World of Myth Magazine will feature one story per month in anticipation of the 2026 Zombie Works Publication release of Once Upon a Time in Knob River Valley: A Collection of Grins & Grimaces—forged in the fires of Lisa H. Owens' unhinged imagination.

An excerpt from Chapter-Three: Grimaces & OMGs

The front door was locked and a laminated CLOSED sign, secured by a tiny suction cup on a hook, was still on the tempered glass door panel at noon. A black easy-change clock, with red clock hands, indicated the store opened at 10:00 a.m. It was out of character for Tony Romano to be late for anything as he had a peculiar penchant for promptness. Uncle Tony's Cannoli Shop was famous. It was a legacy, open since the early days on the boardwalk, but also a multi-state enigma as people drove hours, often crossing state lines to get a taste of one of Uncle T's delightful array of Italian pastries. The cannoli recipe, worth waiting in line for, was a family secret straight from the old country, the area encompassing the instep of the boot of their beloved homeland—Italy.

A line of patient customers began at the shop's entrance, then headed south past Uncle Tony's Tees, sporting 100% ring-spun cotton t-shirts with catchy phrases like, Made in Italy and Uncle Tony's Cannoli: For a Deal You Can't Refuse. The line eventually wrapped a distant corner to head west where it finally ended, just beyond Uncle Tony's Monuments and Various Sundry where you could buy souvenirs like Atlantic City, New Jersey beach towels and suntan lotion but also put an order in for Nona's engraved headstone, which was the main function of the business.

Uncle T was smart that way. The longer the lines, the more money he raked in. The Romano's monopolized the oceanfront boardwalk all the way back to the second-tier homes. To say that Uncle Tony was resourceful, a man wearing many hats, was an understatement. In addition to the boardwalk properties, the Romano family ran dirty money through a couple of their low-end casinos in an off-the-beaten-track area that attracted the wretched addicts. Those schmucks who gambled away rent money, then begged for credit, knowing the big time was just around the corner, would forever be indebted to Uncle Tony, capo dei capi of the Romano family. Most of the schmucks couldn't keep up with their increasingly inflated payments and wound up sleeping with the fishes well before Saint Peter was ready to welcome them inside the Pearly Gates. This was the downfall of getting involved with the Romano's where everything was copacetic as long as all debts were paid up.

Casually hovering around the end of the line, was a lanky goon carrying a bulky box—cool to the touch—that was labeled Calabro's (100% Whole Milk) Impastata Ricotta. Though the goon was a young man, he dressed like a modern-day goombah wearing tight low-slung sharkskin slacks and an airy button-down Hawaiian shirt showcasing partially nude dark-haired beauties, frozen in time in the midst of a sultry hula. He was destined for the movies, he thought, as he pictured himself a new and improved version of Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. As a subtle nod to the movie and the 1970s (his favorite historical era), he left the upper half of the shirt's mother-of-pearl buttons undone for maximum sex appeal. On his feet he sported black tassel loafers with argyle socks which effectively killed a portion of the sex appeal factor. At least he had a nice clean-shaven face… and a shagalicious booty.

His throwback style, though unique, was not having the desired effect on the ladies. The combination of the quarter-size Saint Anne's Medallion on a flashy gold filigree chain, nestled comfortably atop the crumb-filled tuft of jet-black chest hair, was the main problem. This was a great source of amusement among his underlings and peers. The crumbly tuft of chest hair earned him the nickname B. Crumbs. The B stood for Baston and Crumbs was born out of the array of crumbs sifting down the front of his shirt. The castoffs of his daily foot-long Giannelli's Steak and Cheese Sub.

He was a complex mess but also a friendly sort, a handsome manly man with muscles-upon-muscles that rippled when he flexed. Posturing, a thing he did quite often in order to impress le raggaze, had the opposite effect—repelling the dames and attracting the pretty boys, Uncle Tony's "interns" selling ocean-side wares. The boys patrolled the beach, hawking recycled plastic bottles containing Uncle Tony's Spring Water: bottled at the source, which was actually the rusted bathroom tap of a rat-infested two-family walkup in Hackensack.

