Fridge Art 4

As my wife sat cross-legged on the floor rearranging the magnets on the refrigerator, and I saw the shape of the mythical stag emerging from the skeletal remains of turkeys which had been present only moments ago, I could feel the room growing cold and dark, and almost make out the flickering of torchlight on the walls and ceiling as room closed in, cave-like, upon us. Suddenly the furs she was wearing, the red pigment she had smeared across her face, and the strange incantations she was reciting all seemed part of something so vast and timeless I could only gape in awe. Of course, I also wanted to get a beer out of the fridge, which tempered the feeling a little bit. I knew better than to interrupt her though. She has powers I know better than to mess with.

Other variations are here, here, and here.