Archive for the ‘Weird Tales’ Category

BRUTE BOSS | Pork Chop by RPstaff on DeviantArt.com

War brought hunger. Brannon abandoned the battlefield, walking north through wilderness, eating roots, mushrooms, his boots.

A clearing. Brannon saw smoke, smelled pork.

A cottage. He knocked. A grandfather answered. “Skin and bones you are.”

“Had none to eat.”

“Come. Sit. I’ve plenty, raising hogs for soldiers.”

“How’d you feed hogs during famine?”

Smiling, he brought sizzling chops to the table. “The lord provides.”

Brannon gorged. His belly ached. He farted. “Too much too quickly.”

Grandfather pointed. “Outhouse’s out back.”

Brannon strained over the stinking hole. Grunts echoed below. Tusks rose between Brannon’s legs.

Grandfather heard screams. “The lord provides.”

Battle Hamster Goes South by ursulav on DeviantArt.com

The hamster leaped from his cage and sank his teeth into Harold’s neck. Harold screamed, and tried to pull Fluffy away.

“Damn you, Fluffy!” Harold screamed. “I’ll teach you to bite me, you fuzzy bastard!”

He ran to his gun locker and pulled out a shotgun.

Fluffy’s eyes widened.

“Hey, wait man,” he muttered through a mouthful of neck. “Let’s talk about this!”

“I’ll see you in hell!” Harold replied.

He pointed the gun at Fluffy and fired.

Fluffy jumped out of the way. Harold shot himself in the face.

The hamster packed his suitcase and left.

You try to see no Evil… by Abz-J-Harding on DeviantArt.com

Emma gripped her cardboard sign. Her stomach groaned. She needed a new begging spot.

She found the perfect place—a concrete median at a busy stoplight. A cross and wreath rested there; Emma kicked them into the road and took their place.

Cars passed, all day, while she begged—alone, sixteen, and pregnant.

The sun sank. A shadow stretched across the asphalt. Emma gasped. The earth surged and split. Hot air rose from the chasm. Emma screamed. Terrible hands dragged her into the pit.

The ground closed. The Caretaker returned, with a cross and wreath to mark her grave.

Imperceptible recitation by Blossom-Lullabies on DeviantArt.com

Anise, black peppercorns, cinnamon, dill.

Beth whispered as her dirty fingers nudged the bottles wedged in the narrow cabinet.

Extract of … something.

Tears salted her lips.

Allspice, basil, coriander, fennel, foxglove, garlic, hellebore.

“Elizabeth, bring me those spices!” Her stepmother’s voice stabbed at her from the kitchen above. Beth bit her lip, glancing at her brothers confined to the dank cellar. “This stew won’t season itself!”

Arsenic, bay leaves, cardamom, cloves, ginger, hemlock, mustard, oleander, thyme, turmeric.

“Now, you useless stupid girl!”

Cyanide, strychnine.

Beth clutched six vials at random and trudged up the steps. Now sounded about right.

Monster Breakfast by The Despot

“Don’t play with your food, honey,” Lrglphmp gurgled.

“But it’s more fun when I gotta catch’em.” Hrglphx gave the scrabbling bipeds a poke. They scattered, clambering up the walls of his bowl.

“Hm, a bit underdone.” Lrglphmp leaned over and delivered a glob of corrosive mucus to her son’s meal. “Better let them ferment.”

“Boooorrring,” Hrglphx groaned as his playthings grew lethargic. “They’re better raw.”

Lrglphmp thrust a tentacle behind the salt shaker, snatching an escaped morsel. It screamed as she tossed it into her gaping maw. “You’re right, humans do taste better raw.”

office worker by ded-kat on DeviantArt.com

“Smertz!”

Oliver Smertz finished sharpening his pencil, then turned casually. Five temps in monogrammed Polos blocked the door. Wendell from H.R. stepped forward, pointing. “That’s my pencil!”

Oliver sighed. “Your point?”

Sneering, Wendell flicked the tip off Oliver’s pencil. “My point.”

Oliver turned away, placing his pencil back in the sharpener. Grinding and woody incense followed.

Grabbing Oliver’s collar, Wendell snarled, “Defying me is pointless!”

Oliver spun, shoving the No. 2 up Wendell’s nostril. Wendell screamed. Blood spurted as the graphite penetrated deeper. Temps scattered. Wendell collapsed, shuddering on the linoleum.

Oliver plucked a pencil from Wendell’s pocket protector. “Point taken.”

 

Crone by Chenthooran on DeviantArt.com

The door’s bell chimed, bringing the clockmaker’s attention to the boy walking in.

“Wanna buy this?” He proffered a battered timepiece.

She took it. “Where did you find this?”

“Twenty bucks.”

She adjusted her eye piece. Under the tarnish, twelfth century, her mark. The front door latched. The boy fidgeted.

“Are you hungry?” His eyes flickered yes. She pulled a cookie from a jar. He snatched it, wolfed it down. She offered another while polishing the silver. “Don’t take this personally.”

The boy dropped to the floor, withered to ash. She swept him up, then turned the shop sign “Closed.”

Laughter, the best medicine by VaggelisFragiadakis on DeviantArt.com

The doorbell rang. Betsy shuffled to the door. As she opened it, rank smoke billowed inward. On her doorstep, a paper bag burned.

“Oh dear.” She stomped on it. The bag burst, smearing her Dr. Scholl’s in dog poo.

Laughter erupted from behind some bushes.

“Dadgum neighborhood boys,” said Betsy, wiping her shoes with a tea towel.

The next day, the doorbell rang. Betsy shuffled to the door and opened it. An open pit had replaced the doormat. She peered down the hole. Two boys wailed as spikes penetrated their intestines.

“Respect your elders, scoundrels!” said Betsy, closing the trapdoor.

Redneck Champion by paulorocker on DeviantArt.com

The sounds of whipping and torn flesh snapped in the dry air. The sun beat down upon the ranch, making a furnace of the countryside.

Bubba slapped a fly on his arm, smearing its entrails. He sniffed and licked his hand. “Mah turn,” Bubba grunted.

Bubba took the whip from Andy and went at it. A trail of red ran down the tree stump. Wind began to howl.

Lisa stepped out from the farm house. “Ya’ll whippin’ ‘melons agayn?”

Thunder rolled in the distance. Lightning flashed.

Lisa whistled, “Ya’ll sher whipped up a storm this taam!”

Bubba spat. “Darn tootin’.”

Bombay Beach Trailer by perry on DeviantArt.com

Bombay Beach Trailer by perry on DeviantArt.com

The old couch had never felt so comfortable. Lazing for hours, Judge Judy on, sipping PBRs. The noon sun shone through the window. He hummed happily. The trailer hummed back, then whirred, then rumbled.

“The fuck!?”

He shot up, scattering empties.

The aluminum walls folded like origami

He grabbed a cold one and raced for the screen door.

The floor pitched. His knees gave. The carpet split.

A funnel opened in the slanting floor.

The couch slid downward. He leapt on it. The floor gave way.

“Well, shit.” He cracked his beer and chugged as the earth’s maw swallowed him.