Where the Romano's were concerned, B. Crumbs didn't have a care in the world. He'd always been straight-forward in his dealings with them and was on the boardwalk to drop a delivery off at the cannoli shop on behalf of the Yasi Family. Then he would be on his merry way. He made light chit-chat with those standing at the rear of the line still awaiting the opening of the shop. No one dared leave the line, fearing the very second they left, Uncle Tony would show up, and cannoli assembly would begin with a vengeance. Crumbs worked the crowd, shaking hands with the regulars, those who lived in Yasi territory, and joking with tourists before finally making his way to Uncle Tony's Monuments and Various Sundry. It was an impressive storefront with windows that were treated with a tinted film that made them dark. Dark enough to block out sunlight and prying eyes. Crumbs excused himself and the line parted like the Red Sea.

He passed through the gap in the crowd, his arms wrapped around the box and turned to say grazie and arrivederci before opening the door to step down into the cool cavernous room. It had a lot of appeal as a souvenir/monument shop went, though Crumbs had never before come across the odd combination of merchandise in one storefront. He quietly closed then locked the interior deadbolt, flipping the laminated sign from OPEN to CLOSED.

"Hiya, Vince. It's time ta pay da piper."

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Crumbs whistled as he bypassed the line to Uncle Tony's Cannoli Shop, the tourists and the regulars old friends by then. Commiserating in a line for a couple of hours, the anticipation of a Pisan-Pistachio Cannolo so close you could nearly taste it, had a way of doing that.

"How YOU doin'?" B. Crumbs nodded at the dame with legs for days and kept walking. And whistling. He felt her rebuff loud and clear.

He stopped at the entrance to the cannoli shop and asked the first-in-line guy to hold the box, while he pulled a key ring with about a hundred keys from somewhere beneath the flowing Hawaiian shirt with a flourish.

"TADA," he said, and started trying the keys. "Don't youse get worked up. I'm only makin' a delivery," he tossed over his shoulder as an excited thrum started somewhere down the line, working its way to the guy holding the box.

The trying of keys continued, and Crumbs mumbled curses under his breath shouting "CAZZO!" at one point before finally landing upon the right one.

He turned to retrieve the box and the guy asked, "What's in the box? It feels cold."

Crumbs looked the guy square in the eye and said, "A severed head." The crowd was silenced and the tension mounted as Crumbs continued to stare at first-in-line guy until beads of sweat started to form on the guy's forehead.

"Naw, I'm just bustin' ya balls, man. Ricotta! What'd ja tink?"

The crowd visibly relaxed and nervously chuckled while Crumbs guffawed, then let himself into the shop, locking the deadbolt behind him. He whistled as he set the box on the floor and felt around in his breast pocket for the receipt, setting it on top of the empty glass display case—there'd be no cannoli today. He pulled a box cutter from somewhere under the loose shirt and a cell phone from his back pocket. He punched in a number and set it on the counter, tapping the speaker key. It rang while Crumbs continued to whistle as he opened the top of the box, gingerly using the box cutter. He didn't want to nick anything with the razor's edge.

A voice came on the line, "Wassup, Vince?"

"Dere's a long line at da cannoli shop. Door's still locked and dere's a package for youse."

"Who da Hell is this…" Crumbs hung up and laid the phone on the counter and continued to work on the box, opening the lid. He straightened up and fiddled around under the wide shirt again, finally pulling out a pair of black rubber gloves. He felt eyes on him and looked up to see first-in-line guy, his hands cupping his face as he pressed his nose to the lightly tinted glass to see inside.

"Abracadabra!"

Crumbs held his gloved hands above his head, then he stooped down behind the display case. When he straightened for the second time, he held Uncle Tony's severed head in his hands. Uncle Tony's face would forever hold an expression like he'd just walked into a surprise birthday party. Or caught his wife cheating. Or the other way around. He got caught in the act of screwing a powerful man's wife…

Just outside Uncle Tony's Cannoli Shop entrance a scene of chaos and mayhem erupted, and cell phones were pressed against the front windows snapping pics and filming while urgent shouts and screams pierced the air. Baston Almon Yasi always knew he'd be a star, he thought, when he bent down to slide open the display case and slid Uncle Tony's head onto an empty cannoli tray. He ripped off the gloves, tossing them into a trash receptacle, then unfolded the receipt and spread it out, using the side of his hand to smooth the wrinkles. He smiled when he read it. PAID IN FULL was stamped across the receipt for a rush order on a monument from the Obelisk Crucifix Collection.

Inscription:

line one Once Met, Never Forgotten

line two Antonio Vincent Romano

line three The Cannoli King

line four Rest in Pieces

line five 1960—2022

He heard sirens in the distance and set the phone and keys belonging to Vince, Uncle Tony's grandson, atop the receipt and took a bow—he could really slay an audience—before heading out the back door.

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