Legend has it that the Grim Reaper sharpens his scythe by the light of the moon.
Bull.
First off, he’s got a whole set of scythes.
As for sharpening, he’s too busy. So he drops some of them off at my store every week and I handle that for him.
Sometimes, it’s a rebalanced handle. Ergonomic grips. Or reinforcing the blade mounts.
Nothing’s worse than having a blade come loose in mid-stroke.
He swings, he misses. That’s what you’d call “A brush with Death.”
With rotation and maintenance, it won’t happen again.
My service is a cut above the rest.
Tag: horror
Draining
The warning label on that bottle of drain cleaner tells you not to drink it.
And they’re right.
You’re supposed to sip it. Savor it.
Oh, and let the bottle breathe, like a fine wine.
Some people season their drain cleaner with flavors like peppermint or lemon, but a true aficionado will take it straight.
Oh, that skull and crossbones on the label?
That’s just letting you know there’s lots of calcium in there. You know, for healthy bones.
It’s just that the government doesn’t put nutritional labels on drain cleaner.
Do I want some?
No. I only drink diet.
The Walls Have Ears
“The walls have ears,” the nuns tell us.
They are the ears of bad children that talk in class and get dragged by the ear to Mother Superior’s office.
Most kids scream in pain and walk willingly, but the tough ones resist.
The nuns tug harder and… sometimes the lobe tears right off.
After the child is beaten into submission by a flock of nuns with rulers, the prize earlobe is tacked up on the wall as a warning to the rest of the children.
Unless the parents buy it back in the annual Ear Auction.
You know, for charity.
Ghost Energy
Ghosts are most intense immediately after death, expending their energy to compel the living to complete some task of theirs left unfinished.
But after a few years, energy exhausted, ghosts fade and are reduced to wisps or phantasms… and then just unusual regions of spooky feelings when people pass through their former haunts.
Professor Bolton says ghosts can replenish their spectral vitality with fear and life force energy drawn from the living, but there are also natural waves in the world that intensify with great disasters.
But digging up someone’s grave works too.
Pass me the shovel.
And step back.
Knob
I wake up, get in the shower, and turn the knob.
Nothing.
No water.
Then, I realize I’ve turned the middle knob. The shower-or-bath knob.
Oops.
I turn the one to its left and HOT HOT PAIN HOT!
I stumble out of the shower and look at the note on the sink GET THE TEMPERATURE RIGHT FIRST damn, I forgot.
I reach back in and get the temperature right before stepping back in.
Soap. Shampoo. Shave. Brush.
I stepped out before turning the water off…
And couldn’t breathe.
On my nightstand, another note:
DRINK SLEEPING ELIXIR ANTIDOTE.
Can’t… reach… bottle…
Seven Brides For Seven Monsters
It all started when Victor Frankenstein made his monster.
The monster got lonely, so he made a bride for the monster.
But the bride was way too hot for the monster, so he kept her for himself.
This pissed off the monster, so he made another hottie just for him.
But this new hottie was even hotter than the bride, so he kept her as a mistress.
“So, about the monster…”
No way, said the bride.
“Threesome?”
No.
All this time, the villagers sat around with their pitchforks and torches, far too amused at Victor’s shenanigans to storm the castle.
Roll Your Own
Stacy was an artist.
I thought she was a lunatic.
Maybe she was both.
She’d strip naked, cover her body in paint, and roll around on a gigantic canvas.
Blue. Red. Yellow. Green.
Color by color, she’d add to her artwork.
I mean, yeah, she was pretty, and the medium was kinda interesting, but it got repetitive.
Nobody told me that she always wanted to hug someone when she finished painting.
So, I was wearing a tux that night, so when she hugged me, I got pissed.
I slapped her, she slipped on the paint, and broke her neck.
Shit.
The Well Of Apology
Every April, the thieves in the town jail are chained together and dragged to The Well Of Apology.
One by one, the thieves are handed a knife, and they are forced to slash their palms and drip blood into the well.
Then, they are unchained, and released.
Any thief who is caught red-handed is beheaded at the well, their head falling into its depths.
Some say that when you cut your palms over the well, the dead whisper up to their friends.
Maybe it’s just the wind, the rattle of the chain.
Have you noticed, the mayor always wears gloves?
Ignorance Is Wedded Bliss
Igor found her body in a chair, poison in one hand and a note in the other.
“Victor
I remember now.
I know what kind of monster you are.
Please, no more experiments. Burn my corpse.”
Instead, Victor found her diary, and burned the note with it.
Flushing the poison was difficult, but the rejuvenation formula not only replaced the contaminated blood, but neutralized all toxins.
They laid her out on the table and hooked up the wires.
Once again, the electricity would cause temporary amnesia.
Two months? Three?
“Isn’t love grand?” said Igor.
Victor nodded, and threw the switch.
Ken
Have you ever heard of Ken Nordine?
He’s a famous voiceover artist.
Oh, and he did a bunch of albums and recordings called Word Jazz.
You’d recognize him if I played one of his pieces.
Hold on… let me play a track for you…
You’ve heard him?
I told you so.
Well, the voices in my head sound exactly like him.
Ken Nordine. In my head.
Telling me to set things on fire.
And kill people.
But he’s so mellow, that I’m too relaxed and chilled out to set things on fire and kill people.
Until my meds wear off.