Tales of humour, whimsy and courgettes
“This is not what I meant,” growled Spectre, “and you know it!”
“Well I’m not taking it back,” sighed Sprite, putting the tortoise in a chefs hat onto the kitchen counter.
“I’m with Sprite on this,” said Yuffie. “I mean, you didn’t specify a brand or anything when you asked for a slow cooker.”
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“I’ve just seen the police knocking down Black-fish’s door,” sighed Blue.
“Oh no,” gasped White. “What happened?”
“Once the door was down, they went inside and began singing ‘Every breath you take,’” replied Blue.
“I see,” pondered White. “So it was a sting?”
Shout out to my new Patreon, Clare London of clarelondon.com and thanks to Warren for the continued $10 Patronage.
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Story by Cyranny
“Hit me again, man!”
The old neon lights flickered annoyingly, giving a cheap stroboscopic feeling to every move the barman made, behind the counter. Bolt pushed his empty glass on the bar.
“If I keep the refills coming, you’ll get totally hammered. You know that, right?”
Bolt’s stare back was probably intended as a clear request to shut up and fill his glass, but since the bar tender didn’t show any intention of reaching for the scotch bottle, Bolt mumbled…
“That would be the plan. Unless you suddenly have scruples?”
The barman laughed, and his very white teeth blinked like a Cheshire Cat disco smile.
“And what is the occasion, if I may ask?”
Bolt frowned, still waiting for his booze.
“Remember the red head girl I offered a ride home, last Friday?” The barman nodded. “Well, I gave her a ride, home. I nailed her. “
The bar tender finally reached for the bottle on the shelf.
“Did your wife….?”
“Yup, she found out. I am a terrible liar.”
The man poured him a double and gave him a sympathetic look.
“Oh, Bolt… I am sorry.”
Bolt downed the drink, and handed his glass for another.
“Yup, I’m screwed.”
This week’s Sunday collab was written by Cyranny of Cyranny’s Cove. Pretty sure y’all know Cyranny by now. A long time Fears’erer, prolific blogger and scribbler of words.
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“Could someone give DCI Lily a call,” asked Reala.
“Sure,” replied Lucy. “Something up?”
“I think Sprite just stole my anti-depressants,” grumbled Reala.
“Darn,” said Fuen. “I hope he’s happy with himself.”
I didn’t find any particular phobias of pills, although there’s a lot of people with a fear of swallowing pills. I did discover there’s a medication phobia known as pharmacophobia. A fear of pharmacological treatments. That’s gotta be a bit of a bother to have.
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The corvid sat in the tree outside. Peering through the window. Crows, ravens, rooks and magpies assembled underneath. They’d peer around the curtains, always looking for the televisions.
He left the curtains open and TV on to see if they’d get bored and leave him alone. They sat outside all night. Watching the static and listening to the white noise. Only moving on, when they’d received their instructions.
For all the Fuen’isms I’ve written on this website, she’s never been in a horror/weird fiction story. Funny thing. As a crow spirit, I have a lot of scope to shift her to the weird fiction side. It’s just never occurred to me to do it before.
Do you know what has occurred to me? Putting her on a t-shirt, and I’ve put her on loads over on my Threadless store. Need a link? littlefears.threadless.com
Currently with free shipping, just copypasta the following code: FREESHIP4197cca8e
Thanks to Warren for the continued $10 Patronage.
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“She hasn’t spoken to me all week,” sighed Lucy.
“Oh dear,” replied Yuffie. “What’s happened?”
“She got mad at me because I didn’t open the car door for her,” grumped Lucy.
“Is that all?” pondered Yuffie.
“Yeah,” said Lucy. “I just panicked and swam for the shore…”
If you’re going we’re going to go dark with a pun, we’ll go Lucy dark. If you love our Lucy, you might like to know her portraits available on the Little Fears Etsy store: littlefears.etsy.com
Thanks to Warren for the continued $10 Patronage.
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Story by Lauren
How do you overcome the darkness on the path less traveled when there is no one around. You can see that this path is overgrown and not many would dare follow this path.
We all have our deamons to fight, we all have our memories to fall back on, nevertheless what happens when the path less traveled is so dark so overgrown that you can not see your memories or feel the deamons.
You can only feel the darkness seeping into your reality, into your mind and your thoughts.
This week’s Sunday collab was written by Lauren of Life Inside BDSM. A prolific writer of naughtiness. Thank you for the spookems, Lauren!
Thanks to Warren for the continued $10 Patronage.
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“Deer your puns are awful” cried Sprite.
“Hey,” said Deer, “there is a fine British art to telling a good groaner.”
At that moment, the past and the future approached from opposite directions. Their paths crossed right where Deer and Sprite were standing.
The future bumped into the past, they turned to face each other, growled and postured in a grumpy fashion, then walked away up different paths.
“Wow,” said Deer, “that was tense.”
Sprite whined.
Oh, I loved Deer. A callback to her first appearance and one of my fave esoteric puns. She was in a few stories from my very first series of stories (featured in January) and never really came back. Reckon she looks right against a sunburst of Lemon Yellow for this weeks #Colour_Collective.
Her portraits also available on the Little Fears Etsy store: littlefears.etsy.com
Thanks to Warren for the continued $10 Patronage.
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“What’s wrong now,” sighed Serpent.
“I can’t stop singing Tom Jones songs,” sighed Red. “The doctors said I had TJOCD.”
“What’s that?” asked Serpent.
“Tom Jones Obsessive Compulsive Disorder,” sighed Red.
“Oh dear,” replied Serpent. “Is that common?”
“Well,” grumbled Red. “It’s not unusual…”
Hah! Take that to the face, readers! A Tom Jones pun, direct from the 80’s!
The 1480’s of course… He’s that old right?…
Oh god, so am I…
Please excuse me while I have a minor crisis…
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“You’ve got to help me!” whimpered Red.
“What’s wrong?” gasped Serpent.
“I think I’m a moth!” squeaked Red.
“Why would you run into a theatre to tell us that?” asked Sprite. “You should have gone to a doctor.”
“I know,” cried Red. “I just saw a light on…”
The fear of butterflies and moths is called lepidopterophobia. I wonder what the general squawking and flapping of arms is called when a big moth enters the room and blats about. Moth-dance?
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