Not too long ago this weird little creature started showing up in his freaky poses all over my kitchen. One day he was resting in peace on a carefully folded tissue pallet in the windowsill; another day he and his death-defying grin suddenly appeared on the chair in the study.
He has a nice heft to him, none of that papery, light feeling you expect from a skeleton; and he actually makes a very pleasant sound when you rattle him. He jingles. Santa Skeleton.
The Maker crafted him from clay — which was fired by one of his teachers — then he carefully assembled the pieces with white yarn and toted him home, where he haunts our house with his feverish grin. Whenever he starts to get to me, I pick him up and jingle him, and his creep factor diminishes.
He probably hates that I keep killing his skeleton cred.