Ale

"Jesus Christ!" The man cried, arching his neck back with his eyes wide toward the heavens, downing his drink.

"YES!" He repeated, throwing his face side to side

"Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes ,Yes!"

The bar patrons looked on, as he proceeded to rise from his seat & assault his glass once more.

More verbal praise, along with vigorous laughter, flowed from him and filled the room, like a swarm of bees that...filled the room.

A nearby woman recoiled, As tears began to ride the mans face like a highway to Chin city.

"Oh Baby, Drinking this is to be cradled by god himself."

The words followed his necktie, as it raced into the air.

His shirt followed, chasing the tie with the passion of a young lover.

The room was spinning, when gravity opened its arms to embrace him.

His lips went toward the now empty glass, but arrived second to his tongue, which danced around the edge.

"Jim"

The Bartender said, holding a firm hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry she left you, But you have to get the fuck out of here."

End.

Marriage

His wife sat on the opposite end of the table.

The dining room had been a quiet place for years, that felt more like a graveyard for the meals had in it.

Every now and again, she would invite her fake smile to join them for a moment. 

There was no love left in this marriage, he knew this.

He longed for changed, in fact...he required it.

She lowered her head into her magazine, like a hippo at a watering hole. 

And at that moment, something caught his eye, from the kitchen beyond.

Between the fridge and the microwave, lay a knife.

He had thoughts before, but never truly tempted them as reality.

But today was different.

"After she goes to sleep" He thought to himself.

"One thrust, then I keep twisting, and twisting until the job is done."

He knew the act was too out of character for his wife to suspect a thing.

And ‘disposal’ after the fact would be all too easy.

He could get away with it, and never even be subject to question.

A subtle grin slowly appeared on his lips.

"Yes, tonight...” He thought.

“I am having sex with that cantaloupe, Tonight!”

End.

Summer Love

  "Oh, My." 

He thought to himself as Britney let her hair down.

"Oh Benjamin"

She said with a smile, gazing at his teeth

The two had a gorgeous spot in the sun, on the side of Lake Taffy.

"Catch me Benjamin!"

said Britney, thrusting herself towards him.

She was heavy for a woman, and Benjamin had to shuffle his feet to avoid falling, but he caught her.

  "...Oh Britney"

He cried

  "I love you ever so much!"

"I love you too"

Britney giggled, holding one hand to her mouth.

"Twirl me in the air, Oh Benjamin won't you?"

  "Sorry Darling, But I should be so lucky as to lift you an inch from the ground, let alone twirl you."

"Oh I don't mind, let us pretend then!"

The two laughed in each others arms

  "Oh Britney !"

"Oh Benjamin !" 

It was One Thirty-seven in the afternoon, The most perfect time in the world far as the two of them were concerned.

...And that's when the murders started.

End.

There’s a friggin’ surprise.

It was a dark, and spooky night.

The wind howled, and howled, and howled some more! The rain, poured with sinister intent!

The light of the office spilled out into the howling, dark, rainy, spooky…

…For visual reference - it’s dark outside, but not inside the house. The story take’s place in a house.

A man walked in to the room - internally upset that the light had been left on - and sat at the desk, writing what he believed to be an exciting new horror story!

The room wasn’t designed to be an office, rather, just a re-purposed small bedroom. He wanted to convert the garage, but his wife wouldn’t let him. Not that she planned to use it for anything, they park both vehicles in the drive way & the garage is nearly empty - but the excitement drained from their marriage long ago, and making her husband miserable was the only thing that let her feel anything these days.

What a bitch.

Just get a divorce, and stop letting that twenty-something intern finger you in the copy room at work.

…The man wrote.

“Over five-thousand words this time!” he thought to himself!

It would be his longest yet. The man typically wrote short stories, less than two thousand words most often. This one was different, this one was - THUD THUD*

“What was that?”

The man turned his head sharply, to address the sound behind him…and also fixed his posture, because Jesus Christ, what a gremlin. Forty - eight years old, and he still can’t sit up straight like a proper adult.

Shoulders back, Gary!

Shoulders waaaaaay back!

The man, startled, continued to stare in the direction of the sound for a solid half minute. After assuring himself it was nothing, he turned back to his paper and - THUD THUD*

“Goodness, What terror doth be upon me?” thought the man.

He got up from thy seat and moved in the direction of the sound, which in this case was toward the closet door.

The man leaned his head slowly, and dramatically to the closet, because why the hell not, and the sound happened again, which made the man very scared.

After taking a while to think about it, the man opened the closet door, and a pair of creepy hands pulled the man inside the closet.

“Help, Help!” Cried the man. He banged on the closet door

THUD THUD

But the door wouldn’t open.

Then the office door opened (Clarifying - The actual room door, not the closet door.) and the same man walked in to the room. He sat down at the desk, and started to write.

Then he heard the Thudding noise from the closet.

Cut To Black

Did you enjoy that, Was it a fun read?

How about that banger of an ending!? Where the man walks back into the room, and you realize it was him banging from the inside of the closet all along!

Golly, that’s some spooky stuff right there. Just casually write a time paradox into your story for the sake of the cheapest scare imaginable…

…I am sorry.

I am being impolite. I really hate that cliche’.

I don’t claim to be a great writer by any stretch of the imagination, and I certainly don’t believe you should let other people’s opinions dictate your behavior, so please, if you are a creative person, do not allow my bitterness to affect your art in any way.

…But Holy God Damn, Dude!

What a stupid way to end a story.

Shop Class

The bell rang one final time, and the kids took their seats.

The school’s wood shop smelled like wood. I’m sure you could have guessed.

The teacher walked in last, and closed the door. “Alright students,” said the bald, grey bearded man. “Welcome to your first day of shop class.”

The old man adjust his overalls, and glared over the room over the frames of his glasses. “Now I’m sure you’ve heard a lot of talk - some of the teachers here think I’m too old to be running shop!” 

The children were silent.

“Well let me tell you, I have been behind a saw farm longer than you little runts have been alive!” the old man continued with a cough. “So you had all best be ignoring that nonsense.”

One of the children at the back of the class raised his hand.

The teacher ignored it.

“Alright!” the teacher said firmly, waving his arms to motion the children inward to the large table at the front of the class. “Let’s dive right in -No need to waste time. I don’t understand why so many teacher’s fuss about, trying to tell you kids all about themselves. You’re here to learn ain’t ya?”

The children got out from their seats, and huddled together at the front of the class. The teacher coughed into the crook of his arm, then slowly dipped below the large table, and retrieved a wooden figure of a duck, which he then placed on the table.

“According to the curriculum, I’m to teach you how to make a bowl as your first assignment.” the man chuckled quietly. “The school board doesn’t trust you lot to make anything interesting. But I say different! We’ll be starting on ducks.”

After a small coughing fit, the old man slid the duck across the table, and allowed the children to get a good look at the figure. “That right there, is none other than the Orpington Buff Duck! A damn fine specimen. By the end of semester, you kids will each have your own Buff Duck to take home and show to your parents,”

The man turned, and walked toward the machines at the far end of the room. “Come along now.” he motioned.

The children followed.

Gathered around a large machine, they stopped, and the teacher placed his palm on it’s surface. “This here, is a band saw. It’s where we’ll be starting our project.”

The old timer removed his glasses, and wiped the lenses with the sleeves of his shirt. He placed the glasses back on his face, and rolled his sleeves to the elbow. “Now it is important that you don’t have any loose, or baggy clothing while operating the machines, do you all understand?”

Silently, the children nodded.

“Good,” the man replied with a deep inhale. “Now let’s not doddle.”

The teacher picked out a large block of scrap wood from a nearby bin, and held it up with one hand. “We’ll be making our entire duck out of scrap wood, so you all learn to avoid wasting material. Simply, we are going to start by cutting this sucker down to size. Pay close attention.”

Removing a large, flat pencil from his pocket, the man marked the wood on all sides. “I’ve been at this for some time, but I’ll of course be showing you rascals how to measure when the time comes. Now everyone step back while I start the saw, I want to show you how this works before we get into all the small details.”

The children stepped back, and the table saw was switched on.

“Very important to keep your machines powered off when not in use,” the old man grumbled, placing on a pair of goggles. “And personal protective wear is a must! If I catch any on you without it, that’s a ticket to the principals office.”

Placing his boot on the red foot pedal, the teacher pressed down and the large, circular blade on the surface of the machine began to spin. The instructor had to raise his voice to be heard over the saw. “WATCH CLOSELY,” he smiled. “I’M GOING TO MAKE A SIMPLE CUT!”

The man pushed the block of wood forward, and the end touched the spinning blade. With a quick snapping sound, the block of wood was pulled from the teacher’s hands and whipped across the classroom.

The children screamed, as the block of wood clapped against the wall, and then smacked against the floor.

“Calm down, Calm down!” The man pleaded, removing his foot from the pedal. The saw stopped, and the children looked at their teacher with wide, tear-glazed eyes.

The instructor removed his goggles and wiped the sweat from his face with a cloth that was tucked into the front of his overalls. “Nothing to panic about, just a little hiccup.”

One of the little girls near the back of the group was full on sobbing. “I…didn’t like that.” she managed through choked tears.

The old man clenched his teeth and cleared his throat. “So…Well, it is very important to keep a tight grip while using this machine.” he mumbled. “Are you kids ready to try again?”

