is a labor of love or a cathartic necessity, the experience should be one you look forward to. Set yourself up with whatever outlet allows you to achieve your goals and pursue your dreams. Fire up that computer. Take out your paper and crayons.

Don’t hold out on us.

I hope you share your work. I’d like to read it.

-Anita

Be sure to follow her here, on Twitter, and Instagram @AnitaRosner. You can also see more of her work by visiting www.snorkfest.com.

__________________________

Stay tuned here each week for more in this #MondayBlogs series— designed to educate and inspire you from the inside out. We’ll give you insights and resources from the literary industry at large as well as exclusives about your own world of words:

-Prose.

And all these coincidences,

Mount atop each other,

Until,

There is a mountain of coincidences,

Which have some meaning to them;

For no coincidence is the truth,

And usually a coincidence,

Is what people say about a series of events,

To deny that there is something -- or someone -- larger than man at work.

- Michael Hall

The constant blaring,

Of lies,

So blatant that truth has become a near silent whisper,

In the mass of all this noise.

- Michael Hall

my dog sleeps upon another

mattress

the same music pours on and on

the same dynamics

1:52 a.m.

naked below the waist

behind this table

scar across my left finger

has sealed the gap

to a kind

of fissure

my skin pale from lack of daylight

money burning fast

hair combed back neatly

a class act all the way

outside I can hear the bar

downstairs filling with college kids

and I don’t feel bad for skipping college

or

the last half of high school

now, 14 years later from those classrooms

those kids down there could buy and sell me

within seconds

but I have a nice television

and a modern stereo

some pages published

out of Reseda

and a lust for failure

unsurpassed

by anybody.

That empty spot,

She once inhabited,

Has become cold,

And dusty;

The cobwebs gathering,

And the coldness turning to ice.

- Michael Hall

Stuck beneath the avalanche,

Of this worlds sickening qualities;

Strangled by the overbearing demands,

Of current society;

And left for dead,

By the ones who are my friends.

- Michael Hall