Tales of humour, whimsy and courgettes
“Did you see that Freddie Mercury biopic?” asked Spectre.
“Yeah, I got a download of it,” replied Sprite. “I think it was a cinema recording.”
“What makes you say that?” asked Spectre.
“Because,” sighed Sprite, “I saw a little silhouetto of a man.”
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“Would you look at that,” pondered Spectre.
“They’re the smallest peppers I have ever seen,” said Sprite.
“Maybe we should find a blanket to put on them,” said Spectre.
“Good idea,” replied Sprite. “They look a little chilli.”
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“I sometimes think there’s a deeper meaning to our constant puns,” pondered Spectre.
“Yeah,” replied Sprite. “Some puns just can’t die.”
“I assume you heard about the ten-pun pile up on the M62 a few weeks back?” asked Spectre. “All of them survived.”
“It was a spot of luck,” said Sprite. “No pun in ten-dead.”
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“Wait,” cried Sprite, as Swamp Fiend began dragging her beneath the soil. “You don’t want to eat me! I was a pirate! I have scurvy and moles on my back.”
Swamp Fiend turned Sprite over. “Looks like they’re benign.”
“Count again,” replied Sprite. “I think there be ten.”
A squelch, a pop and another Sprite was gone.
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“See, this is why I cannot stand you,” grumbled Swamp Fiend. “You all think you’re funny and all of you are so unhealthy.”
“Tell me about it,” lamented Sprite. “Just the other day, I was tweeting about my bad posture.”
“Spinal tweets?” asked Swamp Fiend.
“Yeah, it was about a weak back,” smirked Sprite.
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“I cannot stand you, creatures, any longer,” growled Swamp Fiend.
“Why not?” asked Sprite.
“You infest every island you arrive on,” growled Swamp Fiend. “You’re like an infection.”
“Oh, I understand,” replied Sprite. “I hate it when infections invade my body without permission. It makes me sick.”
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“I said,” growled Swamp Fiend, “get out of my house.”
“I’m so sorry,” gasped Sprite.
“Did you not hear me the first time?” asked Swamp Fiend.
“Well, my doctor told me I was going deaf a few years ago,” pondered Sprite. “I haven’t heard from her since.”
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Sprite woke up, covered in mud. She took in her surroundings. Wildflowers grew in every direction, surrounded by trees, reaching up out of the swampland.
She tried pushing herself up, only to sink her hands into the bog. It was then she noticed a bunch of flowers with a pile of college books. It looked like they were studying STEM. Sprite chortled.
“Get out of my house,” boomed a voice from below.
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Story by Glen
Mal checked outside the door once again.
Nothing. The grass and brush were dead and the trees, if not dead, were dying. The bird carcass was still there, untouched.
He shut the door and relocked it, setting the chain, too.
It seemed like only minutes after he sat down in the comfy chair that it happened again.
The knob rattled and tried to turn.
Mal did not stir. Instead, he muttered, “I thought that there was nothing left alive out there . . .”
The rattling stopped. An equally soft voice replied, “If it helps any, you are right.”
The author of Knock is a long-term Fears’erer, Glen of Ask-De-Writer over on Tumblr. Cheers for the spookems man!
It’s three weeks late posting because I’m an idiot. I scheduled it for the wrong month and didn’t notice until Glen prompted me. Doh. Sorry, man.
Cheers to Kathy & Warren for the continued $10 Patronage. You can find me on Ko Fi, Patreon, Etsy, Amazon, Skillshare and Threadless.
“When I was a kitten,” said Cat, “my parents would often say “Excuse my French” just after a swear word.”
“My mum and dad said the same,” sighed Dog.
“I think all parents do,” grumbled Cat. “I’ll never forget that first day at school when my teacher asked if any of us knew any French.”
Oof, the poor kitty. This wee kitten came from the missus. Her art’s still super popular here. Please do say hello to her on Twatter at @DonnaMStrachan and you can nobble her art prints (including this kitty) from Society6 and you can buy her a cuppa on Ko-fi.
Cheers to Kathy & Warren for the continued $10 Patronage. You can find me on Ko Fi, Patreon, Etsy, Amazon, Skillshare and Threadless.
Little Fears 