“NO!” the sobbing girl screamed from the back of the class, before bursting into more tears.

The old man waited a minute, then snapped his fingers. “I’ll…be very careful.” he said dryly.

The girl tried her best to stifle her tears.

Again, the old man retrieved a block of wood from the scrap bin, and again, he placed his foot on the pedal and started the machine. The children, this time, made an audible shiver.

“IT’S ALRIGHT, EVERYONE. NOW WATCH CLOSELY!”

The teacher pushed the block forward, keeping his fingers pressed firmly on the piece of wood. Then the wood hit the blade and was snapped clean out from his hands.

WHIP - CLAP - SMACK!

Across the room and against the wall!

Turned away from the instructor, the children all screaming, and crying! Absolute terror.

Foot off the pedal, the old man raised his hand to get the rooms attention.

“Children, please!” he pleaded. “Remain calm, no one is hurt.”

The young girl, who had expressed her displeasure regarding the last demonstration, turned and widened her eyes. She pointed toward the old man, and her screaming went up several pitches. The children all returned their attention to the shop teacher.

“Oh my god!” One of the boys called out from the herd of young faces - As the horrified noises worsened.

The old man furrowed his brow, and slowly turned his head to see all four fingers of his right hand were missing. Blood was really gushing out of the stumps!

He screamed and quickly clutched his wrist with his left hand…at least he tried, it too, was all stumps. “Jesus Christ!” he wailed. “Jesus Christ!”

The children swirled around the room, it was chaos…hell… bedlam!

“Someone get the nurse!” The old man shouted, staring at his bloody ends.

The children cried. The children screamed.

Over their sounds of horror, he repeated. “Someone get the nurse!”

“Someone get the nurse!”

“Someone get the nurse!”

“Someone get the nurse!”

End.

Corvicious

There were two loud knocks, and then the door opened. “Twenty-minutes, Vick” called out the man in the tacky blue suit.

 The decorated crow on the dressing room table turned and nodded. “Yeah…” he sighed. “I’ll be ready.”

The man with the tacky blue suit motioned his finger upward against the side of his face. “And remember,” he said harshly. “Smile!” 

Then he slammed the door shut. 

Vick sighed and lowered his head and mumbled. “Humans, man…”

The aging crow looked up and removed his gold rimmed sunglasses. He saw the reflection of his tired eyes in the dressing room mirror. His feathers were more grey than black these days, but the make-up department ensured the audience would never know it. Still, he felt ridiculous puppeteering his brittle old body in the same vibrant, jeweled jumpsuit that he had worn on stage nearly forty years ago. A reunion tour, what a joke. Two of the original Corvicious members had already died in past years. Not to any of the usual rockstar causes either, just plain old age. The other two members only agreed to the gig because they were desperate for the cash. Vick hopped over to the edge of the table (as crows do) and he poured himself a scotch. Vick took a long drink, then coughed, and shook his head. “What am I doing?” he asked quietly aloud to himself. Vick had spent his entire life on the road touring. He never settled down, never had any kids. Worse yet, he hadn’t enjoyed to majority of his career. As a young crow, a three album deal was all he had ever dreamed of and more - but three albums had turned into fourteen, and somewhere along the line, music just didn’t bring the bird the same joy it used to. God forbid he had to record another cheap Christmas album with some young pop group.

Vick finished his drink quickly, and fluttered to the floor. He hopped over toward his suitcase to retrieve some pain relievers for his headache. As he flipped the case open, and small square of paper flew out, and gently twirled to the ground. Vick picked it up with his beak, and placed it back into the suitcase. It was a photograph, taken with an instant film camera. The quality was slightly blurry, and the contrast was way too high. A picture of the first band Vick ever played with, no fame, no money, just five birds with a love of Rock’ and Roll! Hanging out in the attic of some dude’s house who had never repaired a broken window. Vick laughed to himself, he had held onto the photo all these years for good luck, but it occurred to him that he hadn’t properly looked at it for far too long. Man, he missed those days. The boys used to get into all sorts of trouble, and playing was always a blast, even if it was mostly just a bunch of birds hanging out and getting far too drunk to produce anything good. The shows were cheap, and they always had to do their own setup. The crowds were never big, and the lady birds were never interested in any of the band members…

…Still. Those were the best days of Vick’s life. 

The crow smiled, and rummaged to find the pain medication for his headache. Then he hopped out into the hall to use the washroom once more before the show. Never a bad idea. After a difficult trip to the urinal (the red jumpsuit was far from easy to get in and out of) Vick hopped back into the hall to return to his dressing room. The thought of being on stage in less than five minutes sickened him. 

Before reaching the door, something caught Vick’s eye. Someone had dropped a nickel on the ground! Vick quickly scooped the shining coin, and tucked it beneath his wing. He didn’t need the money, but a crow doesn’t discriminate against shiny objects.

Another thing, less shiny, but just as interesting had caught Vick’s eye as well. On the cork board above him, a letter sized piece of paper. It was a hand drawn ‘Battle of the Bands’ poster , covered with crudely drawn lightning bolts, and skulls - open mic at a local pub not far from the venue. The show was set for 7PM doors…the same time Vick was set to be one stage before a crowd of seniors that had surely dragged their uninterested children along with them. Vick looked down the hall, a security guard was seated on a chair near the exit door, distracted and scrolling through something on his phone. Vick looked back up at the poster, mesmerized, and contented.

A series of four loud knocks banged into the dressing room! And the door flung open. The man with the tacky blue suit stormed in, accompanied by two other large men in dark suits. “Vick!” he shouted “What the hell is going on, you are supposed to be on stage right n-”

Noticing the small red jumpsuit on the dressing room table, the man quickly ran his fingers through his slick blonde hair, and let the stress pass forcefully through his lips. 

In the background, the sound of cheering fans grew louder. “Cor-Vi-Cious, Cor-Vi-Cious, Cor-Vi-Cious…”

The blue suited man placed his hands on his hips, shook his head, and let out a single sarcastic laugh. “Son of a bitch.” 

End.

Eulogy

Anthony patted his forehead, thanking himself for pocketing the extra napkins acquired from the fast food joint he had stopped at for lunch.

He was sweating a lot!

The small church was filled with only a dozen other people or so. All dabbing tears from below their eyes, and exchanging quiet words to one another.

Anthony cleared his throat, adjusted the microphone, and placed his hands firmly on the sides of the podium.

He took another look to his right, eyeing the large, decorated picture of the grey bearded man beside the closed red, casket.

After taking a deep breath in, and letting it out slowly, he began to speak.

“Dear friends, thank you all for gathering here today.”

He looked over the room, though most had their heads lowered, so eye contact appeared to be mostly unnecessary. A relief.

He continued. “Honestly, I don’t know what to say. Because this guy…”

Anthony pointed to the deceased man’s picture. “…You all know this guy. And what can I say, hmm?”

Anthony held a tight-lipped expression and inhaled deep through his nose. “What can I say to you that would ease the pain? What can I say to help us all move forward? Most importantly, what can I say - that you don’t already know?”

A few people seated in the pews raised their heads, nodding gently, and brushing away more tears.

Anthony extended his arm, and pointed an open hand to one of the older women seated nearest to the front. “That look.” He said. “That look on your face shows me your love for this man. That look tells me, that frankly, you knew him better than I ever could!”

The woman broke into pained, and deep sobbing, and clutched her handkerchief near her left cheek, as she tried her hardest to manage a smile. “Yes!” She replied. “Oh yes, my dear Paul. I miss him.”

Anthony closed his eyes and lowered his head. “Paul.” He said quietly. “Paul, was a special man.”

Anthony removed the microphone from it’s stand, and held it before him as he straightened his posture. “Paul was special to each of us in a different way. I know how I saw Paul, but I can never truly understand how you-”

“HOW DID YOU SEE HIM!?” A loud, intense voice interrupted from the back of the church.

Anthony let a small choking noise out from his throat, then drew the microphone closer. “I’m sorry?” He replied.

A man raised himself from his seat and placed his hands firmly on his hips. “Paul!” He stated firmly. “I asked how you saw Paul?”

Anthony took a short moment, then resumed. “Paul was…Paul was like a father to me. He always had a way of-”

“Oh, yeah! Is that so?” The man interrupted once more. “He was a lot like a father to me also, I’m his son. Who the fuck are you?”

Anthony could feel himself heating up like a toaster oven. He removed another napkin from his pocket, and began to wipe the sweat from his face. “Well, you see, I’m a friend. Of sorts.”

The man at the back of the room let out a forced laugh. “I knew it! You didn’t know him. You don’t know a damn person here. How the fuck did you get on that stage, asshole?”

Anthony let his jaw hang, and quiver for a second.”I…beg your pardon. That was very rude.”

The man at the back raised his hands. “Oh! Oh, I’m being rude?”

Anthony got a little bit of pepper in his spirits, and decided to keep fueling the flames. “Yeah, You are being rude! This is a church, how about you show some fucking consideration for everyone?”

The man at the back exited the pew, and began to walk toward the podium. “Consideration? Look who’s talking. Why did you even start speaking if you knew you were in the wrong place?”

Anthony’s brief wave of courage instantly washed away as the man approached. He stammered and quickly fixed the microphone back to it’s stand. “It’s a funeral!” He replied. “I didn’t want to be disrespectful!”

He turned, and raced for the door at the back of the stage. He gripped the handle and turned. Frantically. The door would not open.

