Tagged: horror

I Hated My Grandfather – Holiday Prompt

  • by jenI laughed when I saw him
  • whatever the reason, his heart or his shoes
  • ice-cold in the snow
  • my two front teeth
  • a wonderful, awful idea

I hated my grandfather. He was a cruel man who died a fitting death, tumbling down the tall, narrow stairs of his rickety old mansion. The manservant said he tripped over his shoelaces. The coroner blamed his bum ticker. Whatever the reason, his heart or his shoes, the old bastard was finally dead. I laughed when I saw him on the newspaper’s obituary page. After the funeral I visited his terrible house one last time. The place was empty, the servants gone, the electricity disconnected. Even though it was August, the rooms were ice-cold. In the snow globe on Grandfather’s desk were my two front teeth, the ones I’d lost as a child when I fell down the very same stairs that so recently claimed my grandfather. I had always thought Grandfather himself pushed me on that fateful day, but now I had a wonderful, awful idea. What if the curse was real?

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“It Might Interest the Patient”

  • k-avatartheatrically emotional
  • accomplish
  • interest
  • circumcision

“It might interest the patient that his becoming theatrically emotional is entirely apropos in an operating theatre, but I would remind him that his state of mind will limit the effects of hypnosis, under which I shall accomplish his circumcision due to his refusal of any other anesthetic.”

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“Don’t You Think I Want A Cigarette”

  • by jenbecause of the heat of all the dead bodies
  • deserve a straight answer
  • a cigarette or two
  • rows and rows
  • the very thought makes my mouth water

“Don’t you think I want a cigarette or two myself? The very thought makes my mouth water,” said Philip. “But we can’t.”

“Why not?” said Phyllis. “I think I deserve a straight answer!”

Philip gestured at the rows and rows of corpses. “Because of the heat of all the dead bodies.”

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Helga was a witch

  • k-avatarcertainly gambled and caroused
  • the face of that terrible woman
  • in the pastor’s opinion
  • monstrous Stalinist-vintage building
  • dotted with bright red poppies
  • seven-fingered human hand

Helga was a witch, in the pastor’s opinion.

His suspicions could have derived from her propensity for filthy hair and cackling laughter, or the evidence that she more than occasionally butchered stray cats. It could have owed something to her sordid past, when she had certainly gambled and caroused, or the fact that she dwelled in seclusion in a monstrous Stalinist-vintage building situated incongruously amid waving grasses dotted with bright red poppies. But no.

It was all because of the simple fact that any time pastor saw the face of that terrible woman his mind filled with the ghostly image of a seven-fingered human hand.

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The Tough Thing About Communing With the Dead

  • k-avatar“Hasn’t been really wrung out, yet!”
  • he pantomimed
  • flailing arms sent
  • handle an ugly ghost
  • one stumbling organism
  • it was on Kent’s orders

The tough thing about communing with the dead is that they can’t make any sound and they’re just awful at charades.

“Hasn’t really been wrung out, yet!” he pantomimed, or something along those lines… His flailing arms sent swirling eddy currents through the aether. I can handle an ugly ghost, but this was just one stumbling organism trying to make a point.

Finally I grasped his message, something about how he died.

It was on Kent’s orders.

 

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Roger Joined the Crowd

  • by jena ceremony of solemnity and grandeur
  • caught her round the waist
  • fairly jigging with frustration
  • governmental-seeming buildings
  • device in the leather bindings

Roger joined the crowd approaching the governmental-seeming buildings to see what all the fuss was about. They were fairly jigging with frustration for the gates to open. Roger came to the slow understanding that the buildings were not governmental, but religious, but by then it was too late and he could not escape the throng’s gravity. He was swept inside on a surge of humanity and grudgingly took up a position near the middle.

Like all religious rites, Roger expected this to be a ceremony of solemnity and grandeur and was prepared to be very bored. His attitude changed when the curtains were drawn back, exposing a large aquarium which housed an enormous blue octopus. A young woman wearing a leafy headdress and a pink bikini was lowered over the tank and began to sing. Apparently there was a microphonic device in the leather bindings suspending her, because Roger could hear her quite well. Her voice was not very good.

Just then, the octopus reached one long cerulean tentacle out of the water and caught her round the waist.

Her amplified screams rang through the building, and her safety tether snapped.

Roger looked away as her leafy headdress slipped beneath the waves.

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Jacket Blurb #2

k-avatarOur critique group meets in a bookstore, and that inspired this week’s writing prompt. We were each assigned the title of an existing science fiction novel we had not read, and had to write the exciting synopsis for the back cover.

Kent’s assigned novel was Friends Come in Boxes

Pop goes the weasel.

Timmy shivered in darkness, a darkness in his own mind. A darkness reaching for his soul.

Pop goes the weasel.

Years before, he’d had the courage to turn the handle and release the jaunty little tune. To summon the smiling clown. And ever since, it had taken all his courage just to walk outside. Because now he knew.

Pop goes the weasel.

They say that friends come in boxes. But they don’t say whose.

Rizollo Was Sullen

  1. Character – drug dealer with a heart of gold
  2. Setting – the catacombs
  3. Object – syringe
  4. Situation – hysterical blindness

Rizollo was sullen, but mercifully didn’t pull rank. He didn’t buy any excuses for dealing narcotics, didn’t want hear some street pusher’s side of the story, but even Rizollo could see that something odd was going on. He bagged the syringe as evidence and watched the proceedings warily.

Nobody was talking. Amplified echoes of distant dripping overlaid the charnel smell and vague, almost subsonic reverb of the city permeating these ancient tunnels.

Hemp was shivering. He was pale. Nobody had a blanket, so Williams draped his jacket over the poor guy’s shoulders. His pupils were gone. Constricted down to nothing. Which was very strange in such a dark place.

“Hemp?” Williams asked gently. “What happened back there?”

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Eli’s Pants

  1. by jenCharacter – the chosen one
  2. Setting – haunted house
  3. Object – mood pants
  4. Situation – unplanned amputation

Eli’s pants were a subtle shade of green that was almost blue. That meant he was calm. So far, so good.

The brooding, dark shell of the once-splendid mansion came into view at the end of the winding, tree-lined lane and Eli’s heartbeat quickened. His pants shaded over the line into turquoise. Very sensitive.

Standing in the light of the full moon, breathing deeply and keeping one hand on his VW for reassurance, Eli considered whether he was doing the right thing. Claire would still respect him if he didn’t go in. But would he respect himself?

As he took slow, deliberate steps toward the stone porch, a high-pitched keening sound erupted from somewhere deep inside the house. The mood pants began darkening toward indigo. After that was violet.

Nobody knew what came after violet. No one had ever gone that far and made it back to tell the tale.

But Eli would. He knew it.

Boldly he climbed the stairs and strode through the gaping front door. The place smelled like urine and citronella. Not a pleasing combination. The door creaked closed with a bang, and Eli’s pants were definitely purple. He shone his flashlight up and down them, checking for color uniformity.

As he moved deeper into the sprawling abode, Eli’s fear grew.

A large puddle of blood covered the floor outside the billiard room, wet and glistening. His flashlight beam skittered over the surface until he saw a hand. A severed hand, still twitching.

And then Eli knew. Beyond violet, the pants turned clear.

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