Category: Stichomancy Prompts

Buckskin Man’s Cryptic Semen Comments

  • by Kentbalanced himself dismally on one leg in a corner
  • about a bottle and a half ahead of any of his companions
  • without any flattery at all
  • the eerie rustling of my robes
  • a little liar, a boy-liar, a sweet, white boy-liar

Tune in next time part 69                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Buckskin Man’s cryptic semen comments remained mysterious, because Svetlana declined to offer any explanations. Wanting to find out what happened to John drove my decision to show up at the coordinates anyway, assuming I could decode them from the soggy paper scraps in my pocket. Leading the treacherous contortionist by one elbow, I struck off in search of a temporary base of operations.

It was nearing dark when we reached a bar where I felt safe. It was a corrugated metal shack in the hinterlands with a row of motorcycles out front. But the bikes were more rust than chrome. Entering the shabby building, I sized up the occupants. A table with four men hunched over it, someone drinking alone at the bar in a long tan trench coat, and someone I took to be the bartender, a reedy mustachioed man who balanced himself dismally on one leg in a corner behind the bar.

One of the four men at the table erupted in noisy laughter, leaning back and showing me that he was about a bottle and a half ahead of any of his companions. I can say without any flattery at all that the elaborate pyramid they’d built from their empties was the most sophisticated example of such architecture I had ever seen.

I stationed us at the opposite end of the bar, away from the enigmatic person in the trench coat, and got to work on the coded messages while Svetlana tried to summon the bartender to get a drink. The skinny, nervous man glanced in her direction but otherwise did not respond.

“You’ll need to help yourself, if you’re thirsty,” said the trench-coated person. The voice was dry and droll, reminding me of the eerie rustling of my robes when I graduated from the Hopscotch Academy with a degree in advanced duplicity. I couldn’t determine its owner’s gender.

Svetlana took the advice and sprang nimbly over the bar despite her wrists being bound. She used her toes to mix herself a sidecar while the bartender trembled behind her. Back at her stool, she again employed her toes to raise the glass to her lips.

The code concealing the coordinates looked tricky, but knowing that the message was intended for John was a big clue that it would be simpler than it appeared. He always sucked at ciphers. I stuffed the solved cryptograms back into my pocket and told Svetlana to finish her drink.

The bartender moved at last. He lunged up against his side of the bar, still on one foot, and hissed at Svetlana, “You know he’s a little liar, a boy-liar, a sweet, white boy-liar!” Everyone in the place heard him, even the suddenly quiet group over at their table.

“We’re leaving,” I said.

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Once He Was Barefoot

  • by jenand then await instructions
  • crowned by telephone wires
  • “Sure you gonna go home, Johnny! I know you are.”
  • doctors weren’t able to analyze the semen samples
  • and tell them to be punctual

Tune in next time part 68                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Once he was barefoot, the enigmatic stranger fished a sheet of paper out of his right moccasin and handed it to me. It was damp with foot-sweat. From the left he fished another note, which he tucked between Svetlana’s lips, making her wrinkle her nose.

“Go to these coordinates once you’ve decoded them, and then await instructions,” the man said as he slipped his feet back into their buckskin sheaths. While he was doubled over I noticed that his head was crowned by telephone wires and the feathers I spotted earlier were actually live birds tethered there.

“I’d rather go home than to your mysterious coordinates, dude,” I said.

“Sure you gonna go home, Johnny! I know you are.” His tone was mocking.

Why did he think I was John? Was it because I was in the company of Svetlana? She was trying to spit the notepaper out of her mouth, presumably to tell this man I was not her brother, but the paper stuck to her lips and tongue, and everything she said was muffled into indistinguishability.

“Things are heating up,” the man said, straightening, and ignoring Svetlana’s sputterings. “Our doctors weren’t able to analyze the semen samples because they were all contaminated with monkey semen.” He smiled briefly. “The samples were contaminated, not the doctors. Anyway, we need to collect fresh samples from everyone, so go to those coordinates, call your team, and tell them to be punctual. We can’t afford another screw-up.” He shook my hand, gave Svetlana a nod, and sprinted down the alley to a waiting limousine.

Svetlana finally spat her paper gag onto the ground and yelled, “This isn’t John!” at the receding black car.

I scooped up her soggy note and stuck it in my pocket along with my own.

“Now, what’s all this about semen?” I asked.