End.

Fucking Plump

“That is fucking plump!” George said gleefully, holding the gigantic tomato in the palms of his two hands. His auburn grey mustache curled cheerfully, as his cheeks pushed his glasses upward. He removed the fruit from the vine and rose to his feet. 

“Yes!” He shouted. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.”

He ran inside his small cottage, and presented the red sphere in front of his wife. 

“Honey, take a look at this!” He exclaimed with overwhelming joy.

His wife looked at the tomato, and sighed a polite smile. “It’s very nice, darling. Now are you done in the garden? I would like to have dinner.”

George stood wide eyed in front of his wife, his jaw nearly touching the floor. 

“But…Honey.” He stuttered. “Just look at how plump this fucking thing is!”

The smile returned to his face. “It’s the plumpest tomato I’ve seen in my life.”

His wife giggled. “It is very impressive, George, yes.”

George’s mustache went slightly droopy. “You’re just saying that. You don’t think it’s plump. You don’t think it’s plump at all!” He said, trying to hold back an upset tone.

His wife stood, and placed a hand on her husbands shoulder. “George. It’s a very plump tomato. There’s no doubt about it.” She sighed. “I didn’t mean to make you think otherwise.”

George lowered his head a moment, then looked up with a quiet smile. “I know.” He mumbled. “I’m sorry, Mildred.”

Mildred smiled sweetly and kissed her husbands forehead. “Nonsense. You have a right to be excited. Now let’s have dinner.”

George placed the tomato carefully on the counter top, and the two prepared dinner. After a night of conversation, and some time shared around the radio, they retired for the evening.

“Good night, George.” Mildred hummed, as she got into bed beside her spouse.

“Good night, Mildred.” George replied, and then he turned to switch of the lamp light.

A few moments of silence

Then George sighed. “…I regret not having kids.”

The End.

The Wizard and the Memory Stone

The knight eyed the pearlescent ivory tower on the cliff side mountain peak. A steep climb, but a necessary one.

He unburdened himself of several sections of his armor, his shield, and item bag. His sword he kept strapped over his back. Then he began the labored process of ascending the winding stone stairs, uneven, with steps often largely elevated from the one before.

The sun had been high in the sky when his upward journey began, though it now nearly rested over the waters edge along the horizon - filling the sky with a delicate haze of purple and orange.

The knight removed a cloth from his belt, and removed the sweat from his face, then smoothed his beard downward, and approached the large, wooden door at the base of the tower.

The door had no handle, only a knocker at it’s center. A devilish, grinning face, made of royal blue.

The knight banged the weighted handle of the knocker against to door, hearing the loud banging noise echo on the other side. Only a few knocks were needed, as it became quickly apparent, the door had been left unlocked, and not closed to the full.

The knight rested the flat of his palm on the door, and pushed inward. He was greeted by a round stone room, lightly furnished, though heavy handed on brightly lit candles of varying shapes and size.

The knight took pause for a moment, then stepped in through the door, and began slowly approaching the spiraling stairway along the left wall.

“Hello!” He said loudly.

“I apologise for the intrusion, your door was open. My name is Ganver, I am a Knight of the kingdom of Terralyth.” He began to ascend the stairs. “I seek a powerful Wizard, by the name of  Lexington Astorio, for I am told he may ease my current anguish.”

Reaching the top of the stairs, Ganver entered into the room at the top of the tower. An exceptionally disastrous, and scattered display of papers, shattered glass, and various objects covered the otherwise enchanted looking study.

A wild looking man, wearing a dark blue, star patterned robe shot upward from behind a large oak desk at the far end of the room. The man jumped at the sight of Ganver, as though he had not heard him speak prior.

Ganver raised an open hand before him. “I did not mean to startle you. I am sorry…” He scanned his eyes over the mess. “…is there some sort of trouble?”

The robed man walked out from behind the desk, and walked toward Ganver, adjusting his robes, clearly too large for him. “No, no.” He stammered cheerfully, brushing his grey beard with both hands. “Just practicing a new spell, and things got a little…” He rubbed his hands together quickly. “…Out of hand.”

Ganver smiled “Ahh. I am sorry for your misfortune.”

The robed man waved his hands through the air. “No need, no need.” He said, closing his eyes. “I’ll just magic it all clean later.”

The knight cleared his throat. “Right then.”

He took a knee, and lowered his head.  “Lexington Astorio, My name is Ganver. I have traveled far to seek your magic. So that I may move forward.”

He rose to his feet. “My palomino, my sweet, dear Clip Clop. She was taken from me in the midst of battle, and I simply cannot go on without her.”

The wizard pressed his eyebrows downward. “Your Palo what did you say?”

Ganver brushed a tear from below his eye. “My palomino.” He repeated. “My horse.”

The wizard snapped a finger in the air and nodded. “Of course.” He said with an exhausted tone. “Well I am very sorry to hear that, but I don’t specialize in necromancy.” He lowered his head and cradled his chin with a thumb and finger. “Though I do understand the desire for an undead steed to strike fear into the hearts of your enemies.” He mumbled.

Ganver laughed, and stepped toward the wizard, embracing his shoulders with both hands. “Oh no, my dear Wizard. You have got it all wrong!” He stepped back and made a quick gesture, knocking his fist against the side of his head. “I simply wish for you to alter my memory. Allow me to believe my dear palomino has left to better pastures. Reunited with her family, perhaps, to roam the fields happily for years to come.”

The wizard nodded his head slowly, his mouth slightly open. “Oh I see. quite right. The old ‘cat had to go to the farm’ treatment.”

Ganver bobbed his head. “Yes my good fellow.” He walked toward the only chair in the room that was still sat upright, and pointed at it before quickly seating himself. “Shall I sit here, then?” he asked.

The wizard hurried before him. “For…?” he asked hesitantly.

“While you perform the spell, old man. Don’t be daft!” Ganver replied excitedly.

The wizard pushed his large sleeves back up his arms. “Oh, I see. It’s just, now isn’t a good time you see. What with my spell going awry, and all. Much to do-”

“Nonsense!” Ganver interrupted, raising to his feet. “I’m sure a simple alteration spell is nothing to a great wizard like yourself. Please. I can bear this pain no longer. I’ll pay whatever price!”

The wizard tapped his teeth together, then raised a finger. “Very well then. Let me just get prepared.”

Ganver sat back down and lowered his head. “Thank you, great Astorio. This does not go unappreciated.”

The wizard ran to the far side of the room, and wiggled his fingers through the air, as he searched the mess of items littered over the floor. Then he snapped his fingers, bent down, and retrieved an object. “Here it is!” He said gleefully, then he walked behind Ganver in his chair. “Keep your eyes shut, this will only take a moment.”

Ganver turned his head to face the wizard. “Again, I thank y-” his words cut short, and his eyes shot open. “What is that for?” Ganver asked sternly, eyeing the large brick held in the wizard’s raised hand.

“Uhhh…” The wizard replied.

Ganver rose to his feet, and took a step in the opposite direction. “Are you sure that’s necessary?”

The wizard looked to the brick in his hand. “Why yes, this is a…uh. memory stone!” he lowered his hand, and gave it a playful toss in the air. “All the best wizards use them.”

Ganver pointed to the heavy object in the wizard’s hand. “Memory stone?…That’s a brick!”

“Oh don’t be foolish. Sit down.” Replied the Wizard.

Ganver huffed, and stormed towards the staircase. “My god, man. Are you mad?”

The wizard watched as Ganver disappeared down the stairs. “It’ll will only take a moment.” He chimed.

Ganver’s voice echoed from below. “Fuck you, old man. I’ll deal with my sorrow the old fashioned way. With a tankard of ale and cheap women!”

The wizard sighed, and walked toward the open window at the edge of his study, then watched as the knight wandered down the mountain, as the sun disappeared from the sky. 

A groaning sound creaked into the study.

“Oh, god. My head…” A naked old man mumbled, as he walked out from behind the desk at the far side of the room. 

The robed man turned with a startled look on his face, and tightened his grip around the brick. “Oh damn.” He snapped, as he hurried toward the dazed and confused senior. The naked man only hand time to barely raise his hands over his face, and let out a brief. “No, please!” before the brick was clobbered over his head.

The imposter gave the brick another playfully toss and smiled. “Works every time!” He said with a large grin. Then he whistled, and returned to robbing the place blind.

End.

The Drought

Two men walked slowly through the streets, arms limp to their sides.

“Sure is fucking dry out here.” The Slender Man wearing and tattered old shirt, and largely torn jeans rasped.

His friend, a short, overweight man, wearing only shorts, an open button shirt, and a pair of worn shoes looked at him with a nod.

“You can say that. I sure hope we find some water soon.”

The man with the torn clothes laughed, rubbing his fingers along his five o’ clock shadow. “Yeah.” he replied, trying to calm the laughter, as it hurt his throat. “Yeah, that would really be something, Bill.”

Bill returned a sly smile, scratching his bald head. “Why is that so funny, Frank?” He asked, running a hand along his dry face using the full width of his palm. “I haven’t heard you laugh at anything for a while now.”

Frank shook his head. “Oh you know. It’s just funny is all.”

Bill pressed his eyebrows downward. “Well that’s the thing. I don’t know. Why did you laugh.”

Frank raised his hands, palms up, as though expecting rain. “Well, we’re not going to run into any water, are we Bill?” He lowered his hands. “So I don’t know. You ironically saying you hope to find water made me chuckle. That’s it. Nothing else.”

