j-p-z has once more come up with the idea, over on the Harry Potter (No spoilers!) thread.[1] A good cause will end up getting at least $250 and we all get some winter wordplay.
Hereâ??s an idea, in honor of everybody lately satisfying their Harry Potter jones, and it being all wintery in Oz. (Weâ??ll see whether or not this gets any tractionâ?¦)
There hasnâ??t been a zany contest around here for a while; so, for the benefit of some charity, I propose the â??VERY SHORT SPOOKY STORY CONTESTâ??. I will donate $25 per entry for the first 10 entries (up to $250â?¦ anyone care to back the next batch?) of a very short spooky story that conforms to the following rulesâ?¦
1. Each story must be in the generally-understood â??spookyâ?? genre. It can be scary, or it can be cheeky and amusing, but it has to employ typical macabre elements like haunted castles, ancient crypts, spirits, vampires, surprise endings, etc.2. Each story must be exactly eight (8) sentences long. The sentences can be of varying length, but none are to exceed 10 words in length. (so, maximum length is 80 words.)
3. In the story, at some point or another, you must use 5 out of the following 6 words: granite, shadow, heartbreak, eye, echo, key.
4. Parodies of established writers in these genres are vigorously welcomed, but wholesale original imaginative flights are esteemed, too. Sci-fi counts as spooky, so long as it has a weird or macabre flavor.
5. Charity donation will go to either MSF/Doctors Without Borders, LP itself, or Sisters of the Road (homeless outreach). If there is a clear winner by general acclamation, the winner can decide where the money goes. If not, itâ??ll just be sort of muddled and confusing until one charity is picked.
Put your sorting hats on, grab your kooky pixie wands, and let â??er rip!
Wot he said.
1. Spoilered HP7 discussion is happening over at my place, and various other spots online that I link to over there.
Hee hee. Thanks for the extra space, tigtog! There’s already two good entries over on the earlier thread, if anyone wants to look…
I think it’s only fair that, for rule number 3 (required words), derivatives are fine: echoed, shadowy, and so on, and you can get creative. In the interest of fun, I think compound words and words “enveloping” the required word are fair play, too (e.g. “bulls-eye,” or “monkey” containing “key”).
Have fun, folks! As Count Floyd used to say, “Aa-oo! Very scary!”
I think now I’m off to listen to “The Girl Who Lives on Heaven Hill” about 30 or 40 times…
“it has to employ typical macabre elements like haunted castles, ancient crypts, spirits, vampires, surprise endings, etc.”
Does Phillip Ruddock count, or is he too scary?
It was an unusually dark and stormy night. Shadowy late November clouds echoed thunder across the sky. A key turned, and the election hall door opened. All eyes turned to look at the leader’s granite countenance.
“Men and women of Australia, we have suffered many election heartbreaks. But victory in Bennelong has given us the sixteenth seat.”
The faithful exulted, just as the army opened fire.
“Naive fools”, smiled Howard, “… now they shall feel my wrath!”
Stop it or you’ll all go to ePurgatory
or
Dr E and Mr E
A Cautionary Tale of Epistemological Narcissism…
“You’ve met your nemesis, Mr Emmessem – blogscreen connects to screen-scanner…”
“Eye wouldn’t do that if eye were ewe, Dr E-…”
“SILENCE…(ahem, spellcheck/grammar…off)…screen-scanner connects to automatic keyboard…”
“I warn you, it’ll
never endall end in heartbreak, Dr Ec-…”“My avatar will LIVE – me, me, ME, cybermassdebating forever, automatically! How I’ve yearned to upload my sentient being like this! Farewell, shadow flesh…adios, Emmessem…prepare for Op Ed redundancy! Mwah-hah-hah…click…BEHOLD, I AM BECOME THE IMMORTAL DR ECHOoooooaaaaaaaarrrrrrgggggggghhhhhhhhhnechoooooooooo
youvemetyournemesismremmessemblogscreenconnectstoscannereyewouldnt
dothatifiwereewedreSILENCEaheamspellcheckgrammaroffscreenscannerconnectstoautoma
tickeyboardIwarnyouitllneverendallendinheartbreakDrEcMyavatarwillLIVEMemeME
cybermassebatingforeverautomaticallyHowI’veyearnedtouploadmysentientbeinglikethis
FarewellshadowfleshadiosEmmessemprepareforOpEdredundancyMwahhahhahclick
BEHOLDIAMBECOMETHEIMMORTALDRECHOoooooaaaaaaaarrrrrrgggggggghhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhnechooooooooooyouvemetyournemesisMremmessemblogscreenconn
ectstoscannereyewouldntdothatifiwereewesilenceaheamspellcheckgrammar
offscreenscannerconnectstoautomatickeyboard…[[etc to infinity...]]
