Category: My stories

The Headless Nessman

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Shaking nervously, Herb Tarlek looked out into the hallway.
“Do you see him?” whispered Mr. Carlson. “Do you see… Les?”
“No,” said Herb. “He’s not out here.”
“Well, no wonder why you can’t hear him,” said Johnny Fever. “Your jacket’s way too loud.”
Venus and Bailey cowered in the corner. “We’re all going to die,” whimpered Bailey.
Jennifer took a deep breath. “Who’s watching the back door?”
Just then, Andy let out a hideous moan and fell to the floor, an axe buried in his neck.
The Headless Nessman drew back the axe, hacked again, and dragged off Andy’s head.

Those Daring Young Men Without GPS And Their Flying Machines

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Trailing black smoke, Baron Von Schmidt’s mighty war zeppelin chugs across the Munich sky.
Henchmen with spiked helmets sing with the thrumming impeller blades, and the zeppelin begins its bombing run.
They open the portholes, hold out the bombs, and…
The Baron shouts a command to halt. The henchmen draw back their bombs and snuff out lit fuses while the nose of the zeppelin jerks upward.
“Nicht das London!” shouts the Baron.
There is an argument, and the navigator is thrown overboard, crashing through a church roof.
The Baron, ever the gentleman, apologizes and pays to have the roof fixed.

The Dotted Line

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Diva Chandelier and the record company fought for years, but in the end her army of lawyers fell to the combined might of the entire music industry.
The facts were clear: she had defaulted on an exclusive billion-dollar ten album, five concert tour deal.
But what was worse was that she had taken to singing in public… for free.
“A contract is a contract,” said the judge from inside the record company’s pocket. “Judgement is for the plaintiff, the defendant will surrender her voice.”
Her last public statement before going into the clinic for forced cauterization was a profanity-laden curse.

A twist of metallic fate

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I don’t even bother listening to the bum’s story. My hand goes into my pocket automatically for the change in there.
I shake it out, and find The Paperclip.
It’s been a long time since its glory days at NASA, when during the 12th Apollo mission it bridged a navigation circuit that could have splattered the capsule across Utah.
After two decades jumping from binder to binder, it was unbent to reset a critical communications computer for the shuttle program.
A hero among office supplies.
I hand the bum the change, unbend the paperclip, and pick my teeth with it.

The Body

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A hiker stumbled over The Body last night.
Yes, that’s right – It’s The Body. Capital T, capital B.
He’s been out here long enough to grow stubble on his head, looking at the bits of scalp the vultures left.
You’d think a former Navy Seal would have been prepared for this rough terrain, but I don’t think Jesse Ventura had planned to be out in the desert long.
Or at all. Tracks led from the canyon. From the depth, wheelbase length and tread we’re thinking some kind of stretch-limo Hummer.
I squint, fold up the feather boa, and follow them.

Zeno

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You know Zeno’s Paradox? Motion is meaningless because you go halfway, then then halfway the remaining distance, and then half of that, and so on – never quite reaching your goal?
Let me tell you the truth about Zeno: he would borrow money, lose wrestling bets, and run afoul of bookies.
“Pay up,” they’d say “or we’ll break your damn legs.”
“Why?” he’d respond. “I’d just pay half, then half of the remainder, half then of that, et cetera – never paying the whole debt.”
So they broke his legs in half. And then the halves in half.
Et cetera.

Hammered Shit

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Master bursts through the front door, stumbling across the room to fall on the couch.
“What would you like for dinner?” I chirp.
“Don’t bother me,” groans Master. “I feel like hammered shit.”
Master bought me for these kinds of days. He can rest while I take care of everything.
Dinner, chores – everything.
I don’t do some things so well, sure, but I can try.
I mediscan Master. He’ll probably wake up at seven.
I scuttle to the kitchen and phone the hardware store.
They can deliver hammers in less than an hour.
Now where will I get the shit?

The Skylords Ball

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“Skylords wear metal heels, the clouds their dance floor.”
This is what we tell our children on Zeus during the storm season.
Lightning and rain covered the land, so we moved underground to the shelters.
I tucked Shoshona into her cot, said the prayers.
She asked me if the Skylords’ dance would ever stop.
“I’ll ask them again, but you could write them a note,” I said.
“How will they get it?” she asked.
“Tie it to a balloon so it will float up to them,” I said.
She clutched Rascal Bear tightly, closed her eyes, and went to sleep.

Rise

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The room had been so noisy and busy before.
Now it was empty.
The nurses offered to pack Ellie’s things, but my hands needed to do something besides paperwork.
Photos. Trinkets. Music box. Bear.
She’d want Bear with her when…
I looked around for her teddy bear, but it was gone.
Not under the bed.
Not behind the machines.
None of the other children in the ward had it.
Where was Bear?
And where were her balloons, too. Ellie always liked those. She said they rose because they held souls, yearning for Heaven.
I’ll let one go for her later.

NurseBot

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We needed nurses, so the NurseBot was rushed into production after a brief beta testing period.
Usually, these things would lock up in the middle of a shift, but there were other times you’d wish they’d lock up.
One of the more notorious screwups came when a NurseBot did its rounds backwards, dispensing medication in the wrong order down the ward, killing every patient.
Well, okay – except the one in the middle of the hall.
Sure, it was mass murder, but with a pleasant voice when it said “Here are your pills” and the sweetest silicone-rubber mask of a smile.