Bill looked at Frank inquisitively. “Ironically?” He asked.

Frank gentle knocked a fist into his friends shoulder. “Don’t fuck around, Bill. I’m too tired. You got enough laughter out of me for one day.”

Bill waved a hand through the air. “No, no. I mean, what does ironically mean. The word.”

Frank cracked another dry smile, and held a hand to his ribs. “Oh!” He replied. “You are just on fire today aren’t you. Seriously, cut it out. I don’t have the energy.”

Bill sighed and frowned. “Come on, Frank. I’m being serious.”

Frank flickered his eyelids a few times. “Bill, are you…what? We’re almost fifty years old, and you don’t know what irony is?”

Bill shrugged. “Whatever. Are you going to tell me or not?”

Frank raised his hands defensively and hummed to himself, then answered. “Well irony is when you say something, like hoping to find water soon for example. But in reality you mean the opposite, or understand you know the statement to be false in an amusing manner.”

Bill pondered the response for a moment. “Okay. I still don’t see how that makes me wanting to find water ironic. Maybe I’m still not understanding.”

Frank let out a sigh of exhaustion. “Well we aren’t going to find water. So when you said you hope to find some…it’s funny. That’s ironic.”

Bill smiled, and snapped his fingers. Breaking his dry skin. “Ouch!” He snapped “Okay…But I do hope we find some water. I’m so thirsty.”

Frank stopped walking, and waited for Bill to stop as well. Then, when his friend turned to look at him, he gestured around with wide arms to the desolate, barren dust bowl of what used to be down town.

“Bill!” He shouted, horsely. “This is it! The water is gone. Everything that was bottled has already been pillaged. And now the drought is killing off the remaining life on earth.”

Bill closed his eyes and slowly bobbed his head, taking in the information. Then he spoke softly. “Ahh. So that’s what the whole drought thing is about.” 

Frank stood for almost ten seconds with his jaw open. “YES!” He finally replied. “How on earth did you not work that out?”

Bill coughed. “Well, Everyone seemed so upset about the whole thing. I guess it just felt weird to ask…I knew it wasn’t anything good.”

Frank let out another soft chuckle, as much as his dry insides would allow. “Oh, Bill. A real character right until the end.”

Bill smiled, then turned his face to a puzzled expression. “Hey Frank…” He said. 

“If there’s no water, and we’re both going to die soon. Why the hell are we walking in this heat?”

Frank attempted to blow some air through his lips, but the lack of moisture wouldn’t allow any sound to escape. Then he clapped his hands to his side, and parked them on his hips. “Honestly, I was just trying to get us killed that much sooner. Sun sure is taking it’s sweet time.” he squinted and looked up at the flaring red ball in the sky. “ Fucking thing is really starting to piss me off, actually. God damn.”

End.

Belly Of The Beast

“God dammit this job sucks!” Exclaimed Bill, as he looked out the circular window of the deep sea vessel.

“Yeah, no shit!” Replied Joe. “Who in their right mind would want to be at the bottom of the ocean?”

Bill placed a cigarette in his mouth and flicked his lighter. “Guess that’s why they pay us the big bucks, right?”

Joe slapped his co-pilot across the face, causing him to spit his cigarette out the side of his mouth. 

Bill moaned and rubbed his cheek. “Jesus, Joe. What the hell was that for?”

Joe returned a blank expression and shook his head slowly. “You were about to light a dart inside of this ship. This tin can sized ship!” He replied loudly.

Bill flexed his eyebrows and chuckled. “Oh yeah, Autopilot I guess. That would have been dumb as hell.”

Joe turned his head back to the window and fidgeted with a few buttons in front of him. “Just choke ourselves to death down here why don’t you.” He mumbled angrily under his breath.

Bill smiled and waved a hand through the air, then he turned to a small device mounted on the wall to his immediate right. “Three, Two…One. We officially just broke the record for deepest under water exploration.”

Joe turned with a grin and bobbed his head. “That’s what I like to hear! Now let’s see how well this sucker holds up.

Bill started massaging the back of his wrist with his thumb. “Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely hate being down here…” He said calmly. “…But it is pretty amazing being part of something groundbreaking.”

Joe stretched his back as best he could in the confined space. “That’s why we do it, Bill. Now let’s keep an eye on the equipment so we can do this proper, and get home safely.”

Bill returned a quick nod. “Right!” He said, turning his head to the monitor down in front of him.

Joe turned his attention to the levers and knobs at his finger tips. “Slowing descent speed, and engaging high visibility lights.” He said matter of factly.

Bill remained silent, watching his monitor, soon adding a surprised. “Hull integrity still holding at one hundred percent!”

Joe turned his head, only for a moment. “Are you sure?” He asked.

Bill waited a moment, checking over several readings on his monitor. “Positive. The ship is holding perfect.”

Joe ran his hand along the sides of his cheeks. “That’s incredible.” He remarked. “Continuing descent, turning lights to maximum output.”

The ship continued to lower, the light stared out into a hollow abyss, only illuminating the vague suggestion of shapes in the far distance.

After further descent, Bill raised a hand and took a sharp breathe. “Slow descent. Hull integrity showing signs of risk if we go much further.”

Joe adjusted several knobs and hit a large red button. “Descent slowed to minimum. Rotating vessel.”

The vessel slowed to a near stop, and began to turn, though the men inside could hardly tell due to the surrounding darkness.

“Look!” Bill declared excitedly, as he pointed out the window.

The men watched a strange group of slender, electric green fish swim passed the glass. 

“Incredible.” Joe smirked. 

The fish swam off into the distance, soon vanishing into the darkness.

“Do you see that, Bill? Down there.” Joe pointed downward to a faint shape in the far reaches of the light.

Bill squinted his eyes and leaned forward, bumping gently into the glass. “I can make something out, but barely. Looks like some sort of jagged rock formation.”

Joe played with the machinery in front of him. “Stopping descent. Proceeding forward.” He stated.

The ship whirred, and pushed forward. The shapes in the distance slowly became clear. The rock formation exposed the purplish dark inside of an underwater cave. 

Or at least, that’s what the two men thought they were looking at. Until the jagged rocks pushed forward, over the top and bottom of the ship. And closed themselves tightly around it.

End.

Recurring Dream

I had a recurring dream for several years of my life. At the time of writing this, I have not had this dream for roughly ten years.

Waking up from a nightmare always leaves you with that momentary “Holy shit!” feeling. This one always left me with a nostalgic feeling of fear that I had only ever felt in childhood otherwise.

The dream was always very accurate in recounting itself, with small deviations each time of course. 

It would start somewhere on the road, I would be walking to my friends Julian’s house. Julian is one of my oldest friends, and I have known him since I was very young.

I don’t know what my intentions are in the dream, I can only imagine that I am simply stopping by for a visit, but the dream never has any sort of spoken narrative, just something told purely through visuals.

When I arrive at my friend’s house, I knock on the door. No one ever answers. When I try the handle, the door is unlocked, and I let myself in. 

I wander through the house, looking for someone, but find no one. As always, I start upstairs, then work my way to the basement. It’s important to note, that the basement of that house often scared me as a child - though only in the event that I found myself alone down there. The way that some of the rooms were lit, felt as though they were detached from reality at that age, my brain couldn’t make sense of them. They were too dark for rooms filled with light, and I always felt that something was hiding from my vision.

In the dream, I would only spend very little time in the basement, and then I would return up the stairs. The front door would no longer be there. 

I would run around upstairs, to find all the doors, and windows to have disappeared, and would of course need to return to the basement. 

In the basement, all doors and windows were gone. With the exception of one.

It was a small window above the kitchen sink. It looked out to the backyard.

I would approach the window, hoping to exit through it. And always, I would see a man standing in the backyard. And always, I would feel horrified to see him looking back at me. 

He would approach the window slowly, and then, when he got close, he would lower himself and crawl until he was right outside. Then he would just look through the window back at me. 

He never had eyes, just dark hollow sockets - but I always knew he could see me. He would remain so still.

Often, that is where the dream would end. Other times I would wander around the house a while longer, worried the eyeless man outside would find a way in.

I have no idea if dreams really mean much or not. But that dream always scared the piss out of me.

Sticky Fingers

A quiet night at a remote pub in northern Ireland.

In the dark corner, a man sits, staring out at the near empty tavern - aside from the folk sitting at the bar, sipping the ale from an oversized glass mug. The door creaks open, and a cruel wind spills in through the building. “Eh, You!” A man shouts from the far end of the bar. “Close that door!”

Another shouts, and another, until all three patrons at the bar are yelling over top of one another. “Close it!” - “GET THAT DOOR SHUT, YOU KNOB” - “You having a laugh then? Close that bloody door.”

“…Fucking cold, in’it?”

The stranger hurries to close the door behind him. “I literally just stepped in. Get off my back.” He mumbles from within his scarf. “Frick!”

After the door is closed, the bar patrons return to their drinks as though the whole ordeal never occurred. The man at the door removes his scarf and jacket, placing them on the nearby coat hook. He stomps the rain from his saturated boots, and rubs his hands together as he moves towards the bar. Standing next to one of the men who had been shouting only a moment ago, the outsider eyes the top of the man’s leather wallet, resting slightly outside his back pocket. With a smooth, singular motion, the stranger swiftly, and successfully removes the wallet from the man’s person, and places it within his waistline. The barkeeper, an older looking woman with vibrant, curly red hair, walks over the second after, and greets the new guest. “Evening, Love. Fancy an ale?”

