Tag: horror

The Fool

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I trapped the fool in the mirror and threw a sheet over it.
He’s screaming to be let out, but I won’t let him.
Instead, I threw the mirror into the basement and then locked the door.
I thought that I had finally beaten the fool, but he showed up in the bathroom mirror.
Damn him! And I can’t take that mirror off of the wall and throw it into the basement!
I keep finding him in every room, so I ran into a linen closet and slammed the door.
Now, I’m safe. The fool won’t find me in here.

Sealed with a kiss of death

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At first, we thought that Stanley was being attacked by flesh-eating bacteria, but the bacteria turned out to be the mailman.
It seems that the Postal Service is forcibly retiring as many of its older workforce as possible and replacing them with less-expensive cannibals.
“They don’t need a lunch break,” said the Postmaster General, giggling with glee.
Bastard.
Because of the danger, I pay all my bills online now.
Christmas is 8 months away, but I’m already thinking ahead for the Christmas gift season.
Just leave the packages on the doorstep and back away, Chief.
Otherwise, I’m firing my blunderbuss.

What do Mummies eat?

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What do Mummies eat?
Just because their guts have been dumped into canopic jars and their brains hooked out through their noses, it doesn’t mean they don’t eat.
According these pictures on the wall, mummies eat flightless birds.
Dodos, awks, and penguins are a delicacy on the buffet to the bandaged.
This explains why awks and dodos are extinct. Completely wiped out by mummies.
As for penguins, well, the mummies ate them all except for the furthest reaches of Patagonia and the Southern Pole.
Mummies don’t do so well in cold weather, even when smothered with globs of Icy Hot.

The Caves

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The hills are full of caverns.
We drew maps as we explored them.
Then, we put them in the computer and watched the image take shape.
Bobby pointed at a blank spot.
“What’s there?” he asked.
We looked over the paper maps. Nothing.
Bobby made notes, and he made it our goal.
“I bet something’s there,” Bobby said.
The passages got tighter and more dangerous. Some underwater.
Then, we came to the iron door.
No writing on it, no marks at all.
It opened.
Two glowing eyes stared at us.
The door slammed shut.
We ran, and never went back.

Patrick

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Patrick hated St. Patrick’s Day.
Every March, people would start calling him “Saint Patrick” and expect him to wear green.
They’d call him “Paddy” in a really bad Irish brogue, rub their hands through his red hair, and pinch his rosy cheeks.
This year, he caught wind that he was going to be paid in pennies in a pot.
“A pot of gold!” the payroll specialist chirped.
“Pennies are zinc and copper, you idiot!” Patrick shouted.
That’s when he snapped.
That night, carrying a thick sack into the office, Patrick loosened the rope around the end and released the snakes.

The Mermaid Feast

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Old Captain Jack was a friend to all creatures of the sea, so when he died, they took his boat out thirty miles from shore and cast him into the briny deep.
Six mermaids caught his shrouded body and escorted him over the horizon.
The crew set course for port, but winds blew them back out, and they came across the mermaids.
They were feasting on Jack’s corpse, hands drenched in gore and blood.
The crew wanted to fire their cannon to scatter the mermaids, but instead they just watched.
Watching half-naked cannibal women are better than nothing, I suppose.

Fungusville

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There’s nothing unusual about Fungusville.
It’s a typical small town just a half mile or so off the freeway.
There’s houses, schools, businesses, and even a Main Street.
City Hall has a square with a cannon, a fountain, and a statue as part of a war memorial.
They have two churches, and they have a softball game on the Fourth of July every year.
No matter how many people I ask, nobody knows where the name Fungusville came from, or why someone would name a town after fungus.
Rubes!
I shrug and hop on the bus back to Hemorrhoid Falls.

The Orange Hair

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While I’m at work, the cat sleeps on my pillow all day.
I know this, because his long orange hair is all over the pillow when I get home.
I brush it off, roll up the clumps, and put them in the trash.
I go through this every day, going to work and coming back to find that my pillow had been shed on.
Beats having cat piss or cat shit on the pillow, right?
So I called an exorcist.
You see, the cat died three years ago, and as much as I miss him, I want this to stop.

The Executed

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The execution is over, and the king congratulates the royal headsman.
“Well done,” he says.
The headsman nods, holding his hood.
Afterwards, he walks to his dungeon alcove, closes the door, and lays down his massive axe.
Then, he takes off his black hood and hangs it on a hook.
There is no mirror in this room… they are luxuries for the nobles.
So, he is saved from the horror of looking upon his rotten and gruesome visage.
Pulling the freshly decapitated head out of a sack, he replaces his rotten and putrid one.
And puts the hood back on.

The Day Ends

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Valentine’s Day comes once a year, and then it’s gone.
The flowers are dead, the chocolates are eaten, the champagne bottle is out in the recycling bin with the rest of the glass, and the card is buried behind the past few day’s stack of bills.
Still, it’s not as grisly a scene as when St. Patrick’s Day is over.
Half-empty kegs, beer-vomit and piss in the hallway, plastic cups on the lawn…
And then there’s the matter of the dead leprechaun.
I followed the rainbow, found his gold, stuck the little corpse in the pot, and buried it again.