* * *
JPZ, you didn’t specify a word length limit, right…? (Pure hell trying to get the para breaks right. Hope I haven’t screwed it/your template. Can someone fix if I have?)
“Daddy, you out there,it’s me, daddy, but your secretary won’t let me talk to you. You still boxing, daddy?.
Do we post here or in the other thread? Ahh, will go for both. Used all words and no derivatives for kicks. Here ‘tis:
Her tombstone – an echo of heartbreak etched in granite. He makes the sign of Horus’ eye. He makes the sign of the thrice-slain bull. He kisses the straw doll, lays it on the grave. In its belly – ambergris, a needle, semen, iron, a key. He says the words. He waits. He waits for a shadow to swallow the moon.
I’ll try a funny one if I get the time.
Jess hiding in the shadow panted shallow breaths.
The bone had been pointed, she was doomed.
Eddie Mac dragged the evil pointing bone along the granite. Clack it went, and then an echo ‘clack’ returned. The heartbreak of the boning was hard enough to bear. The taking of the key to the studio painful. But the evil in the eye of the boner, terrifying.
Doomed, nothing more certain, a slow painful death by media.
It was a rainy looking Saturday.
Like a menace, a granite sky hung over head.
Normally he would have gone playing with friends.
But not today, as little Timmy Jones had owls.
And for some reason they were very quiet this evening.
With key and chocolate, he walked to the barn door.
His eye against a crack, looking in, he screamed!!
The chocolate bar was all that was found of Timmy.
Dark, pitch-black, eyes adjusting. Ancient spirits swirl and confuse. Shadows of heart-break dim the senses. The moon peers cautiously from a distant horizon. Ethereal, gaunt ghosts again appear. Slender echoes of arms long past. Pale pink granite boulders take pallid shape in misty moonlight.
I stumble, I blink, legs wobbly, suddenly sit. Focus, dammit. Where am I?
Fumble in pocket, too drunk, fukkit, can’t find my keys!
Oh fuck, a ghost.
Report to Science Ministry on unexplained granite artifact.
Beyond a shadow of doubt, it’s billions of years old.
It displays highly skilled workmanship; this is key.
The artwork does not echo any known human past.
This is hardly surprising, since it was found on Mars.
But one detects the artistic eye of… well, a dog.
Frankly, the carving depicts a war between dogs and cats.
Henceforth, at home, I shall treat Mr. Cuddles rather… carefully.
It is there even on the brightest days. A shadow moving across the plain. An echo of your most painful heartbreak. The unspeakable glimpsed from the corner of an eye.
The screaming begins faraway, quickly joined by neighbours, friends, children. I sink like granite, paralysed beneath the torment of thousands. How long will this one last? It always feels like forever.
SCENE III. A committee, on th’ global warming alarumism
Thunder and lighting. Enter CLAVIUS, a chair-bloke, from the stage Left (Frankfurt School).
Clavius. O, I have passed a miserable night
So full of fearful dreams, and ugly sights!
Either there must be civil strife in heaven,
and the granite under us echoing,
or else our tax-eating cause is ruin’d!
