In the past we’ve pulled the holiday week prompt phrases from various carols and Twas the Night Before Christmas. This year we mined two of our favorite seasonally appropriate movies, Die Hard and Elf. They make for entertaining yet uneasy bedfellows. Please to enjoy.

• with feet smaller than my sister
• except it smells like mushrooms
• now I have a machine gun
• The police have themselves an RV!
• You sit on a throne of lies.

Tune in next time part 348      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The galley door opened yet again. Jim sauntered in and asked, “What’re you hens all cluckin’ ’bout in here?”

“None of your business,” Fleur replied coolly. She squeezed our babies tighter, her eyes glued to Jim’s lack of shirt. “Is your sweaty torso supposed to make me forget I’m talking to someone with feet smaller than my sister‘s earrings?”

“Ya got t’admit,” Jim said, leering at Isolde, “they’re impressive earrings.”

“And you should admit,” Fleur retorted, “there’s nothing all that special about your glistening abdomen except it smells like mushrooms.”

“Oh, I like mushrooms,” Isolde sighed.

“Who’s flying the ship?” I demanded.

“Autopilot,” my brother said without even looking at me.

“Can we talk about Operation Yippee-ki-yay in front of Jim?” Isolde asked.

“No!” Fleur yelled. The twins started crying, and Fleur didn’t even try to soothe them. She handed the boy to Jim and the girl to Isolde. “Go supervise the autopilot. Take them with you. Leave us.”

Jim was a natural. He positioned my son along his forearm, face-down, and the baby quieted in a few seconds. And a few seconds later, the child produced a staccato eruption of flatulence. Jim aimed the diaper at Isolde. “Now I have a machine gun. Better do as I say.”

My daughter continued to wail. Fleur pinched the bridge of her nose, waiting for them to leave the galley. When the door finally shut out most of the noise, she drew a deep breath to speak.

But a different voice preempted her. And her eyes grew wide.

“Attention airship! Reverse course immediately!”

I spun to see what she was looking at. It was another zeppelin, but it appeared to be armored and its nose bore a long, sharp lance. Red and blue lights flashed on its black-and-white hide.

“That looks like a ramming vehicle,” I said.

Fleur’s shocked expression changed to delight. “The police have themselves an RV! I didn’t think the budget appropriation was going to pass this year!”

The needle proboscis of the RV swung toward us.

“Maybe tell them who you are?” I suggested.

“Oh, they know perfectly well whose ship this is.”

The RV advanced. I implored Fleur with my eyes. She rolled hers and picked up the mic.

“Okay, boys. Ha, ha. All in good fun. Now, turn aside and make way for your future queen.”

With a blare of feedback, the amplified reply shot back. “You sit on a throne of lies.”

The RV accelerated.

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• His cheeks were like roses
• I had nothing to dread
• he held tight in his teeth
• he was chubby and plump
• the prancing and pawing

Tune in next time part 244                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

The corridor took me to a stairwell. I went up.

On the third landing I encountered another ninja. His cheeks were like roses and his fists were like mittens filled with mashed potatoes. He punched me ineffectually a few times and then I flung him down the steps, confident I had nothing to dread from him or any of his compatriots.

I left the stairwell at ground level, finding another corridor. Up ahead I spied another ninja. He was posing as a drinking fountain, crouching and spraying water from a nozzle he held tight in his teeth. He was chubby and plump, and was spraying water continuously even though no one was there to get a drink, which would have tipped anyone off that something was amiss. I plugged his nozzle with my fingertip, then carried on down the passage while he gagged and spluttered.

These were the worst ninjas I had ever met.

And, this was one of the longest, most monotonous hallways. I glanced back, and stumbled, catching myself against the wall. Behind me, rather than a long, straight passageway, there was a tee intersection. I turned to face the way I’d been heading, and gasped. The corridor now sported a 90-degree left turn about ten feet ahead of me.

Suddenly I found myself in a maze. Strange sounds reached me, echoing around the corners. I held my breath to listen, closed my eyes to shut out distraction so I could identify the noises. I kept them shut, trying to gauge the size of whatever it was that was making the prancing and pawing sounds.