The thief returns a smile, and flexes his eyebrows. “Actually…” He replies. “I was hoping you would have coffee. Rather cold outside, tonight.”

The woman scrunches her face with disappointment. “Sorry, Love. No coffee I’m afraid. Don’t suppose you’re partial to tea?”

The man nods approvingly and replies. “Tea would be lovely. Thank you.”

The woman winks. “I’ll get the kettle on then.”

After the exchange, the man turns from the bar and rubs his hands together, wandering toward a table at the far wall.

Before he takes a seat, a sound hisses at him from the dark corner of the room.

“Psst! Over here, Lad.”

Curious, the man wanders toward the voice. A man leans out from his seat in the dark. “What’s your name, Lad?”

The thief clears his throat and replies. “Jim.”

The man in the dark pushes out the chair opposite of him with his boot. “I’m Clarke. Have a seat, Jim” He says, dryly.

Jim puts his hands up politely. “Thank you.” He replies. “But I must decline, I’m not looking for conversation at the moment.”

Clarke leans over the table. The light of the tavern now revealing his scarred, grey, and bearded face. “If you want to keep the…transaction, between you and that fellow at the bar secret. I suggest you sit.”

Jim swallows, feeling a lump slide down his throat. How could he have missed the man hiding in the corner of the tavern? All these years pocketing various goods from strangers, and he had never been caught. Nervously, Jim approaches the table, and seats himself.

Clarke grins, and leans back into the darkness, slowly taking a sip of his ale. “That’s better.” He chuckles.

Jim swallows again, and loosens his shirt collar. “Listen. Just tell me what you want and-”

Clarke places his mug down and talks over Jim. “Eager to get to business are we?” he says, folding his arms. Then he continues. “First off, allow me to say, I found your work to be remarkably done. Smooth, confident, and well practiced…Even if you didn’t manage to go unnoticed.”

Jim awkwardly lets a chuckle through his nose. “I’ve never been caught before. I must admit I’m a tad embarrassed.” He muttered.

Clarke tapped a finger on the upper of his cheek. “Don’t feel too bad about it. These eyes see everything, Lad.” he sniffed.

Then Clarke picked up his mug and raised it, as though to toast. “I have a job for you, Lad. Do this for me, and I’ll make sure to keep your slight of hand trick private. Rather fat looking wallet from where I’m sitting. Shame to waste it.”

Jim pressed his lips in a thin line, and clutched his hands together between his knees. “Alright. Simple snatch and grab job. Easy.”

Clarke nodded his head slowly. “So you accept my offer?” He asked.

Jim looked over his shoulder, then returned his glance. “Sure, I’m not above accepting bribes. Hit me.”

Clarke folded his arms back over, and leaned across the table, looking Jim dead in the eyes. He let the silence sit for a moment, then, quietly, he spoke. “A man with you’re hands could do some pretty remarkable things. Now, You and I are going to get up from this table, and go to the back seat of my car-”

Jim stood up, and shoved his chair back. “Ew!” He replied. “No, dude. Gross!”

Clarke straightened his posture. “You didn’t let me finish!”

Jim shook his head, and waved his hands through the air. “Finish?…I’m not doing it at all!” He stated with some volume to his voice.

Clarke pressed his lips together tightly, and his eyes filled with fire. “Keep yourself quiet, Lad!”

Another voice pipes up. “What’s all this then! Something the matter, Love?” The bar keeper asked Jim, as she approached, and set his tea on the table.

Jim didn’t hesitate to point at Clarke, and blurt out what was on his mind. “Yes something is the matter. This guy, a stranger, is trying to get me to do sex stuff with him.”

The woman scoffed and shot a nasty look toward Clarke. “You what?”

Clarke stood, and raised his palms open before him. “No, no. It’s not at all what it sounds like.” He said. “And besides…” He added, looking to Jim. “The Lad and I had an agreement.”

Jim takes a step back makes a sour face. “Dude, I don’t care about our agreement.” He replies, removing the wallet from his waistline. He turns and walks over to the pickpocketed man at the bar, tapping his shoulder. The man turns, and Jim hands his wallet to him. “Hey, man. You dropped this.”

Clarke holds the sides of his head with frustration, and runs over to the two of them. “Oh my god, No!” He stammers, pointing at Jim. “This man STOLE that from you. You didn’t drop it.”

The bar man holds his wallet gleefully, and replies. “All in good hands now, all the same to me.” He replies, turning back to his friends. “In’ it, then Boys?” He laughs, as his friends join in.

Clarke grabs hold of Jim’s collar and pulls him close. “Listen here, Lad. You have no idea what-”

“Oi!” The bar man interrupts. “What’s all this? Take you’re hands off the young man.”

Clarke looks to the bar man. “You don’t understand!” He replies harshly.

The innkeeper approaches them. “I’ll fill them in!” She laughs. “This old geezer was trying to talk this young kid into some good old fashioned sex stuff.”

The bar folk all began to laugh and point. 
Clarke lets Jim go, and storms out from the tavern. Insults, and obnoxious laughter trail behind him… Then scolding remarks for him to shut the door on the way out. He get’s in his car, and flashes a glance to the tangled seat belt in the back seat, then sighs before he starts the ignition.

“Fucking asshole.” He grumbles. “I really want to get that thing fixed.”

End.

The Harvest

 (Sorry Tom)

The farm was unusually quiet that day.

The Harvest was three months late.

Most had already written it off in their mind, claiming the seasons would change before there was time.

"Most of all, I'm sad for the children" Dave spoke softly in his raspy voice, leaning over the side of his rocking chair to spit his tobacco into a nearby bucket.

"Sure, sure" Clement replied from the chair next to him on the farm patio, "Course, the chil'ren don't know what they missing!"

Dave turned his head to Clement with one eyebrow raised above his harshly squinted eyeballs "What that?" He queried.

"Welp" Clement spat his tobacco "Harvest only comes once'n every ten years, most them chil'ren ain't nevah been round fer one"

Dave coughed, almost angrily in response to Clement's statement

"Now that's just plain outrageous!" He replied "Kids don't need to've been round for no harvest to know why what's good for em" He spat his tobacco aggressively, this time missing the bucket altogether "And fall will be here in no time, poor little ones are probably scared out their minds. Sometimes, I wish we could just make the darn things, and that they didn't just spring out the ground"

Clement rocked back in his chair and nodded "True...true" He mumbled quietly, as he leaned to spit his tobacco over the side of the chair, although he kind of choked while doing it, and the majority of it just drooled onto the floor next to him. 

Dave didn't mention anything, though he definitely saw what happened.

The two rocked in their chairs a moment longer before Dave broke the silence

"Thing is, I'm starting to get rather scared myself"

Clement nodded to agree "Wind is really picking up, a shirt would be nice....maybe some slacks"

The men rocked naked in their chairs, dreaming of a day when new clothes would grow.

Dave spat his tobacco once more, as he looked toward the setting sun.

"Sure is fucking cold.“

End.

Not Down That Road

1995, A cold and creepy night.

Edward lowered the volume on his car radio. Police vehicles lined the off-ramp to the highway, and there was a jam of vehicles in front of him. One by one, vehicles pulled up to the blockade, and one by one, vehicles were turned around. Edward could hear loud cursing and frustrated noises from the drivers as they were directed away. Eventually, Edward found himself pulling toward an officer, and the overweight man approached his window. “Sorry there, mister. I’m afraid there’s been an accident. No access permitted until further notice.” the office grumbled through labored breaths.

Edward furrowed his brow. “No access? This is a seven-lane highway,” he replied matter of factly.

The heavyset officer arched backward and adjusted his hat. “Oh trust me, I know how it sounds. Real fucking mess down there.”

A worried look washed over Edward’s face. “That bad?” he asked hesitantly.

The officer stretched his arms wide and curled his fingers slightly. “Massive delivery truck! Don’t know how it happened, but the entire thing fucking rolled on its side across the lanes.”

Edward’s eyes jumped wide open. “Holy shit.” he mumbled. 

The car behind him honked.

The officer snapped his head toward the vehicle and barked. “Yeah, go fuck yourself pal!” the officer stared at the car a while, then muttered under his breath. “Fucking prick.”

Edward let the awkwardness sit for a moment, then he cleared his throat. “So…” he said quietly. “You mentioned a delivery truck got rolled.”

The officer turned his attention back toward Edward, and his face lit up. “Yeah!” he laughed nervously. “One thing is for sure, the local grocery markets are going to be plenty short on snack cakes for the next few days.”

Edward and the officer shared some polite laughter. 

The officer sighed. “Sure is a shame so many people died, though.”

Edward clenched his teeth. 

The officer motioned a finger away from the blockade. “Sorry for the inconvenience, but I do need you to turn around. Have a good night.”

Edward waved, and turned his car. He followed a row of several officers motioning glowing orange sticks to guide him back to the main road. How the hell was he going to get home?

Edward drove aimlessly for a few minutes and eventually decided to take the back way through the highlands. It was an extremely dark, and windy network of underfunded shit roads that were guaranteed to fuck the suspension and tires of any used vehicle - but he decided it was a worthwhile risk. 

