Tales of humour, whimsy and courgettes
“Of course,” said Glen, climbing out of the chest.
He looked at the diminutive form. This child with such a sweet smile, pale skin, red lips, and a voice so sharp it could cut steel.
“Shall we play again?” asked the child.
Glen nodded. “Yes, lets.”
Well, what else could he do?
Butcher slammed his cleaver into the board.
“I understand,” he rasped. “I was never meant to see inside.”
Deliveryman nodded. “Well, I’m sorry you did.”
Butcher handed Deliveryman the scissors.
Deliveryman grinned. Tongue on sale tomorrow.
~
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“It’s odd though,” said Stephi. “Not one other child.”
“Maybe trick or treat just isn’t a thing in English villages,” replied Dean.
They ushered their offspring to the next house. Knocking on the door, calling a cheerful “trick or treat!”
The door creaked open, revealing a trail of blood to a pile of empty sweet wrappers, waiting to be filled.
~
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“It was like this,” she said. “A lot like this.”
“Tell me,” he muttered. “Tell me about it.”
“I was hiding in the closet,” she replied. “I heard her close the front door. I was frozen. I was in a big armoire, so I didn’t think she’d find me so easily. But she just came up the stairs, into my room, and walked straight up to me, hiding inside.”
He whispered, “And then?”
She opened the door.
He screamed his last.
~
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He knew what a woodlouse was. They were crustaceans. They were brown in colour. They ate dead plant matter. He thought they may like wood, but he’d never seen a wood louse eating wood. He knew they had a hard exoskeleton and he knew they were more active during the night.
What he didn’t know was why so many of them were crawling out from under his fingernails.
~
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She’d always known he was pretty kinky. He bought her a new pair of shoes every date they went on. He griped if she wore socks, smalls or tights.
“Well I do like them,” he said licking the soles of her feet. “They taste good and look like porcelain.”
She squirmed. He smirked.
She knew what was coming next. She’d seen the hacksaw in the top drawer.
~
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Malcolm blinked into the blue light.
“Help me,” came a voice from behind.
Malcolm span around. Peering through the water, he saw a woman. Her skin bloated and rotten. Her hair floating sideways in the current.
“Help me,” she pleaded. He watched as she stood pulling rocks out of her pockets. They kept coming. Never ending, rock after rock.
“Please help me,” she begged again. He would have tried if the hands clutching his ankles had let go.
~
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She gasped as the tentacle slid around her stomach.
Her husband, that pitiful man, leaned over the top of the well. “Are you OK?”
“I’m fine,” she called back. After all, this was why she’d come here. She smiled as she felt the intense pressure on her stomach and the air leaving her lungs.
“Annie?” came a concerned voice from above.
“I’m fine,” she sighed back, as suckers formed on her fingers.
~
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The Tap Dancer’s Dilemma played again, blended with the thumping of feet above.
Gerald crashed out of his flat, almost forgetting his cane.
“I’ve had enough!” he screamed, as he stumbled up the stairs with haste.
“Shut that shit off!” he yelled, banging on the door.
So they did.
Gerald regretted this, because then all he could hear was the sound of them breathing.
~
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“There’s a lot of waxy, yellow build-up,” said Amid.
“It’s not coming off with water,” sighed Sam.
“Yeah wax is a pain,” grumbled Amid.
“Acid bath?” suggested Sam.
“If we must,” grumbled Amid. “I just didn’t want to damage this one.”
Sean let out a muffled cry through the sock as Amid and Sam lifted him into the tub.
~
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Little Fears 