Author: R.

The Songs

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Andrew Ian Dodge turns the creepy dial another notch with his latest reading from his arcane tome of horror…

The Sage hit a key to open his webcam eye.
Good evening all. I am glad you enjoyed last week’s poser. Leo is telling me you like my research questions. He paused.
This week I want you to try to explain why religious types are so paranoid about the Devil’s Interval yet all we read about – evil – music from Lovecraft’s writings and classical authors is that they sing beautifully to lure unsuspecting mortals to their doom.
I bet the Sirens of Greek myth sound more like Celine Dion or Barbra Streisand than Arch Enemy, Slunt or Die So Fluid. Discuss.

Oliver’s Obsession

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As soon as Oliver noticed the burnt-out bulb in the vanity mirror, he ran for the utility closet.
It was full of light bulbs. The obsessed Oliver hated burnt-out bulbs.
Just as he pulled out a replacement, the power went out.
That wouldn’t stop Oliver, however.
Feeling each bulb, he tried to tell which was burnt-out. But none felt warm.
He unscrewed each one, shaking it hard… no telltale jingle, either.
So Oliver sat on his bathroom countertop for three hours until the lights came back on.
They did. All of them. No burnt-out bulb.
He replaced them all, anyway.

Weekly Challenge #3 – Cinco de Mayo

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Welcome to the third Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic is: Cinco de Mayo.
You have until midnight on Friday the 5th to email me your story.
It would be preferred that you attach your own recording of the story, but if I have the time I will record and include all of the contributed stories in a single collection, which will be posted next Saturday.
If this takes off and there’s a healthy amount of participation, I may go ahead with my plans to create 100 Words Or Les Nessman 2.0. (With weekly themes instead of daily themes to cut down on burnout and attrition.)
Good luck, and feel free to e-mail me with any questions you have.

Time’s up!
Seven stories submitted this week. Go ahead and listen to them by clicking on the grammophone thingy there in the left column and then vote for your favorite:

Who wrote the best story
Rahel of Elms in the Yard
Elisson of blog d’Elisson
Andrew of Dodgeblogium
Beck of Incite
Borealis of Suidesus
Tommy of Striving For Average
The Mystery Man From Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com


Thanks to everyone for sending in their stories, and I look forward to what you’ve got to write (and say) next week.

The Monkeys

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Bill bred the monkeys specifically for manual dexterity and docile temperament.
The typewriters, hauled out of some warehouse, just needed dusting and fresh ribbons.
Writers Guild representatives caught wind of Bill’s plan and used everything short of poisoning the banana supply to stop him.
Despite these evil schemes, Bill persevered, and his simian legions grew.
And produced.
At first, random garbage was the result. Lots of stained, crumbled sheets of typing paper covered with garble.
Then, smashed typewriters and the occasional dead monkey.
They never did manage to produce Shakespeare, but made a fine line in Bill’s obituary years later.

Abandoned Baby

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There was a knock at the door, and the dogs in the back yard barked like bad.
“Shut up,” said Arthur. “It’s not dinnertime yet.”
The dogs barked louder.
Arthur walked to the front door, and opened it. When he looked down, he saw a baby in a basket.
No note.
“You don’t have a name?” said Arthur. “Let me think of a name for you…”
Arthur picked up the basket, went to the back yard, and tossed the baby to the hungry dogs.
“Your name is dinner,” said Arthur.
Arthur put the basket in the bathroom to store magazines.

Tonga

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Why did th earthquake in Tonga happen this past week? Andrew Ian Dodge digs into the mystery…

The Doctor on duty read the reports of an “earthquake” near Tonga and sighed. As he looked through the heavy window down the corridor on his ward he dreaded the night to come. There was already odd noises penetrating the room; odd chanting and singing…the constant thump of someone smacking his head against a padded wall. The Doc reached into the drawer for his ear plugs and placed them in his ears. It was always this way when the deepest part of the Pacific ocean shakes. They couldn’t report the real truth. In an instant he hears a bloody-curdling scream.

The Magician

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No outs, bottom of the ninth. The team is one run up, but the bases are loaded.
The manager comes out of the dugout, takes the ball from the pitcher, and waves to the bullpen.
The doors open, and Mysterio The Great strolls out, magnificent in his top hat and red-lined black cloak.
The next thing the crowd knows, there are three outs. The game is over, Mysterio gets the save.
The crowd, apprehensive and confused at first, eventually realizes their team has won, and they cheer wildly.
Mysterio bows, waves his wand, and disappears in a puff of smoke.

Not The Same

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The suicide bomber only managed to kill one person when he blew himself up at the sidewalk café: the security guard who kept him from killing more.
The bomber exploded in the guard’s embrace, both dying at the same time.
Both shared something else in common: the same exact type of cell phone. Down to the ringtone.
The guard’s widow got the phone of the bomber, and the bomber’s widow got the phone of the guard.
Neither noticed the difference or ever charged the batteries on the bloody devices. They just sat on memorial shelves, occasionally taken down for dusting.

Skin Book

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Andrew Ian Dodge talks about a book that’s likely not missing from the public library…

A book covered in human skin was recently found in Leeds beside a road. The Police said it was dropped by a thief. Doubt it. I suspect the book was dropped by its owner, who was dabbling in the black arts. As so often happens he thought he could out-run the entity pursuing him. The book was dropped where the eldritch horror caught up with him and sucked him into the void. Could have been worse he could have been turned inside out like Abdul Al Alzared the author of the Necronomicon. Wonder how the Police would’ve explained that away?

Sinking

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Why is Wembley Stadium sinking? Andrew Ian Dodge tells the horrfying truth…

He knew exactly what he had to do when he sensed what was going on. The digging to sure up Wembley was going well. The trouble was he could not allow it go any deeper. A few people were feeling a bit ill over the past two days but Jarl was suffering from intense seething evil. Something living was there, a visceral evil and Jarl had to stop the digging. While inspecting the digging he careful placed small charges all over there. He hit the button; he knew how to make it look like a collapse. Would he die…well…