Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.
This is the Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
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If you come up with a story on this topic after this post went up, feel free to send it in and I can add it to the site.
The Rave in the Cave
By Christopher Munroe
It’s an amazing name for an event, but in execution, two problems become apparent.
Firstly: Raving in an actual cave reminds people too much of the Matrix Sequels.
Second: I’m in my thirties, what the fuck am I even doing at a rave?
Nonetheless, the acoustics in the cave were amazing, and I figured with enough club drugs I’d enjoy myself regardless of the inappropriateness of my weekend plans.
Men in their thirties still party like nineteen-year-olds, after all!
We just pay for it in the morning.
And that, in a nutshell, is why I’m not coming into work today…
by Jeffrey Fischer
He told his wife that the apocalypse was near and that they needed to be prepared. She nodded and grunted what he took to be an assent – he had timed the request for a “Real Housewives” marathon so she wouldn’t pay much attention to him – and he ordered the supplies.
For the next few weeks, trucks arrived in the driveway, unloaded, and drove off. His wife paid little heed to the process until she saw the Budweiser truck pulling away. She ventured into the basement. Case after case of beer was piled high in one corner. He had furnished the cellar with a dozen reclining chairs, all facing a 72″ TV.
“This doesn’t look like a shelter,” she complained. “It looks more like a man cave that sucked up our retirement savings!”
“You ride out nuclear winter your way, and I’ll ride it out mine.”
by Jeffrey Fischer
The spelunkers widened the gap and wedged themselves into the cave. They were excited to be the first humans to explore here. Cautiously, with miners’ lamps illuminating the way, they moved ever deeper into the mountain.
At last, the narrow passageway ended in an enormous cavern – that was filled with cases of beer and wine. One of the men finally found his voice. “My God, we’ve died and ended up in Heaven.”
“Actually,” said a prissy voice from some distance away,” you’re in the wine cellar of Maison Blanche, which is directly above us. And you’re trespassing. Unless you have a dinner reservation?”
Boggins could tell the owner of the voice was not amused. The creature laughed – a gurgling, oily, guttural sound that set the hobbit’s already tense nerves into a state of agitated panic.
A slimy, scratchy, slithering filled the cave and Boggins realised with horror that his unseen companion was drawing closer.
He had to get out of that cave!
In abject terror, he leaped for the cave entrance, however in his haste he completely misjudged his flight and crashed heavily – face first – into the unyielding stone of the cave’s mouth.
Gibbering quietly, he slipped gently into unconsciousness.
They sealed up the entrance to the cave after the accident, declaring it too dangerous for recreational pursuits.
Four dead and no bodies recovered.
Four dead – that’s what they thought, but it was three dead and one survivor.
You have no idea what being sealed up in a cave for six months with only the decaying bodies of your friends for company does to you.
But I know exactly what it does to you.
And now that I’ve tunnelled my way back out, those who abandoned me are going to find out exactly what it does to you too!
The growling coming from the cave was nothing compared to the fear they shared of ghosts. Emily, however, had a deep rooted curiosity about entities of a parallel dimension. The problem was that these entities enjoyed playing tricks on their mortal counterparts. One was imitating voices and that growling was exceptionally realistic indeed. When they stepped inside the cave to take a picture of the ghost, the flash showed them, for a fraction of a second, the chilling white teeth of a huge black bear. “Oh, so ghosts don’t exist after all,” said Emily disappointed with the insignificant furry problem.
Mickey had a choice. He could search through each of the books or he could chase after Polecat. The latter seemed more productive.
The exit she had taken opened into short passage. At one side was another exit onto the street, on the other a door stood ajar to a small theater. Monkey Boy peeked into the assembly room. As dark as a cave he could see nothing, though his monkey senses picked up the sound of someone breathing.
Mickey slipped off his shoes and climbed along the backs of the seats. He leapt on a form laying between rows.
Me happy. Me dry. Life good in cave. Fuckn cave good. Forest sucks. Damn animals. Mate likes cave. She decorating. Want mural. So I paint Fuckn animals. Ever paint in the dark. It’s a bitch. She hate mural. Fuck her. Me go hunt. Bear finds cave. Need new mate. Maybe new cave. Good idea. Bigger cave. Maybe sub leases. Neanderthals good. Bit slow. Good with children. Smell funny. Wait, I smell funny. Fuck we all smell funny. Cave coming along. New mate wants new mural. Same old story. Hunt and paint. Story of me life. Maybe paint bears. This time.
“Siri, where is the One Ring?”
“It is at the foot of the Cave of the Ancients, in the Lost Valley of the Kings, beyond the Mountains of Doom, across the Misty Seas. Giant scorpions scuttle through the Cave. The Valley is filled with Inextinguishable Fire. The Mountains walk and crush all intruders, and the Misty Seas cannot be navigated.”
“eBay, where is the One Ring?”
“It is being auctioned by sauron8645. The current price is 561 kilograms of Philosopher’s Stone.”
“Facebook, where is the One Ring?”
“That account has been locked for making public posts of images of basilisks.”
I challenged my students to determine the true identity of Batman.
One student used Google Earth and traffic cameras to reveal that the Batmobile went back to a cave near Wayne Manor.
Another student matched DNA from a Joker-Batman fight to Bruce Wayne.
A third student found Wayne Enterprises patents on a bunch of Batman’s gear.
Finally, a fourth student traced the Batcomputer’s route through Wayne Manor’s Comcast router.
Truly brilliant. Best student’s I’ve had since I was released from Arkham and offered a teaching positions.
I also advise the school newspaper.
“Riddle me this, Bruce…” the headline will shout.