When I was young, my family would go to the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago.
Back then, there was an exhibit demonstrating bell curve distributions using back balls falling through a maze of pegs and into slotted compartments.
The balls eventually formed the bell curve shape… as if by magic.
“Not magic, you little weirdo,” growled my father. “It’s mathematics.”
I pointed at the lonely ball in the two-sigma slot: “That’s me!”
My parents were shocked, and they recoiled in horror from me.
Because I’d managed to chew through my straps and my hands were free again.

Zombie Garden


You think of this place as a cemetery, but I think of it as a zombie garden.
See this bottle?
Let’s just say that this potion is the zombie equivalent of Miracle Gro.
I just pour it over the grave, wave my hand around, chant for a few seconds, and I’ve got a brand new zombie.
Well, not exactly brand new. Depending how old the corpse is, there’s the problem of rot and decay.
There’s another problem with this garden. The fruits of my labor don’t grow out of the ground by themselves.
Speaking of which, pass me the shovel.

Weekly Challenge #28 – Halloween


Welcome to the twenty-eighth 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 this week was selected by me: a Halloween Tale.
Thirteen stories were submitted this week.
Three wonderful rookies this week. Yay!
And, as always, the usual madness by Planet Z.
Go ahead and listen to them by clicking on the grammophone thingy there in the left column and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

Who had the best story for the 28th Weekly Challenge?
Adam from Squirrel Bait Podcast
W. Edwin
Lisa of Lemons and Lollipops
Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club
Andrew from Dodgeblogium
Laieanna from HodgePodge Point
T.A. Marquette from Footnote
Rahel of Elms In The Yard
Caroline from Quadra
Houston Keys
Ted from Ted’s Podcast
Planet Z
Free polls from

The full text to each story…

He asked his sister what the topic was this week.
Receiving the answer, he sat down and began writing. He was a flurry of pencil on paper. Images of picnics, barbecues, and baseball games filled his head.
A creative little story was produced, about a boy who had proudly drilled a hole in his hot dog.
Given to his sister to review, she laughed until tears streamed down her face. He walked out of the room with his head down in shame when he realized his mistake.
“Oh,” he told his sister. “I thought you said ‘A Hollow Weenie Story.'”




“What’s that sound?”
“Planet Saturn.”
“Creepy. It’s like -”
“I dunno… I thought there wasn’t sound in space.”
“There isn’t. It’s just radio waves from Saturn’s magnetic field. The Cassini space probe recorded it. That’s all it is.”
But that wasn’t all. After Earth was dragged from her orbit, before her icy corpse met her ringed killer, humanity had long frozen.
They’d never understood the summons. The King of the Outer Dark, serene in the splendid remains of its previous meal, would never know, nor care, that they’d named it for the Titan who ate all lesser gods.


Buck was always trying “too hard”. He was the life of the Halloween party, wearing the most outrageous get-up, doing the craziest stunts. The guys got a big kick out of him, but the ladies were less than impressed.
Buck couldn’t understand why the women were avoiding him – his Tarzan costume showed off his spectacular physique, he won the apple-bobbing contest and was demonstrating his ability to tie a cherry stem with his tongue.
It was all for nothing, though. As Buck was leaving (alone) he whined, “But I tried so hard! All I wanted was a little Halloween tail.”


The monster is out there again tonight….
A week ago he was alive and our rabbi and leader. Then he was brutally executed. Three days later, he came back a bloodthirsty zombie hungry for brains.
Of the thirty of us originally, only thirteen are left
I’ve been wearing yeast and water in my hair so I wouldn’t be kosher for Passover but the holiday will be gone when the sun goes down… any minute now.
Oh no! Here it comes!
Jesus, it’s me your disciple, Sam!
Wouldn’t you rather eat a Roman?
No Jesus No! Aaaargh!


