Tales of humour, whimsy and courgettes
“It’s taken me so long to find you,” cried Jake. “I beg of you, Hornless, they say my son has weeks left to live. Please, help him.”
“You don’t have a son,” sighed Hornless.
–
Oooo, now that kinda works… Kinda… As with all art trading cards, Hornless is available for a fiver on my Etsy. Linky: littlefears.etsy.com
Cheers to Warren for the continued $10 Patronage. Want to support the Fears or nobble books, art and merch? Find me on Ko Fi, Patreon, Etsy, Amazon, Skillshare and Threadless.
“The eyes have,” cried the speaker. “The eyes have it.”
The members of the house remained quiet, unable to watch as wooden hands emerged from the front bench, dragging her in. She let out a scream, silenced as her throat turned to wood.
The speaker looked to the empty place on the bench where the Prime Minister had sat. The fallen ministers returning his gaze. “The eyes have it,” he sighed.
As with all wee cards this week, The original drawing of The Eyes Have It is available on Etsy for £5. Linky: littlefears.etsy.com
After three years of cocking up and Brexit, the unelected Prime Minister, Theresa May, has finally been forced out by her own party. There are only two good things about her tenure. First, it takes grit to stand up and give speeches with that many knives sticking out of her back. Second, she’s better than Boris Johnson, who’s poised to take her position.
Hmm, that’s not really good things is it? Oh well, another squatter evicted from 10 Downing Street.
For those outside the UK who may not get the ‘eyes have it’ reference. ‘The ayes have it’ is a phrase used by the Speaker, Mr John Bercow, during parliament after vote results.
Cheers to Warren for the continued $10 Patronage. Want to support the Fears or nobble books, art and merch? Find me on Ko Fi, Patreon, Etsy, Amazon, Skillshare and Threadless.
“I think bangs would look good,” remarked Steph as her scissors danced around Becky’s hair.
“Watch it!” gasped Becky as the scissors nicked her ear.
A rumble came from the basement. “Sorry,” sighed Steph. “They always get rowdy when they can smell blood.”
Shout out to the missus today for lending me a vampire illustration for this story. Once again, I was faffing about for a horror image and everybody loved her last painting, so hey, she’s back again this week. You can check her art out and say hello to her on Twatter at @DonnaMStrachan and you can nobble her art prints from Society6 and you can buy her a cuppa on Ko-fi.
Thanks to Warren for the continued $10 Patronage.
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Story by Anony Mole
The all-night theatre felt empty. Yet, behind the curtains lurked he who had witnessed every performance, heard every catcall, every boo. The applause. No Guy Fawkes, but still, a spectre bent on teasing emotions from the viewers. Fewer these days. And so the cravings grew, a drought having starved him. So much so that, at 3:33 am, he slipped forth, bared his talons and dug his way into the bowels of the young woman, her mate screaming at the sight. The mineral taste would do, for now.
Thanks to Anony Mole of anonymole.com for the, quite frankly, gruesome and visceral tale. I know some of you are eating your breakfast while reading this, and will absolutely love it. How’s that rhubarb on porridge looking, huh? Cheers, Anony!
Thanks to Warren for the continued $10 Patronage.
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The submersible reached the bottom of the trench. The trio cheered as the depth reading displayed 26,850 feet.
“We made it,” cried Raquel. “So few people have reached this depth.”
The cheering stopped when a voice came from the gloom outside, “you’re back?”
Shout out to the missus today for lending me a jelly painting for this story. I was faffing around with dark background jellies and Posca pens and it just wasn’t working. I went for a grumble to her about it and spotted her jelly painting on the wall. To quote those seagulls from Finding Nemo, MINE!
You can check her art out and say hello to her on Twatter at @DonnaMStrachan and you can nobble her art prints from Society6.
Thanks to Warren for the continued $10 Patronage.
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Story by Willow Croft
Be still, they scraped.
She could hear them.
No, feel them.
Communication pulsing through the plants.
Different stages of their growth cycling into synchronicity.
Scrape, scrape, scrape. Like nails on a chalkboard.
Durthi remembered the science charts from her primary school days.
Roots. Stem. Petal. Pollen. Pistil.
All done up in pastel colours.
Cheery hues that hid their fear. Their sadness. Their pain.
And their rage. Encapsulated in tiny golden grains of pollen.
She felt that, too.
No. She tried to scrape back.
Safe, they answered, unanimously.
Warmth flowed through the root system that encased her.
She saw what they saw.
A million billion human faces bent over them.
The pistils fired.
This week’s spooky-ooky-dooky collaboration is with Willow Croft of willowcroft.blog. Another longtime Fears’erer, blogger, author and pun-lover. Cheers for the spooky-ooky-dooky’s Willow!
Thanks to Warren for the continued $10 Patronage.
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Jane looked at the cake in awe.
“Now close your eyes, blow out the candles and make a wish,” said Rebecca.
So Jane did, and she kept her eyes shut until her father stopped breathing.
Original photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash. 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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Story by Aimer
A bump in the night,
It’s nothing, right?
Wind at the window,
Gusts at the door.
Shadows in the bedroom,
Were they there before?
An old farm house,
Creaking wood floors.
A musty bed
In an unused room.
A storm, mad rain,
Go to sleep, again.
A crucifix on the wall,
Across from the bed.
A voice in the dark,
A whisper in his head.
Have you been saved?
The shadows said.
Thorns on his head,
Blood on his ribs.
The pale figure moved,
First hands, then feet.
Stepped off the wood cross,
Floated down from the wall.
Sheets on the floor,
Feet on the stairs.
Heart pounding,
Door slamming.
Rain on his face,
He shouted back at the house.
Thanks, but I saved myself!
This week’s spooky Sunday collaboration was written by a regular in comments, Aimer of Aimer Boyz. Author, poet, odd-bod. Cheers for the spookies, Aimer!
Thanks to Warren for the continued $10 Patronage.
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