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My Conversation with Svetlana was Interrupted

  • by Kenta “macho male rock figure”
  • with the utmost coolness
  • that delectable pastime
  • turn doorknobs without fainting?
  • began unlacing his moccasins

Tune in next time part 67                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

My conversation with Svetlana was interrupted by a sudden shift in the music, and a titanic increase in its volume. Chopin was replaced by a thunderous chord progression. The flying piano was still upside down, but now the red haired performer stood on it, himself still inverted as well, with his electric guitar’s strap slung cleverly between his legs. He cut quite a “macho male rock figure” up there, belting out crunchy music with the utmost coolness. Svetlana gaped, all carnal thoughts of me clearly washed from her mind, but the sexy swiveling of her hips indicated she was still daydreaming about that delectable pastime.

The female dancers’ fancy costumes had been shucked, revealing neon-toned unitards more suited to the modern interpretive style of their new dance, a swooning rubbery motion that made me wonder, could they turn doorknobs without fainting?

“Let’s keep moving,” I said, again using the pistol to encourage Svetlana to walk. We found another door in a distant corner of the warehouse and exited into an alleyway. One other person was out there, dressed all in buckskins and feathers.

“Who are you?” Svetlana asked. The stranger silently began unlacing his moccasins.

 

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Far Above the Heads of the Dancing Ladies

  • by jenhandcuffed to the table
  • you know that’s not allowed
  • I’m not a machine
  • now she was all sweet decorum
  • I wish I could sing like that

Tune in next time part 66                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Far above the heads of the dancing ladies, the pianist was strapped to his bench, playing what I now recognized as a Chopin etude. He sang along, his voice as striking as his red hair. I wish I could sing like that crazy upside down man, but my talents lie in other areas.

Svetlana stared at the tableau, transfixed. I heard her sigh and reminded myself that even if now she was all sweet decorum she was a very dangerous woman. I led her into the darkened recesses of the warehouse, away from the stage and its peculiar performers.

I didn’t know exactly, or even roughly, where we were, and Svetlana refused to tell me. I frisked her, hoping to find a phone, but all I found under her leotard was her blowgun and a tube of chapstick. My hands lingered on her narrow hips.

“If you keep that up, you’re going to make me horny,” Svetlana purred. “I’m not a machine.” She leaned in for a kiss, her arms still bound behind her back.

“You know that’s not allowed,” I said. “You’re my captive.”

“That never stopped you before,” she pouted. “Last time I was handcuffed to the table.”

“That was recreational. Today it’s business.”

 

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Aphrodite Snarled At Me

  • by jenme, I want a hula hoop
  • I consider you a rascal
  • burn the air you breathe
  • live long enough to get into space
  • without a hug and kiss

Tune in next time part 64                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Aphrodite snarled at me, “I want a hula hoop‘s width between you and Svetlana.” She gestured with her gun. “No more, no less.”

She didn’t want me to help Svetlana, who was still being throttled by Heinrich, but if I moved too far away she wouldn’t be able to monitor both of us with her single eye.

“I consider you a rascal,” she continued, “not a great threat. I will deal with you once the contortionist bitch is no more.”

Svetlana writhed beneath her former lover/sherpa, her lips a blue grimace, her eyes wide and angry.

Heinrich’s grip faltered and Svetlana drew a gasping breath. While Aphrodite was distracted by that I raised my hand and plucked a jellyfish from my hair. During my years developing the underwater excavation machine I had developed an immunity to jellyfish stings. I was counting on that not being the case for my captors. I flung the gelatinous creature at Aphrodite’s face, hoping to temporarily blind her, but my aim was off and it landed in her mouth just as she inhaled.

I knew from sad experience that man-o-war venom in your esophagus will burn the air you breathe, turning your lungs to fire, and making you doubt whether you will live long enough to get into spaces not built of agony. In other words, it was an effective distraction.

Aphrodite’s gun clattered to the floor and she soon followed it, gagging and coughing and clawing at her mouth. She drew Heinrich’s attention long enough for Svetlana to break free and somersault out of reach, gasping.

Should I take my chances and team up with Svetlana, or leave now, without a hug, and kiss my ass goodbye?

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While Heinrich and Aphrodite Were Preoccupied

  • by Kentcoughing and spewing and afraid to move
  • And the salt.
  • near constant tabloid surveillance
  • supposed to sever the jugular
  • made little use of his arms in speaking

Tune in next time part 63                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

While Heinrich and Aphrodite were preoccupied I made a break for it, scurrying from beneath the truck and into a narrow aisle of wooden crates. Creeping to the end of the aisle on my belly, I peered around the corner. I strained my ears for signs of pursuit, but all I could hear was Aphrodite hectoring Heinrich about letting himself take a blowdart from his contortionist floozy, and Heinrich whimpering in reply. Their spat was occurring at the main entrance, meaning if I wanted to get out I’d have to find another doorway. Finding the coast clear, I wormed through the intersection and into the next aisle.

