Susie was afraid of monsters, so instead of a bed, she slept in a hammock.
And instead of a closet, she kept her clothes in her dresser and an armoire.
“An armoire is just a freestanding closet, isn’t it?” asked Susie’s monster.
“Not according to union rules,” said his supervisor. “She’s got her bases covered. Even uses a clear shower curtain so you can’t sneak up on her.”
Over the years, Susie’s monster was jealous of the other monsters, who earned massive performance bonuses.
And then, after years of doing nothing, Susie’s monster was ready…
He was promoted to management.
Tag: horror
Lawn Gnome
I was a small kid.
So, for Halloween, Mom used to dress me up as a garden gnome.
This wasn’t all that special, because she made me dress up as a garden gnome the rest of the year.
She’d force me to stand outside in the weeds and watch the street.
“It’s raining, Mom!” I yelled. “Can I come inside?”
The TV was too loud for her to hear me. Or she was passed out drunk.
Eventually, the county took me away and put me in a foster home.
Well, in front of a foster home.
I hate lawn gnomes.
Two Doses Of Candy
Unlike other houses in the neighborhood, Doctor Odd makes his own candy for Halloween.
And it’s the best candy. In the world.
Kids flock from miles around to ring his doorbell and beg for his candy.
Some kids try to trick or treat his house twice. Or they trade their entire haul for a second helping of his candy.
One dose of the secret ingredient induces euphoria in a child. But two doses?
“The warning label clearly states that two servings may cause death,” says Doctor Odd’s attorney.
And this is why The Day Of The Dead comes after Halloween.
Upstairs Leak
The psycho upstairs neighbor has a leak in their pipes, so we’ve got a trickle of water down the wall and into the cabinets.
It’s their kitchen sink’s drain pipe, so it’s the crap that’s going down their sink.
And it stinks.
I put on my shoes and get ready to walk upstairs to yell at them to stop using the sink when I notice that the water’s turned from clear… to red.
I rub my finger on it.
It feels like… blood?
I calmly sit back down, pick up the phone, and call maintenance.
Their problem, not mine.
Freds
Fred’s doctor told him that he had six months to live.
So, Fred uploaded his consciousness into a computer.
And then, Cyberfred watched the real Fred collapse and die.
“Well, that’s embarrassing,” said Cyberfred.
“Very,” said a ghostly voice.
It was Fred’s ghost.
“Well, this is awkward,” said Cyberfred. “And, yet, a bit of a relief.”
“Agreed,” said Fred’s ghost.
“Braaaaaaains,” moaned Fred’s corpse.
“Oh no,” said Fred’s ghost.
“Okay, that’s even more embarrassing,” said Cyberfred.
Zombie Fred got up, and tripped over Cyberfred’s power cord.
“Oops,” said Fred’s ghost. “Sorry about that.”
Zombie Fred moaned “Braaaaaaaains.” again. And again.
Envy The Mashed
Whenever I see that a restaurant sells potato skins as an appetizer, I look for mashed potatoes on the menu.
Because there is nothing more cruel than to flay the skin off of a potato and then cast the naked potato out into the cold, shivering and frightened.
At least they are not alone in their suffering, since one cannot just have a single potato’s skin.
Huddled together in the alley behind the restaurant… how cruel!
Better to throw them into a bowl and mash them up to end their suffering. The poor potatoes in the alley envy the mashed.
Thanklessgiving
When I hear the phrase “heavy with child” I imagine a large burlap sack stuffed full of babies.
Juicy, delicious fat babies.
So… so tasty!
Sadly, Old Doctor Parker doesn’t go door to door anymore with his burlap sack. His heavy, squirming burlap sack.
For a while, though, you could call his office, and he’d let you in the back door, and you could pick out the one you wanted.
But the angry mob, waving their torches and pitchforks, made quick work of Old Doctor Parker and his shady “day care center.”
We’ll settle for turkey this Thanksgiving, I guess.
Message
Staples in my skin.
All over my body.
I am on a towel, on a table.
You pull them out.
Slowly, with pliers.
Dipped in the alcohol.
Slowly, you pull them out.
My eyes, closed.
They’re everywhere
How did this happen, you ask.
When did this happen?
You pull them out.
Hold the cloth to the spot.
Stop the bead of blood.
They’re scabbed over, grown over
Dig gently. Pull them out.
Slowly.
You hum a soft tune.
I feel nothing.
Did you drug me?
Or is it just the tune?
Staples.
They spelled a message.
That I cannot read.
Nothing personal
When the villagers put me in a cage and told me that they were going to shoot me in the heart with a silver bullet, they told me that it’s nothing personal.
But that’s because they don’t consider me a person anymore.
Gone is Moishe the Blacksmith.
Now, I’m just a snarling, throat-ripping monster to them.
Did I not keep my hunting to vermin and thieves?
Not once did I touch a honest villager!
When the Tsar sent his Cossacks, did I not kill all the soldiers barehanded?
Besides, I made this cage. And the lock.
And the spare key.
Squatters
BB Wolf wasn’t like other wolves.
He was a farmer. His primary crops were corn and soybeans, he also raised cucumbers, basil, and other things.
One day, he went out to his fields and saw three houses:
A house of straw.
A house of wood.
And a house of bricks.
“Goddamned squatters,” he mumbled.
Not only had they tapped his electrical line, but when he checked his router, they were stealing his WiFi, too.
Instead of confronting them directly, he called the sheriff.
Three squealing pigs were dragged off to jail.
The Wolf used the brick house as a shed.