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of dust. She wore a waistcoat that I took for leather until I spotted the pert nipples to either side of its thin lapels and was forced to accept that the skin had been flayed from a man rather than beast.
    Finally, the least definable of the three. It was a figure lacking dimension. As it turned you were presented with a rough silhouette, like a child's drawing of a man, then it would turn again and it was lost from sight as you were presented with the thin edge of the paper. It was a sketch brought to life.
    "And who do we have here?" asked the woman in the centre. "What little man is this who wishes access to the Dominion of Circles?"
    They were looking at me and, having hoped that the old man would do all the talking, I looked to him for advice. He simply held his finger up to his lips, like a child asking you not to rat out its behaviour to a vindictive parent. He slid from his skeletal ride and immediately began to climb the escarpment to the left, the three gatekeepers not acknowledging him one bit.
    "Well?" squawked the bird creature, "cat got your tongue?"
    "I would like its tongue," the woman said, "I would wear it like a tie."
    "Maybe I'll roll the dice with you for it," said the bird, "as I bet it would make a nice snack too. A fat, spurting worm that would lick all the way down the gullet. A French kiss that fills the belly."
    The third creature, the insubstantial impression of a man, fluttered and I saw words appear above its silhouetted head like smoke signals, melting away the moment they were read.
    Flesh suit, the words said. Precious warmth. Wear it till it melt. "I think its damaged," said the bird. "It cannot speak. Its brain has curdled. Maybe it's a Buzz freak. You like Buzz little man?"
    "Mmmm..." the woman licked her dry lips, pink clouds of lip skin fluttering in front of her yellow teeth like butterflies as her tongue dislodged them from where they nested on her skull. "Curdled brains served hot from the skull like oatmeal, perhaps we could share?"
    She reached for the bird creature, her skin thrown into temporary disarray as she moved, revealing the skeleton beneath. When she was still once more, her hand resting on her companion's feathered shoulder, the skin settled, dressing her once again. "A romantic meal," she continued, "to sharpen all appetites."
    The bird-thing turned to her, its beak chattering in what I took to be pleasure. "My appetite is always sharp."
    Sharp, appeared in a word cloud above the third creatures head. Brittle. Cut. Shine.
    "I think I'd prefer my brains to stay exactly where they are," I said.
    "It does speak!" The woman clapped her hands into swirling clouds of dust.
    Speak, appeared above the third's head, then: Scream.
    "I'd rather not do any screaming just now," I said. "It's been a hot ride and my throat's parched. Maybe after a rest and a nice cold drink I could work up a holler or two but not right now."
    I couldn't say where this sudden reservoir of fortitude sprang from, most likely the fact that, out of the corner of my eye, I was watching the old man creep closer and closer to where the three beasts were sitting. Why they couldn't see him was beyond me, but clearly they couldn't, and equally clearly, he had a plan. It seemed the best way forward just to keep chatting until he got around to acting on it. Besides, my throat was parched... "It's a cheeky little thing!" said the bird, "I can't decide if I like it or hate it."
    H ate, suggested the third, the word swelling slightly for emphasis before it broke up.
    "We could always play with it for a little while," the woman suggested, "just to decide if it's entertaining. "
    "What would we play?" the bird wondered. "Bleed the Pig?"
    "Split and Spit!" said the woman, laughing so hard her own skin vibrated all around her so she appeared little more than a blur.
    "'Skin the Dog'?" wondered the third, the word 'dog' briefly running through the air above its head.
    "I don't suppose the three of you could be persuaded to