Svetlana peered down from atop a stack of crates, malicious delight shining in her eyes. I tried to tell her using hand signs that we had to work together, but she calmly undid the catch holding the side panel of the crate on which she perched. It swung out dumping greenish water onto me, a stinking low-tide sludge infested with jellyfish pressing the air from my lungs as it mashed me into the cement floor. I lay there, coughing and spewing and afraid to move lest I get stung. I gagged from the rotten smell. And the salt.

Svetlana plopped lightly into the mess, standing over me with a raspy giggle. She wore the same scandalously skintight outfit that had been a signature of the side-show act with her sister all those years ago, before John decided he couldn’t stand to be near constant tabloid surveillance and estranged himself from his family, uttering sharp words that were supposed to sever the jugular that carried blood so much thicker than water. Although probably no thicker than the slimy muck now covering me.

A resounding boom from the far end of the building indicated the slamming of the door. “Get up,” Svetlana said. She marched away, pausing to glare when I didn’t follow. We soon came into sight of the main entryway, where Heinrich lay on the floor alone. As we drew near, he mouthed words that we couldn’t hear. Svetlana knelt close, trying to discern his message. His torpid stillness made it harder to make sense of the faint sounds. Even when he wasn’t paralyzed, Heinrich made little use of his arms in speaking.

Suddenly he made full use of them in seizing Svetlana by the throat. In full voice, he said, “You should have known better than to leave your darts laying around where I could wipe off the poison!” Aphrodite slid from the shadows beside the door, her pistol aimed at my midsection.

 

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I Became More and More Sure That I Was Inhabiting a Warehouse

  • by jenwait to find out why her husband is hobbling toward her in insane panic
  • far-reaching international manhunt
  • I thought his bouncing was accidental
  • in the very near future
  • — one fat, one skinny

Tune in next time part 62                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

I became more and more sure that I was inhabiting a warehouse as the drug cleared my system and my faculties returned to normal.

I seemed to be alone in the large open area. Why had Lyudmila and Tessa left me unguarded? And whose warehouse was this?

After arranging the tarp to look like I was still beneath it, I dropped to the cement floor, rolled underneath the pickup, and curled up in the shadow of its oversized tires. And just in time! The door at the far end of the room opened and two figures entered — one fat, one skinny. I recognized them immediately as Heinrich and Aphrodite Hunter, which meant I was in deep shit. Or would be in the very near future. Those two hated each other almost as much as they hated everyone else. For them to team up meant something huge was going down, and I was in the middle of it.

Aphrodite laughed at something her rotund husband said, and then went back out through the door. Heinrich approached the pickup truck, whistling, his belly bouncing. For a moment I thought his bouncing was accidental, merely a result of his loping gait, but then I realized that he was purposefully jostling his stomach up and down. What could he possibly be doing?

In a moment I had my answer. He pulled his enormous Hawaiian shirt up and over his head. Instead of the expanse of flesh I expected, I saw instead a small woman, curled into a ball and clinging to a harness around Heinrich’s normal-sized torso.

He wasn’t fat after all! All this time he had merely been smuggling a contortionist under his clothes. With a sigh she unfolded herself and stood beside Heinrich, fluffing her hair.

My spine chilled as I realized it was Svetlana, John’s other sister, and subject of a far-reaching international manhunt. No wonder she’d proven impossible to find! For just how many years had Heinrich been smuggling the nefarious criminal around inside his clothes? And to what end?

This situation made less and less sense every minute. Lyudmila would never knowingly be in league with Svetlana. They hated each other, and with good reason.

“What are we going to do about this one?” Heinrich asked, gesturing toward the truck bed where he assumed I still lay unconscious.

“We can’t kill him,” Svetlana said in her scratchy voice. “Yet.” She stretched her arms and then bent over into a backbend, every vertebra popping. “I still need him.”

I swallowed.

“But I no longer need you.” Svetlana turned her backbend into a backspring, and launched herself away from Heinrich. She pulled a blowgun from somewhere in her skimpy leotard and shot a dart into Heinrich’s leg. In a blur she disappeared up into the rafters.

The door opened again, admitting Aphrodite who could only stand there and wait to find out why her husband is hobbling toward her in insane panic.