It wasn’t long before Edward found himself in the secluded, and forested roads outside the city. He had only ever driven through them during the daytime, and that was a long time ago - he started questioning the idea, as the rugged roads felt increasingly more foreign with every turn. The moonlight barely broke through the trees.

After nearly half an hour, Edward had to accept the sad fact that he was lost.

Frustrated, he pulled over to the side of the road and stepped out for a piss break.

Sure was fucking cold!

Edward walked to a nearby tree and unzipped his pants, the cold night air had shrunk his penis to a small size that he once thought impossible. Needless to say, it was very difficult to get a proper grip on the little guy, and Edward’s fingers slipped midstream. “Fuck!” he choked, through a shivered breath. Now the inside of his pants were all pissy - surely that won’t make the remainder of the drive more frustrating. Edward finished urinating, zipped himself up, and walked back to the car. He opened the door and froze perfectly still - as a horrific sound tore through the night air.

Edward felt a hard lump swell in the center of his throat, and his chest felt tight. The back of his neck felt hot, and his head felt light. There was no doubt the sound he heard was a woman screaming. No houses around, no cars. Nothing.

Just him, and somewhere nearby, a frightened woman.

Not knowing what to do, Edward waited and stood still for a moment. Then he entered his vehicle and locked the doors. He did not turn the ignition, he just sat there. He looked through the windshield and tried to collect himself. What to do.

THUD!

Edward turned swiftly, a young girl, with torn clothes, and covered in blood. She banged her hands against his passenger window. Edward was to frightened to scream, he looked at the girl with his eyes opened wide. The girl’s makeup ran down her face. 

“Please! Help me!” She cried. “Let me in.”

Edward leaned over toward the passenger door and placed a finger over the button to unlock the door - he paused. His head was swimming.

The girl hammered her fists on the window. “What are you doing, open the fucking door!” she screamed with anger in her voice. Edward took a deep breath and pulled himself back into his seat, hoping he was making the right decision. “Sorry,” he said.

“This isn’t right. I can’t”

The girl looked ready to cry, her face quivering. Edward turned away, and faced the road ahead; he turned the key in the ignition and shifted the vehicle into drive.

He turned one last time to look at the girl. Her face had gone cold. Blank, and expressionless. She let her arms fall flat to her side, and she took a step back. “You made a really smart decision,” she said with a dull tone.

As the words left her mouth, Edward felt the need to vomit. He pressed his foot on the gas, and the wheels stuttered in the dirt, and then he continued down the road.

He looked in his rearview mirror, and he saw multiple figures walk onto the road and look at him as he drove off. It felt like forever before he finally found his way out of the twisted road network, and back on the highway.

End.

The Tower

The blood-red sky dripped red,

The red resembled blood, 

and there was blood to be spilled…in the…things were going to get very violent!

“No, fuck it. That’s dumb.” Garon mumbles as he crumples the parchment in his hand and tosses it away. 

He always wanted to write poetry and short stories, but he never let anyone read his stuff, so he never got any better. 

There are far more important matters at hand. The knight adjusts his shoulder pads and places his helmet on; he unsheathes his sword and readies his shield. The sky (as mentioned in Garon’s shitty excuse for an attempt at poetry) is indeed blood red. The sun sets below the horizon, at the water’s edge. The tower ahead, perched on the jagged cliff face, is immense, and daunting to behold. Garon feels nauseous, yet determined to accomplish his goal. The evil wizard, Thannaco, has stolen the fair lady Gwendolin - Garon’s bride to be. A long month had gone by, and Garon has finally tracked the wizard to this location.

Our hero races forward, and kicks open the heavy wooden doors at the base of the tower. In an instant, he is attacked by a hideous goblin, armed with a wooden weapon!

Garon slices his mighty sword through the air, and bravely cleaves the small creature in twain! 

Blood splashes to the cold, stone floor, and Garon presses forward. Winding up a long staircase, Garon enters into a large, circular room, filled with potions and strange trinkets. Evil brews, for evil things no doubt. Garon wastes no time, shattering the glass vials before pushing ahead. Up more stairs, Garon enters the room at the top of the tower, a woman sits near the window facing the water.

“Gwendolin!” Garon smiles, “I’ve come to rescue you, my love!”

The woman turns, and screams. Garon clenches his teeth and raises his hands defensively, as he looks back to the unfamiliar woman. “Oh shit,” he gasps. “Sorry…I thought you were my wife.”

The woman presses her brows down firmly. “Your wife?” she demands, with an understandable bitchy tone. Garon removes his helmet and tucks it below one arm. “Thannaco stole my bride, as he stole you no doubt,” he replies, attempting to sound confident, knowing well that his face was bright red with embarrassment.

The woman crosses her arms and flexes one eyebrow. “What the fuck are you on about,” she barks. “I live here, asshole.”

From the lower floor, a dampened and muffled voice can be heard, no words can be made out, but they are clearly distressed. Garon and the woman share a long, and uncomfortable silence, as the sound of footsteps echo through the tower, louder, and louder as they ascend the stairs.

It is not long before an unfamiliar robed man enters the room. “Martha…What the fuck is this!?” he asks the woman while gesturing to Garon with both hands.

Martha sighs and raises her hands in the air. “I don’t know, Dan. He just waltzed in here and scared the piss out of me a minute ago.”

Dan turns to Garon, and angrily swirls his arms through the air. “Who are you? What are you doing in my….did you kill Anthony?”

Garon is sweating profusely, he opens his mouth, and his voice cracks. “Would that be the small goblin on the bottom floor?” 

Dan places both hands on his hips. “Yes…yes it would be,” he replies. Fuck he looks pissed.

Garon scrunches his face tightly. “Umm. Yes. Sorry…” he replies hesitantly. 

Dan shakes his head and walks over to Martha. He places a hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?” he asks.

Martha nods and smiles sweetly. Dan looks at Garon from across the room. “Alright, start talking, mister.”

Garon nods and clears his throat. “Of course. Yes,” he replies while removing a map from the satchel on his hip. “You see I’ve been tracking the evil wizard Thannaco, he stole my bride, and I -”

Dan raises a hand in the air and cuts Garon’s words short. “Thannaco? Jesus Christ pal, you’re not in remotely the right area.”

Garon clenches his teeth. “No?”

Dan closes his eyes and massages them with his thumb and forefinger. He takes a deep breath, walks over to Garon and snatches the map from his hands. He holds the map up in front of Garons, and presses himself shoulder-to-shoulder with the knight. “You see this area?” he asks rhetorically. “This is where we are.”

Garon nods. “I was told by a stranger at the local tavern that this was-”

Dan snaps his fingers in front of Garon’s face. “A stranger!?”

Garon swallows hard. “I understand it seems foolish in hind sight.”

Dan nods his head. “Yeah, no shit it seems foolish.”

Garon tries to wipe the sweat from his face, which is absolutely impossible with the metal plating covering his hands and arms. “I am so sorry,” he mumbles. “My apologies for disturbing you, and your wife.”

Dan strokes his beard and forces a really dickish smile. “Oh yeah, you’re sorry?”

Garon nods. “Uhm. Yes.”

Dan laughs. “Well you killed my goblin, scared my wife…and fucked my entire potions room. Are you going to pay for that.”

Garon can barely keep his eyes open with the amount of sweat on his face. “Uhh, I guess.” he replies, struggling to rub his eyes against the armor on his forearms. 

He digs through his satchel and begins to count coins from his coin purse.

Dan holds out his hand. “Just give me the bag, man.”

Garon does so.

End.

Sponsored By Dr. Pep!

Flood lights illuminate a clean, and rustic kitchen setup with three separate stations. Each features everything you would hope to see in your own dream kitchen, and more.

The cameras start to roll, it’s a new episode of the hit television show “Cooked!” 

Sponsored by Dr. Pep! America’s favorite Cherry Soda

A sharp dressed man with a short grey beard approaches one of the cameras and speaks with an enthusiastic voice. “Greetings, and welcome to another fantastic episode of Cooked! Tonight is a special night, as we are celebrating one-hundred episodes!”

Applause can be heard through the studio. The host waits a moment, and continues. “That’s right, we are going to change things up a little for one night only, to give you all a truly incredible show! My name is Johnny Chicago, Let’s meet our chefs.”

From around the corner, a middle aged, and vibrant woman comes jogging toward center stage, as the host provides her introduction. “Martha Little is a home chef from Arizona. She has been cooking for over thirty-five years, and loves every minute of it. When she isn’t in the kitchen, she loves to spend time with her four kids. Talk about a busy schedule!”

Martha greets the host with a hug, and takes her place on one of the three floor mats for contestants. “Thanks, Johnny!” she smiles. “I am so excited to be here.”

Johnny returns his attention to the camera. “Next up is Sarah Spoons, all the way from Canada! Sarah owns her own food truck, and has been serving customers from the age of twelve working at her father’s restaurant. Let’s hear it for Sarah!”

More applause is heard, as a bright young woman skips onto the stage. Her smile is impossible to ignore. She takes her place on the mat and waves to the cameras.

“Last up is Gary Turner from New York!” Johnny announces as a middle aged man with thinning hair, and a dense mustache turns the corner, walking casually toward his floor mat. “Gary has been in the kitchen his whole life! And he owns several restaurants in the New York area. His parents came to America with less than five dollars between them, and he is aiming to make all their sacrifices count. GIve it up for Gary!”

The applause continues, while Gary waves to the cameras.

