You could call him “Skinny” if you knew him from way back; otherwise you were likely to know Quaid Quinnier as Traveling Dan, the Barber Man, or another of the dozen aliases under which he came into town—and usually very quickly left. Skinny would set up a folding stool under the awning of the local post office or grocer and charge a nickel for a shave. Gentlemen would walk away with the closest shave they’d ever gotten, and usually didn’t notice until they were home that they were lighter their wallet as well as the day’s stubble.

Constance Anne had organized the tea party to discuss how they might combat the unfair and hurtful stereotyping of creepy dolls. It was going quite well, indeed, until a spider crawled out of Marybeth’s eye socket.

This piece is a rare representation of Xolichitata, the lesser-known Mayan god of collectible figurines.

In the mythology of ancient Burma, it's said that a great boat in the form of a makara ferries the souls of the dead to the afterlife. Five bells are perched on the giant water lizard's back, and a person has the time until the fifth bell tolls to argue the case for their virtue in life. If the makara judges them worthy, they will be allowed to cross into paradise; if not, the makara will devour their eternal soul.

In the Greek village of Tésserakefália, residents have practiced one of the oldest forms communal justice for more than two millennia: when a crime is committed, four randomly selected community members are selected to act as both jury and judge over the accused, certifying their unanimous verdict with this four-faced stamp.

It’s possible that this lighter is actually meant to symbolize the flame of wisdom that burns away mortal ignorance—at least that’s what the package said. But was hard to take Nick Flinhaven’s short-lived Everyday Idols series of “spirtitually-themed appliances that will bring some holiness into your day”—which also included Jesus bottle openers and Mohammad night lights—too seriously when the man himself was an avowed atheist.

The Winstrop twins, Annalise and Isabel, were raised to be horse riders. They never particularly liked horses, but it came with the family. Their father, Angus Winstrop III, had competed with his brother, and their grandfather with his brother. Being that they were twins, and being that Angus was far more concerned with prize horses than his daughters, the true sport for them was tricking him into never quite knowing which of the two of them which one was actually the faster racer.

A bit down the trolley tracks from the Land of Make-Pretend was the estate of Count Jumbug and Lady Merrybell. They seemed nice enough when they came over for dinner and Queen Lucy liked them, but King Monday got skeevy vibes from them. Swinger vibes. And he heard from Music Man Marty they were into some pretty weird stuff with the Tigers, too.

Known in the collecting world as “the Miró of waterfowl decoys,” the methods of T E Abbots of Old Groton, Vermont were unconventional to be sure. But his eccentric decoys were not just for show: he had discovered that, far from preferring staid, realistically-styled replicas, most ducks were actually down to party.

Don’t worry. Mr Hootly will keep you safe. He’ll watch you all night long. All. Night. Long.