If Christmas is a time to say ‘I love you’ then ‘Halloween’ is a time to say ‘I scare you.’
Except… therein lies a problem…
There are so many real world scares these days the imaginative ones seem to pale in comparision.
What with the North Korean Nutter with the bomb and Madman Imadinnerjacket trying to get one what’s some daft costume going to do?
All Hallow’s Eve is reduced to just another excuse for a piss-up and fancy-dress party.
Then again the Druids would love the fact we all get rat-arsed, dance like possesed and try to get laid.


“Oh my god,” Lisa wept as she watched the madman gut her. “What’s
happened here?”
“You were tortured and murdered.” Another voice responded, “And now
you’re a ghost.”
“I’m dead?” Anger suddenly rose inside her, “Then I can haunt the
bastard for doing this!” She swooped down on the man.
“Welcome home,” the psychopath smiled directly at her apparition.
“You have pretty eyes.” He scooped one out of her mangled face and
ate it.
Lisa recoiled in horror.
Another voice whispered, “I’m afraid he likes having our spirits
around and we seem to be bound here.”
Lisa couldn’t stop screaming.


Black widow spiders and huge green writing spiders all perfectly placed in gigantic webs stretching from post to post on her front porch. Huge cockroaches scattered here and there. The effect was eerie as hell; she was finally ready for Halloween.
She was giddy as she heard the first group coming up the stairs. This was her favorite part – the doorbell ringing and the shouts of trick-or-treat.
She would just peek out the window.
Fran later told the authorities that HER decorations were Earth friendly; no petroleum based plastic products. She didn’t want to contribute to the landfill problem!


Benny loved Halloween
It wasn’t so much the candy, as the costume.
This year he chose robot.
Making the rounds of the neighbor
It was hard to hold the candy bag,
still harder to walk
“Trick or Treat.” Growled Gary Good
the neighborhood bully.
Benny handed over the bag.
Laughing Gary Good gave Benny a shove.
He proceeded to flail about like an overturned turtle.
Next year on Halloween Gary Goods Father’s stingray hit a tree.
Three months in a comma for Gary Good.
Now the X bully moves and speaks like a spastic robot.
“Trick or treat.” Smiled Benny.


I found him on Hallowe’en night.
He was a tiny black kitten, skinny and barely able to walk. He gave a weak little mew as I picked him up.
As he grew into a sleek, lovely cat, he liked watching television, particularly the lottery drawings. He would sit with his eyes glued to the screen while his toys lay temporarily neglected.
One day, I decided to bring home a lottery card. Just to see what would happen.
He jumped on the table and rubbed up against it, purring. Then he started pointing with his paws.
Yes, that’s my Bentley outside.


Sandy and Jamie went scrounging amongst the garbage as usual on 31Oct. All they knew was hunger and cold. Finding a mask, wings and some candy, they thought interesting! It was getting colder now. With Sandy wearing the mask and Jamie the wings they laughed at each other. As they laughed they grew less hungry and cold. They continued laughing until they couldn’t stop. Others came, joined in, until there was a large gathering. People all laughing. They laughed their heads off. They laughed their socks off. They took off their clothes and danced in the moonlight. Well it was Halloween.


Our Hero had an odd taste for obscure cat blogs which tantalized him in a way that was un-natural.
Inspired by them, he began scouring the neighborhoods looking for a larger high. Finding cats in alleys and under houses and watching them for hours.
Or maybe… the cats were watching him.
Halloween night, as he was snuggled in his plain, boring bed he heard a scraping sound at his window.
He screamed in terror at first, and then stared in quiet fascination at a cat licking blissfully on the glass.
Until with a jingle of it’s tiny bell, it struck.




[LAY IT ON THICK] It was a dark and stormy night.
A howling wind whipped through the bare trees.
I walked up the foggy hill to the creepy mansion and knocked.
Slowly, the door creaked open.
[LON CHENEY] “Cliche Residence,” said a hollow voice.
[TRY TO IMITATE BOB NEWHART] I cleared my throat. “My car broke down, and… um…”
A tall, gaunt figure stepped out from the darkness. He was clad in a dusty, cobwebbed suit at least a century out of fashion. [LON CHENEY] “Our telephone is out,” he said. “Come inside. Warm yourself by the fire.” [CUT THE MUSIC HERE, CHANGE TO IRRITATION AND MOCKERY]
“No thank you,” I said, walking away from the door. “This is just too ridiculous.”