Johnny motions one hand to a table of three other people, all seated, wearing hooded robes that hide their faces. “And our judges! Three anonymous, and highly respected chefs, which, as always, will have their identities revealed at the end of tonights show!”

The hooded figures all raise one hand to acknowledge Johnny.

“As promised, tonight will be something special. We usually give our contestants a mystery basket of three ingredients for them to transform into a wonderful dish, with only forty-five minutes! But tonight, each contestants will get a unique basket!”

The sound of applause is thunderous!

“That’s right!” Johnny continued. “No chance of two contestants having the same idea tonight. Let’s see what you got!”

The contestants walk from their floor mats and each stand behind one of the cooking stations. One by one, they reveal their baskets.

“Martha, your basket is - One cut of steak, red peppers, and a can of Dr. Pep! Cherry soda.”

“Sarah, your basket is - One chicken breast, Broccoli, and a can of Dr. Pep! Cherry soda.”

“Gary, your basket is - One full jar of dead bees…”

Gary scrunches his face tightly and mutters quietly to himself. “What the fuck?”

Johnny continues “…celery, and a can of Dr. Pep! Cherry soda. Contestants, you have forty-five minutes. Time starts now!”

A large digital clock begins the stressful count down, as Martha and Sarah waste no time getting to work on their dishes. Gary looks confused, as he picks up and examines the jar of dead bees. “Jesus…” he mumbles. “Is that broken glass in there?” 

he sets the jar down and looks over the basket ingredients - then over to his fellow contestants. They are really moving! 

Gary throws his hands up, and lets them fall limp to his side. “Alright…” he says dryly, clearing his throat. “Let’s see what we can…dead bees?…really?”

Time passes incredibly fast, and Johnny delivers his usually line. “Alright, chefs! Put some Pep in your step, because you have five, four, three, two…one! Hands off.”

The timer buzzes, and the three chefs stand back from their work stations. It’s time for the chefs to show what they made.

The judges have so far been impressed with Martha, and Sarah’s dishes. Now it is time for Gary to present.

Johnny looks over to Gary and gestures to the metal domed lid over his food. “Alright chef, what have you prepared for us?”

Gary presses his lips together tightly, and widens his eyes, reluctantly removing the metal lid to show his work. “Yeah…okay. So I have made for you a Celery and Pep soda Mojito, with a side of deep fried bees.”

Uncomfortable silence, then, one of the hooded chefs speaks. “…I’m not eating that.”

Johnny squints, as he examines the plated deep fried bees. “Is that shards of broken glass on your plate, Gary?”

Gary sighs. “Yeah man, the jar was fucking loaded-”

A producer chimes in from off set. “No swearing, Gary. This is an all ages program.”

Gary nods. “My apologies. As I was saying, the jar was absolutely loaded with shards of broken glass. I tried my best to sift through it, but uhh. Well, it is what it is.”

Johnny looks at Gary with a sad expression. “Unfortunately, we cannot have the judges taste you dish. And for that reason, I’m sorry to say that you are Cooked. Please leave the kitchen.” 

Gary forms a forced grin, nods, and turns to walk away.

Johnny looks at the nearest camera. “Up next is the dessert round, where our remaining-”

“Actually, Can I ask you something?” Gary interrupts with a raised tone.

“What would you have done?” he asks, looking toward the judges panel.

Johnny Chicago looks at Gary with disappointment. “Mister Turner, I’m afraid I need to ask you to leave the stage.”

Gary raises a hand. “I know how the show works, pal. I just feel as though I got a little mistreated with the fucking dead bees, and broken glass. You know?”

The producer chimes once again from off set. “Mister Turner, language. Please!”

Gary squints and makes a crude hand gesture. “Oh piss off, lady!”

Gasps!…Gasps all around.

Gary raises his arms out to the side. “Am I wrong here? I’ve been watching this show since episode one, and I never….Dead Bees? What the hell is that, that’s my protein?”

The other two contestants lower their heads. The judges remain silent, as does Johnny Chicago.

Gary raises his voice. “One person. Tell me how the hell you make anything edible from that.”

The silence that follows becomes quickly unbearable.

Gary crosses his arms. “I’ll wait!”

End/

The Legend Of Jang’Ten

“Jang’ten!?” The old man remarked, loudly, stumbling out of his chair from the darkest corner of the dimly lit tavern, he placed a crutch under one arm and hammered his way across the creaky wood floor toward the table of youthful people sat near the window. A young brunette woman gripped the sleeve of the man beside her, as the old man aggressively slung a vacant chair to the side of their table, and sat down.

The old man chewed his teeth a while, taking time to stare at each individual with his one open eye.

He leaned to the side, and violently spat on the floor, drool hung from his lower lip, then he wiped it away onto the back of his jacket sleeve. “Jang’ten” He repeated, slowly bobbing his head. “I haven’t heard anyone mutter that name in years. Most don’t believe the old legends anymore, think it’s all nothing but washed up nonsense!…”

He spat a small gust of air out his nostrils, and chuckled quietly to himself. 

“…Fools!”

One of the young men at the table leaned in. “Sir, who are you? Do you want money?”

“Money!?” 

The old man slammed his fist on the table, he stared intently at the young man, then he started to cough, hunched forward, hacking into his fist. He straightened his back and looked again at the young man “Money…” he spat to the side once more, less aggressively this time. “I have no interest in money…”

He cheered, with an outreached quivering hand, grasping nothing but air. “…Vengeance, Lad. That’s what I seek… Vengeance.”

The brunette woman’s face started to tear up, and then she turned her face into her boyfriends shoulder “Oh James, please make him go away. I’m frightened!”

James wrapped an arm over her shoulder, and whispered in her ear. “Don’t worry, babe. There’s nothing to be scared of-”

James tensed, as his words were washed out by the old man obnoxious laughter, wheezing and coughing. His laugh broke into a shrill sound hissing from deep within his throat “Oh you’re wrong about that boy, you are wrong about that!”

He placed both his palms on the table, and leaned in toward James. “Then, I’m sure you are already well aware of that. You said the creature’s name, you must know what’s out there…Yes, I’ve seen the beast before. I’ve seen Jang’ten!”

The old man drew a cigarette and lighter from the inner pocket of his coat, he lit the cigarette, took a deep draw, and filled the table with a haze of smoke.

The young people coughed, and turned their heads, and the old man spoke.

“The year was Nineteen sixty-four, I was a young man barely thirty three. I had come here with my fiance, Miranda; Oh beautiful Miranda, my life…my love, she was perfect.”

The old man raised the cigarette to his lips, his eyes looked distant - deep in thought.

He continued. “Well, not perfect I suppose - she had her problems, a long list really. Enough to make a man sick. We had taken a trip out here for the summer with our friends Greg and Diane. The locals told us not to go swimming at night, not that time of year they said…but we were young, and foolish!”

The old man tucked his chin, concealing a quiet laugh to himself.

“It was the last night of our trip, and we had perhaps a few too many drinks. We stumbled our way to the water, and found a nice little private cove down the beach. We set our clothes on our towels, and ran into the water, I can still remember how I felt when the cold water hit me, Oh by goodness, what a shock to the system!”

The old man shivered, then brushed his scraggly grey beard with the same hand holding his cigarette.

“I didn’t care one bit. I was young. I was alive!…

…Greg and Diane swam out a ways, while Miranda and I stayed closer to shore, so we could spend some time alone, as couples do. I was hoping we’d get intimate, but of course Miranda wanted to spend the entire time talking, the woman could spit words out her mouth like a machine gun. When we finally decided to head back into town, we realized Greg and Diane had up and vanished!

Miranda panicked, which wasn’t a surprise to me...”

The old man inhaled a deep pull of smoke into his lungs, and ash fell from the end of the cigarette onto the table.

“…Miranda was always the worried type. We would go to the mall on Tuesdays, we both had the day off from work you see. The amount of anxiety this woman had over picking a pair of shoes, my god! I never even wanted to go to the mall with her in the first place, I wanted the weekends off at the juice bar, but Jared Malard got first priority, and all because he needed to go to church on Sunday, can you believe it? Jared. Freaking. Malard. I had two years seniority over him. Total bullshit-”

The old man stopped talking, his head lowered. Then his arms fell limp to his side. James leaned in toward the old man, and examined his face. The old man appeared to have passed out mid speech.

James raised a finger over his lips, and looked to everyone sat at the table, mouthing the words 

‘He’s asleep, move out quietly.’

James and his friends began turning their legs slowly, to exit their seats.

…

“Where was I!?…” The old man nearly screamed, as he snapped himself awake.

Everyone at the table displayed frightened faces, as they froze back into place. The old man continued his tale.

“Oh yes. Greg and Diane were no where to be seen. Their clothes were still on the beach where they had left them, so we knew they couldn’t have left. Now don’t get me wrong, it was dark out, but not that dark - if they were nearby, we would have seen them. And see them we could not. They were gone. We called out for them.”

The old man paused dramatically, holding his hands in front of his face, as though he were about to cast a spell. Then he took another drag of his cigarette.

“There was no response.

