As I stood by the grave, there was a loud bang and the coffin’s descent halted.
The motorized winch had shorted out again.
We’ve been needing a new one for a while, but the boss is cheap.
And a drunk.
“Hand crank it,” I say to the crew, and head to the office.
“Motor blew again,” I say.
“Use the backup one,” he shouts, and he knocks over the empty bottle off of his desk. “Aw dammit.”
“This is the backup one,” I say, and, trembling, I smash in his skull with it.
No winch for him.
He’ll be cremated.
Tag: horror
The Werewolf
Bob points his gun at the werewolf, pulls the trigger… BANG!
The Werewolf goes down and lies still.
Bob waits for a bit, then says “Get up.”
The Werewolf gets up. “Those blanks are pretty loud.”
Bob hands the Werewolf a small red pouch. “Poke a hole in that and grab it to your side when I shoot you.”
“Just get me on the cart and the hell out of town before they do anything worse.”
The Werewolf and Bob went from town to town with their scam, became filthy stinking rich, and retired happily.
(But everybody else was dead.)
She paints the future
She paints the pain, wide slashes at the canvas, red paint drips like blood.
Wrapping bandages, applying pressure.
The canvas still bleeds; what isn’t covered with red turns grey and sallow.
The red turns dark and black, she can do nothing but watch the canvas die.
Into the dumpster it goes with all the other failures.
You cannot kill art twice.
She casts the spell again, sips another sip of bourbon, and sprays it on a fresh canvas.
Waiting… waiting… feeling…
A pulse!
Dipping the dagger into the red paint, another chant: life… life… life…
The canvas trembles with fear.
The Ass End Of Dentistry
Every six months, I go to the dentist.
Well, not the dentist. A dentist.
My mouth is such a horror, they either commit suicide to avoid seeing me again or refer me to one of their colleagues.
Not-well-liked colleagues.
Still, every now and then, one tries to prove themselves, and only when I’m in the chair do they realize their mistake.
“Oh my God,” says the latest brave soul. “That’s… awful!”
He then commanded me to take down my pants and bend over.
Instead of doing a routine cleaning, I got a colonoscopy.
(Don’t ask me where the lollipop went.)
Spinning
I remember when Suzie would go into my study and spin the antique globe, watching the world rush by in a blur.
She’d close her eyes, stab at the globe with a finger, and shout “STOP!”
Opening her eyes, she’d ask me if I’ve ever been to that place.
“Why, yes, I have,” I start, spinning an epic tale of adventure and romance and danger and treasure.
The kidnappers sent us her shoe, took the money, and vanished without a trace.
I spin the globe one last time, shout “STOP!” and imagine Suzie there.
I can feel the poison spread.
Baby Bunnies
If bunnies eat carrots, do baby bunnies eat baby carrots?
The answer is… well… sorta.
It depends on how young the baby bunny is.
If it’s a newborn, then it needs to nurse before it can eat solid foods.
Once it can eat solid food, you can feed it any kind of carrots or healthy vegetables.
Unless it’s a vampire bunny.
Those do not eat vampire carrots. Or vampire baby carrots.
Those drink blood.
So, why are you asking me this?
Oh. That’s what’s in the cage you brought me?
This empty cage.
I’d suggest we run. Away. Really fast.
Save My Baby!
A woman shouts “SAVE MY BABY!” and she points to a bakery.
I run into the bakery and see a drooling and gibbering chef wrapping a baby into a pie crust.
“Stop!” I growl, grabbing the baby from the chef. “That’s just wrong. And barbaric”
I pull out my smartphone and showed the chef how you’re supposed to cook a baby.
“You can’t just stick it in the oven,” I say. “Cut it up into sections.”
He smiled, got out his butcher’s knife, and I shut the door to the bakery.
How can the man work with all that screaming?
The Creature
Don’t get me wrong.
I hate the creature as much as anybody else.
If there’s a crowd shouting KILL THE CREATURE! you’ll find me at the head of it.
Far ahead of it.
Running from it.
Yes, I am the creature.
And I hate it. I hate it with a passion.
We draw lots at the city council meeting once a year.
Mine said “YOU ARE THE CREATURE!”
Damn.
I went from chanting KILL THE CREATURE to running as fast as I could, my neighbors in pursuit with torches, pitchforks, and digital cameras for posting the carnage to YouTube later.
Drawing a blank
I’m trying to write a story, but I’m drawing a blank.
I imagine the blank in my mind, standing there, chewing the creativity out of the imaginative part of my brain to pieces.
I send my guards after the blank, and it is captured.
After torturing a confession out of the blank, I have it dragged out into a field.
Its legs and arms are tied to horses, and I ask the blank if it has any last words.
“Nope,” it says. “I’m drawing a blank.”
“Not me,” I say. “I’m drawing and quartering one.”
The horses pull it apart.
Everything is a circle
Everything is a circle.
The table is a circle.
The table’s chairs are in a circle.
The cake is a circle.
The glass of milk is a circle.
Your eyes open wide. Like circles.
Your mouth is a circle, silent.
As you choke on the cake, your hands rise to your throat, and your face goes blue.
The lenses on my glasses are circles.
I watch you die.
I dig a hole in the back yard… another circle.
I push you in, fill up the hole.
I eat the rest of the cake, drink the milk, and go to sleep.