Thanks to everyone for sending in their stories, and I look forward to what you’ve got to write (and say) next week.
The theme for next week’s Weekly Challenge will be posted shortly.
(In case you’re interested, I’ve settled on “Clair de Lune” as the opening music and “Moonshine” by Michael Oldfield from the Tubular Bells II album.)

The Iron Baby


The Iron Baby was a real baby that legend says turned to iron when his witch-mother burned at the stake.
A curse is upon us: ignore or abandon this shrieking monster, and the town will be destroyed.
Each family takes care of the monster for one night, passing it along Harvest Road to the next family when dawn breaks.
Turkel the Blacksmith’s family was next. He’d had enough, so he hammered a horseshoe into a pacifier.
The shrieking… stopped.
As the people prepared a feast to celebrate, the woods caught fire.
Strange winds pushed the flames towards the town square.



The starter’s pistol goes off, and we all rush to the freshest graves with our shovels.
Dig up the coffin, haul it to the take, and paddle to the other side.
Welcome to Morgantown’s Coffin Kayak Race.
Ever try it? You’ll learn quickly why funerals use six pallbearers.
Will it float? This is when the cheaper coffins are better, although if you end up with a really cheap or old coffin, you’ll take on water and go down fast.
Billy won last year, but he caught pneumonia and died after the race.
There’s his grave.
He’ll make a fine copilot.

The Zombietron is not a toy


Attorneys no longer have to worry about their witnesses turning up dead.
Now you can just stick the witness or victim in one end of the Zombietron, pour in a teaspoon of nanobots, and let them soak in the machine overnight.
Sure, they reek like a latrine pit full of rotten meat, but functional and lucid zombies are admissible as evidence.
The worst part of the process is watching them die again. I wonder if they suffer.
So, what happens when you put a living person in the Zombietron?
I don’t know.
Hey, let’s grab a bum and find out.

Spooky Golf Course


You’d think that a golf course built on a graveyard would be creepy, but once you get beyond the shock of spectral caddies and zombie groundskeepers it’s actually pretty nice. And a challenge to boot.
I have yet to lose a single ball there. No matter where I whack it, my caddy finds it. Isn’t that great?
You’ve got to be careful with summoning a caddy though. Light the candles in the wrong order or pause at the wrong moment during the spell, and you might end up summoning Satan.
He’s a lousy caddy. Chews club heads, keeps score wrong…



Want to know the truth about Nosferatu?
He wasn’t a vampire. He was just really pissed off.
Imagine, going to the carnival or a gift shop and looking for a personalized mug with your name on it… they have John and Mary and Susan and Joe, and Bob and Kent and…
And no Nosferatu.
If you ask the salesman, he asks you to repeat it. So you have to repeat it. Twice. Pretty soon, you’re shouting it and waving your hands around crazily.
See? That’s how it happens.
Now get me a fucking Laurence mug! Not W, with a U!

Some stains


Some stains don’t come out easily.
No, I’m not talking about grape juice stains. We get enough of those in the clothes people donate through us.
I’m talking about spiritual stains. Echoes of misery and agony, soaked into the fabric beyond the reach of any detergent.
Put on a haunted suit, the wedding goes bad.
Put on a haunted ball cap, you get headaches.
Put on a haunted dress, your tits sag.
That’s why we use a laundry that has a full-time exorcist on staff. Removes the curses.
But if you don’t pay, we can always put them back in.

Vampire Insurance


Some guy at a garlic processing plant claimed to have been bitten by a vampire and turned into one of them, on his disability claim form.
We suggested that he change to the night shift. You know, because that way he’d stay out of the sun.
Not good enough, he said. Vampires hate garlic at any time of the day, it seems.
So we asked him to prove that he’s a vampire. Turning into a bat or a vapor cloud or something like that. Not giving a reflection would be good enough for us, too.
Claimants can be such bloodsuckers.