We began to panic, Miranda swam out only a short ways. Again, she called out, and again, we heard nothing back. She turned to me, a concerned, sad expression on her face. And then, she disappeared under the water. My heart sank, I knew something pulled her down, it was the most sickening sight you can imagine. The sound was even worse. She screamed so loudly, but only for a fraction of a second before it was drowned out. I swam over, my arms racing, one after the other. I was exceptionally fit at that age, and was able to cover the distance quickly. I got to where my darling had been only a moment ago, and I dove under the water. It was hard to see much of anything through the dark cloud of blood swirling around me- But I saw him. Tearing apart and devouring my beloved. He was mostly obstructed, on account of the darkness, and the overwhelming amount of blood you understand. But I could see enough, the shape of him - and then, his eyes. He looked right at me. I thought I was going to die from pure fright. I watched him let my darling’s lifeless body fall limp into the dead still water, blood swirling around her. Then he swam in my direction.”

The old man flicked his cigarette off to the side.

 “I’ve never been so damn scared in my life, I could feel my heart tightening into a knot. I turned and swam to the surface, gasping for air as I flailed my limbs through the water, the beach felt impossibly far away. I almost couldn’t believe it when I felt the sand through my fingers, I felt as though I couldn’t get to my feet fast enough, my legs were rubber. But I made it. I ran a good distance before I looked back. He just stood there, watching me from the water with those damn yellow eyes. I’ll never forget that scaled, cruel, inhuman face.”

The young people around the table looked to the old man with concerned expressions over their faces.

The old man continued.

“I can’t recall much of what happened after I saw him looking back at me. I remember waking up in the hospital the next day. Apparently I was found unconscious near the main road, I must have passed out once the adrenaline wore off. No one believed me of course.”

The old man swung himself to his left and grabbed James by the collar, knocking a glass to the floor in the process. The glass shattered and beer spilled over the floor.

One of the young men on the opposite side of the table grabbed the old man’s shoulder, and tried to gain his attention, telling him to leave. But the old man stared at James intently and ignored the pleas for recognition.

The old man spoke with a newly hastened tone, spitting through tight lips with every other word. “Listen to me, boy! I know what you are here for, but I must beg of you, not to go looking for Jang’ten! I assure you, the creature is real. And if he finds you, he will kill you.”

ENDING ONE

James cleared his throat and shook his head slightly, removing the old man’s hands from his person. “I don’t mean to be rude, sir. But what the hell are you talking about?”

The old man pressed his brow, and slammed his open palm on the surface of the table “Have you not heard a word of what I’ve been saying. I’m trying to warn you about Jang’ten. Creature from the deep, Devil of the abyss, The taker of hearts, Eater of dreams!” he shouted.

A silence filled the tavern.

The bar keep, who was washing a distant table with a cloth, shook his head with an expression that showed disappointment, but no amount of surprise.

The old man began to sweat slightly. “One of you boys did say Jang’ten. Did you not?”

James pressed his lips together and nodded with a look of realization. “Oh Jesus Christ. Hang ten.”

“Pardon?”

“I said, Hang Ten. We were talking about our plans to go surfing tomorrow, Then you came over here and started scaring the piss out of our girlfriends…and Paul from the looks of it.”

The portly blonde man across from James looked back with wide eyes and tears streaming down his face. His hands, formed tightly together, quivered in front of his chest. “Yes! I’m fucking horrified,” he whimpered. “I want to go back to the hotel.”

The old man looked perplexed. He quivered his lips a moment, then managed to speak once more. This time, with a fraction of a fraction of his former intensity. “Hang…ten?” he asked sweetly, with a look of great curiosity.

James nodded slightly with a matter of fact sort of expression “Yeah, it’s a surfing term. You catch a gnarly wave with your surf board and balance with the edges of you feet over the front of it - It’s a total rush once you manage to pull it off properly!”

The old man stared blankly for a second before replying. “You mean, you can balance like that without tipping forward and falling into the water?”

James formed a proud smile.“Sure. It takes a fair bit of practice, but it’s totally worth it. It’s a neat way to show off.”

The old man choked slightly as he replied “…You’re pulling my leg.”

“No really.”

“Fuck off, No you can’t.”

“Yes. Yes you can!”

The old man let his jaw fall limp for a moment, his eyes glossed over, trying to absorb the information. He made a dull choking sound, scratched his head, and uttered a few quiet words under his breath.

“That’s bonkers.”

End.

ENDING TWO

James forcefully swatted the old man’s hands from his person, and rose to his feet, speaking with a confident tone. “Alright, You listen here - We were just discussing ghost stories, and old tales for fun, we weren’t looking to stir any trouble. We’ve humored you for long enough, and have been plenty polite while doing it - I think it’s time for you to leave.”

The old man shambled out of the chair, and placed his crutch beneath his arm. Then he spat at the ground between James and himself, and pointed a finger in the young man’s face. “You’re just like the rest of them. And you’ll die like the rest of them!” he muttered. Then he turned, and shuffled across the floor back to the darkest corner of the tavern.

Everyone sat around the table looked to James with admiration.

James shook his head, and sighed. “Crazy old imbecile.” he said silently to himself.

That night - In a motel not far away…

James sat at the edge of the queen bed, staring blankly at the wall in front of him.

His girlfriend sat down beside him, and rubbed his shoulder with one hand. “What’s wrong, James?” she asked. “You’ve seemed so distant since we got back to our room.”

James turned and forced a smile, placing a hand over his girlfriend’s. “I’m sorry, Brook. I just feel bad about yelling at that old man earlier. I could have handled that better.”

Brook swung herself in front of James, resting on his legs, as she wrapped hers around his lower torso. She grabbed his face firmly, and raised his chin. “Listen to me. You did nothing wrong! Someone had to do something.”

James presented another forced smile. “Thanks, babe.”

Brook shook James face gently side to side, and pouted her lip. “James. You did the right thing. I’m proud of you. Besides, you didn’t yell. There’s nothing wrong with a firm tone when necessary.”

James finally managed a sincere smile, and the two came together for a kiss.

“I appreciate you saying that. I just wish we hadn’t been in that situation in the first place I guess.”

Brook unwrapped her legs, and hopped to the floor. She held her hand forward to help James to his feet. They shared another kiss, then she raised herself on her tip toes to whisper in his ear. “I think I can cheer you up.”

She pranced to the door, removed her jacket from the wall hook, placed it on, and kneeled down to put on her boots. “Come on handsome, let’s get moving.”

James walked towards her with and inquisitive grin. “And where are you wanting to take me at this hour?”

Brook finished tying her laces, and got to her feet. She took a couple steps towards James, closing the gap between the two of them. She placed both her hands flat on his chest, and moved her body closely to his, then looked up at him. “I don’t know. When that old guy was spinning his crazy tale…I did think being alone with you, in our own little private cove at night, that did sound pretty romantic.”

She stood on her toes, and kissed James on the neck, just below his jaw line. She stepped back toward the door. “I don’t plan on us doing much talking when we’re down there.” She smiled and winked. Brook turned to step outside, and James grasped her firmly around the arm above her elbow. She turned. 

“Babe. What if that creepy fish monster is out there and tries to kill us!?” James didn’t manage to finish the question without smiling. 

The two broke into a bit of laughter, then Brook smacked James in the stomach with the back of her hand. “Get your shoes on, I’ll meet you in the car, Romeo.”

—

The car pulled into the lot on top the cliff above the beach, and the two descended the long stone stairway that led to the sand below. The moon was full, and cast an exceptional light from the starry sky. The waves lapped gently onto the beach. There was not another soul insight. 

The two ran down the beach, along the cliff side, until they were well out of sight from the main road, finding a quiet little cove of their own. The two embraced. James leaned his head down to whisper in Brook’s ear. “It’s gorgeous out tonight.”

Brook smiled, and whispered back. “It is. I can’t believe how warm it is.”

she said, pushing herself away from James. “I actually think it’s too warm.” she added, removing her jacket, and then her shirt.

James placed his hands on his hips, and tried to conserve his excited smile best he could, watching as Brook removed her jeans, and tossed them on her pile of clothes. 

Brook moved her arms behind her back, and wrapped her fingers over the clasp of her bra. “You’d better hurry and get those clothes off, hot shot.” she said playfully, as she removed her bra, and let it fall beside her. She took a few steps back, biting her lower lip. Then she turned and pranced across the sand.

James watched Brook run into the water. When she was neck deep, her arms disappeared below the surface, and she wiggled herself in place, then tossed her panties to the shore. 

James turned to face away from her, an idiots grin spread across his face. He took a few large breathes as he began to quickly unbutton his shirt.

“Okay, James, You can do this!” he said quietly to himself.

He tossed his shirt to the ground, and started to remove his belt. “Don’t get too excited, think about something boring if you have to slow the engine down. This is the big time!”

He let his belt fall to his side, and then he clumsily removed his pants. Very clumsily. Before removing his boxer briefs, he noticed he was still wearing his shoes, which would explain why the process of removing his pants was so troublesome. In hind sight, it was impressive he was able to get his pants of at all. He should have looked down sooner. 

After quickly removing his shoes, James turned, and looked at Brook, treading water with a smile on her face. She looked back at him and giggled. James was mesmerized, lost entirely in her eyes - it took him a moment to even notice the dark, humanoid figure in the water behind her. The eyes belonging to that figure, sickened him, and caused his knees to go weak. Awful, piercing yellow things that cut through the night.

James opened his mouth to scream, but managed nothing more than a prolonged, dry clicking sound.

The creature wrapped it’s scaly hands, swiftly and firmly around Brook’s face, and neck. Then, as though in the same single motion, it pulled her under.

End.