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In keeping with our annual tradition, this week’s stichomancy prompt fodder is taken exclusively from holiday songs. Unlike previous years, we’re going to work them into our ongoing chain story. Enjoy!

• where the treetops glisten
• fire is so delightful
• Giddy up, giddy up, giddy up
• underneath his beard so snowy white
• think of all the fellas that I haven’t kissed

Tune in next time part 138                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

The newly exposed skin of my chest was bright pink, the color deepening to red as I watched. If there were any important details of the tattoo done in red hues they would be practically invisible.

Getting a good look at the tattoo was awkward. It was going to either be upside down or, if I could find a mirror, backwards. The spa was filled with mirrors, so I gave that a try. I was still pessimistic about understanding the message, when what to my wondering eyes should appear but a code that I recognized. Tessa had inked the original da Vinci style, in mirrorscript, so the reflection was plainly legible to me. The nefarious spa attendants were actually at a disadvantage with their photograph!

It did take a few minutes to recall how to decipher the code she used. Soon I could tell that the message was a set of directions, almost like a pirate’s treasure map. “Go to where the treetops glisten, and remind the headmistress that fire is so delightful precisely because it is so dangerous. You must hurry. Giddy up, giddy up, giddy up!”

I put my shirt back on, again. There could only be one place that the tattoo meant, and it wasn’t in Pittsburghistan. On my way out of the spa I nearly tripped over two people laying on the floor. One was an old man with a beard like a wizard’s, and the other was my sister Freya. (For a second, I mistook her for Thor. But last I knew he was prisoner aboard a zeppelin.)

They blinked up at me in surprise. The old man cracked a semi-toothless grin.

My question about what she was up to never got uttered. I spotted the man’s tattoo underneath his beard so snowy white, Freya’s lipstick all around it. (Another clue that this was indeed Freya — it wasn’t Thor’s shade.)

I rolled my eyes. Freya shrugged. “Dear brother, think of all the fellas that I haven’t kissed.”

bonus points for using them in order (and bonus bonus points for throwing in an extra snippet)

about stichomancy writing prompts

try our stichomancy writing prompt generator!

In keeping with our annual tradition, this week’s stichomancy prompt fodder is taken exclusively from holiday songs. Unlike previous years, we’re going to work them into our ongoing chain story. Enjoy!

• if you really hold me tight
• find out who’s naughty
• snow is glistening
• dressed up like Eskimos
• ring-ting-tingling too

Tune in next time part 137                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Pittsburghistan by night is a sight to behold. The searchlights on every roof draw blinding white grid patterns over every building and sidewalk, and across the heavy clouds in the sky. I was approached by many prostitutes, one of whom said, “If you really hold me tight, and don’t do nothin’ else, honey, I’ll give you a discount.”

I kept moving, in no mood to find out who’s naughty enough to take her up on an offer like that.

As I turned a corner into yet another narrow alley, I spotted something that finally tempted me. A traditional arctic spa. After the week I’d had, I felt I deserved some relaxation.

Inside, I approached the receptionist and told her I was in desperate need of a foot massage, and a mani-pedi.

What? A guy has every right to pamper himself sometimes.

From the sample board I chose an almost clear polish called “snow is glistening.” The receptionist showed me to a private room and handed me a complimentary robe. I kicked off my shoes and peeled off my fetid socks, then plunged my feet into the tub of fragrant warm water.

A few moments later, the attendants arrived, both dressed up like Eskimos in keeping with the spa’s theme. While they massaged my feet and calves, I was able to relax for the first time in ages.

I must have drifted off because the next thing I knew, I was in severe pain. My chest felt like it was being flayed. It was burning and itching and ring-ting-tingling too. One of the attendants stood over me with a strip of fabric which was covered with hot peppermint wax and the remains of my once-lush chest pelt. The other held up a camera and snapped a picture, then the two of them ran from the room without saying a word.

My damned chest tattoo! With great trepidation I looked down at it. Tessa had kept me blindfolded until the hair grew back and I had never actually seen it before.

bonus points for using them in order

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try our stichomancy writing prompt generator!