 

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Lyudmila Kept the Blade’s Keen Edge

  • by Kent… just in case a perfect opportunity should ever arise
  • Planet of the Help Desks
  • as the beasts in a menagerie
  • For years.
  • worried-looking men were sprawled

Tune in next time part 61                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Lyudmila kept the blade’s keen edge pressed firmly under my windpipe, ensuring my cooperation. She towed me to a pickup truck and stopped. Evidently we were waiting for Tessa to conclude her business with the garbagemen, which only took another few seconds. The two men in gray-green jumpsuits lumbered into view, followed by Tessa’s katana and then Tessa herself, who ordered them to lie on the sidewalk. In moments, the worried-looking men were sprawled amid the discarded gum of hundreds of anonymous pedestrians. Gum that had been burnished by the soles of countless other pedestrians, gum-chewer and non, walking to and fro in quaint Ipswich. For years.

As Tessa turned our way, Lyudmila released me. Her sword had left only a small nick just below my larynx, enough to leave a thin residue of blood on my fingers when I rubbed it. The women said nothing, and for a few moments I thought perhaps I’d misunderstood the whole ambush, that maybe it was a rescue after all. But then I detected the narrowing of my vision, the numbness of my limbs, and realized that Lyudmila’s blade had been envenomed.

“Get his legs,” Tessa said. They hoisted my body, stiff as a board, up and over the side of the truck. I thudded painfully into the bed and could only listen as they climbed in and got it started. What I overheard told me that Lyudmila had been assigned to learn how to bypass this type of alarm system… just in case a perfect opportunity should ever arise to employ such a truck in a kidnapping, presumably. Finally, the drug dragged me down utterly.

I spent an unknowable time in a haze of pharmacologically augmented dreams, a journey whose in-flight movie would have been Planet of the Help Desks. In my fugue, I struggled to debug printer glitches for clients as diverse and hostile as the beasts in a menagerie. When finally I opened my eyes and dispelled the phantasms, at first I could see only blue. What I mistook for the open sky was a heavy tarp. Throwing it off, I sat up in the bed of the pickup and looked around at the cavernous warehouse. Or was it a warehouse-like cavern?

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Despite Tessa’s Dire Warning

  • by jenonce he becomes self-aware
  • using taxidermy as a front to smuggle drugs
  • dressed in a Goofy costume
  • I’m afraid that our hunt’s over
  • We all loved him

Tune in next time part 60                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Despite Tessa’s dire warning I found my way to the jail’s exit rather quickly, and stumbled out into the sunrise with some of my fellow former inmates, including a woman dressed in a Goofy costume who had been using taxidermy as a front to smuggle drugs. But Tessa was nowhere to be seen. Either she had remained behind in the holding cell, or she was using her ninja powers of disguise again. She could be anywhere.

I didn’t know where to go. Back to the church where Jason and Uncle Jinx were hiding? To the White House to recruit help from my powerful relatives? In my indecision I lingered in an alleyway. From above me on a fire escape, voices filtered down. Familiar voices.

“We all loved him,” Tessa said, “but he’s just not the same man he once was.”

I knew she was talking about me. I strained to hear the other side of this clandestine conversation.

“Our troubles will only multiply once he becomes self-aware,” was Lyudmila’s reply.

I was very uneasy about those two being aligned in any endeavor, especially one that involved talking about me. My only chance was to find where Tessa had stashed the loot. I stayed still and quiet, listening, until a garbage truck rumbled into the alley.

The sanitation workers were on the move.

A few flakes of rust drifted down from above me, as ninja Tessa sprang from her place of camouflage. She landed on the hood of the garbage truck, brandishing her katana.

Lyudmila appeared suddenly at my side. It seemed that she’d learned a few tricks of stealth from dear old Tessa. The blade at my throat was icy. She drew me backwards out of the alley and around the corner, whispering, “I’m afraid our hunt’s over.”

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The Ipswich Jail

  • by KentI still get goosebumps
  • for the first time since breakfast
  • thought snow, felt snow, smelled snow
  • without a handrail to guide you
  • you should wash that spoon

Tune in next time part 59                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

The Ipswich jail had one of the coziest holding cells I’d been in, but I still get goosebumps remembering my time there. With nothing to do but wait for Lyudmila, I lounged on the cot while Tessa paced. I paid little attention to her for an hour or so, but then noticed the troubled expression on her face. I was about to ask what was wrong when her look turned icy, and for the first time since breakfast three days ago, when I drank six cups of black coffee, I was utterly awake.

That coldness in her gaze made it impossible to imagine anything but winter. I thought snow, felt snow, smelled snow, and shuddered convulsively. The lights in the jail went out, and I heard the cell door open in the inky blackness.

“You can leave the cell,” Tessa’s flat voice said from everywhere, “but the jail is like a maze, and without a handrail to guide you I doubt you’ll reach the outside before they restore power. Oh, and one other thing,” she intoned as I stumbled out of the holding cell and my foot skidded on something metal laying on the cement floor, “you should wash that spoon.”

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