I wish that prosperity would mellow
And drop into the shadow mouth of death,
Damn’d heart-breakingly in the luvvies’ eyes.
Exit, pursued by a Southern Right whale.
Ghost (to Moderator): So, I’ve got a comment moderated.
If spam filters be the mustard of life,
Play it, Sam. We’ll always have Paris threads.
My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word,
To please the lascivious auto-filter,
If its revengeful heart cannot forgive
I offer here only odd punctuation,
Please, let them pass through ad’min’is’tra’tion.
Heartbreak was Smithson’s fate. The shadow of his dark doom o’ercast his gloomy eye. Philoctetes’ granite tomb was the key to his revived happiness. Invoking Poeas’ son’s spirit his soul’s sole salvation. To the dusty deep, then, but with an eye on the prize. Conjuring, abjuring, enduring, he seeks his love’s revivification. Will the muttered incantations suffice? Will they unlock the deathly gate? He chants. A snake rises from the grave, poised to strike!
*after the manner of Stoker…*
NB: Stoker doesn’t write well, but floridly and sometimes incomprehensibly, except in Dracula. Try reading The Lair of the Lost Worm for an example.
A lot of excellent stories so far! Thanks to all who contributed. I think we’re past 10 entries at this point, so we’ll just make it an even $300, for luck. Since there’s been no voting but a bunch of interesting stories, to save fuss I’m going to chuck the concept of a winner, and just declare that the donation goes to Sisters of the Road, which provides healthy (and dignified) meals to homeless people, as well as counseling and training.
Oh, and plus they also provide outreach services to… WEREWOLVES!
I had reason to discuss Werewolves earlier today when I had to point out that they don’t mix well with Vampires. I cite Underworld as evidence!
Aa-oo! Hey, very scary so far, right kids? I mean, you had, well, scary ancient dogs making inscriptions on Mars, and… and…
Oh alright, alright, so it wasn’t scary. You think this is easy, kids? I’d like to see you try it! They, they send us these things in bulk, they come in great big… canisters, and… well, it takes all day long to sort through and… sometimes I even have to work through my lunch break…
Look, I promise, next week will be scary. Just, just leave me alone for the moment. I have a really bad headache. Okay?
“I think we’re past 10 entries at this point, so we’ll just make it an even $300, for luck.”
Bravs, Japzter.
Been a bit busy lately so came into this late. But what the hell, itâ??s still for a good cause â?? even if itâ??s only my ego now.
The Craft of Love
â??I write my dear sweet John overlooking such drear fens. My ancient decaying family house seems haunted by whispering shadows. Was I drawn back by the terms of the legacy? Or by dark and eternal ties of restless ancestral blood. Now I hear the damnable echo of sucking footsteps on granite. My fate-appointed brideâ??s gelid eye peers through the bars. Unhuman hands fumble with the key to my cell. Oh God! That monstrous regiment of womenâ?¦ the unnamableâ?¦ look away!â??
Clive Barker of India.
â??Damnit to hell, you foolish listeners of just so tales. Maximum hellraisers were carved from thunderstruck Hindu Kush granite. Like the Rakasha, miscreant spirits never under lock or key. One night they stuck shadows like pins into my eye. I have the report of what happened next, carefully evidenced. It silences malicious echoes by proving I was demon possessed. But Delhi will still break my neck with a rope. Even though we sent my family on first to welcome me.â??
Oh fuck this sentence of 10 word sentences. Letâ??s boogie.
The Golden Bowel
â??When I am confronted with my pallid and anemic imitators, I feel not so much heartbreak, assuming of course that you regard that sturdy muscle beating in our chests as the key to how I uncannily turn the echo of my ages into the acoustics of literary cathedrals yet to be erected, but more a granite conviction that no one else will ever quite make even their devoted admirers crack the shits about eldritch syntax quite so much as I.â??
No need to donate anything more jpz on my behalf. Iâ??m tithing my bit in other ways. Unnamable ways.