Tag Archives: dark humor

Five, Maybe Six

Jeremy stared at the bread, horrorstruck. It was the fifth heart.

Maybe the sixth.

Last week, he’d gone to a fortuneteller and somehow a seven-of-hearts had gotten stuck in the tarot deck. The fortuneteller gamely forged ahead, declaring he would die after seeing seven hearts.

Now he’d seen five—maybe six: that cloud had either been a heart or a camel.

Jeremy finished making his sandwich and left for work. Stepping outside, he heard a screech of metal. He looked up just as the heart from a new erotic cake bakery sign bore down.

It wasn’t a camel, he thought.

 

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Dear Aunt Hattie…

Dear Aunt Hattie Letter

I refolded the yellowed paper and after slipping it back into its crinkled envelope, I set it back against the gravestone. As I stood up, I saw a chinchilla staring at me from the top of a gravestone twenty feet away. Its eyes seemed to glow in the dying twilight. I’d never seen one in the wild before.

The sun sunk below the hills and the cemetery was plunged into darkness. I bolted for my car, every second dreading to hear tiny, skittering footsteps on the path behind me.

 

 

 

 

 

chinchilla gif


The Tireless Pirate

Everyone knows that the squeaky wheel gets the grease and a pirate that doesn’t yell “Avast!” every now and then, or at least swing his cutlass around, is likely going to be ignored.

It was a busy day at the tire garage to begin with. Pete called in sick again, one of the machines broke and the customers just kept coming. Around 10, the guy walked in, dressed like an extra from Pirates of the Carribbean 6: Jack Sparrow Takes Manhattan.

“I need new tires for my ship,” he said.

I frowned. “Ships don’t have tires.”

“Mine does.”

“Well, okay then.” I pulled out a form. “What’s the make, model and year?”

“Make?”

“Who made it,” I said slowly.

He wrinkled his brows, thinking. “Spain?”

“Okay . . . Model and year.”

“A brigantine, around 1802.”

“Gotcha. Your name?”

“Alec Greenbeard.”

“Okay, just have a seat, Mr. Greenbeard. We’ll get right on that.” Just then I got a call and I put the form on the desk.

I did look once but the manufacturer laughed at me when I asked for a lookup on tires for an 1802 Spanish brigantine. After that, I was too busy to worry about it and Mr. Greenbeard just sat there, waiting patiently. It was easy enough to ignore him. Soon he just seemed to fade into the décor.

A couple months later, the janitor found me. “You remember that pirate?”

“No.”

“The one who wanted the tires for his ship.”

“Oh crap! I forgot about him. Where is he?”

“Maybe you should come into the waiting room.”

copyright Al Forbes

copyright Al Forbes


Chillin’ in Alaska

This was inspired by the photo prompt and also because we just got a fresh blanket of snow last night. Hopefully I’m a bit more prepared than the girl below.

Chillin’ in Alaska

Ramsey cursed. Who knew that Alaska in the winter would be so cold? She trudged through the snow, icicles forming on her Ray-Ban sunglasses and looked for a Four Seasons. Even a Marriott would work.

There was nothing but trees.

It was all Google’s fault. She had woken up two days before just hating the world and everyone in it. She needed to get away so she had searched for the place with the lowest population density in the US. It had said that Alaska had 1.3 people per square mile, but that was BS because she had walked at least a mile and hadn’t seen anyone.

She dreaded seeing the 0.3 people.

Her feet were frozen and she was ravenous. “I’ve never been this miserable in my life,” she said out loud. She had to tweet about it. She pulled out her phone.

No bars.

What was the point of being miserable if nobody knew about it? She had to go back, if she could just find her tracks. She set off, going back, and started recording a video to post later.

“Hey friends! Ramsey here. Just chillin’ in Alaska. Wish you were all here!”

It was dark and getting colder. There was a growl in the woods somewhere behind her.

“That had better not be the 0.3 people!” she yelled.


When Life Gives you Lightning

This story is dedicated to my friend Amy, who has been getting picked on by the Universe lately. Cheer up, it could be worse.

[*]

      [*]

My car shook with a massive thunderclap as the man walking a little ways up the road was suddenly and violently struck by lightning. I slammed on the brakes and was preparing to call 911 (or the morgue) when he got up and shook himself slightly.

“Hey! Hey you!” I called, getting out. “Are you hurt?”

He looked over, muzzily, I thought. “No, I’m fine.” Actually, he sounded resigned more than anything.

“Good. I mean, dang! Are you sure?”

He started to walk towards me. “It happens a lot. Hey, do you have a quarter?”

“Heck, I’ll give you a whole dollar,” I said. I kept looking for signs of damage but he looked fine.

“No, just a quarter, please. When this happens, my mouth tastes like pennies. I like to suck on a quarter, just for variety.”

With his monotone voice, I couldn’t tell if he was joking, so I gave him a Tic Tac. Maybe I was just happier handing him something non-conductive. He accepted it with a nod.

“So, what do you mean by ‘happens a lot’?” I asked.

“I get struck a couple times a week,” he said, sucking on his Tic Tac, like a scurvy sailor sucking on a lime. “More when it’s cloudy. Actually when it’s stormy, my town hooks me up to the grid. It blows the transformers every time, but our mayor’s not that smart.” He shrugged.

Meh.

   Meh.

“And you’re really okay?” I said, unable to move past that basic point.

He looked at me for a moment, then shouted, “Okay? Of course I’m not okay! Do you know how lonely it is being a man who attracts lightning? No kid wanted to play on the jungle gym with me in elementary school. And girlfriends? Forget about it! I actually do like long walks on the beach, but I’ve never had one. I’ve only had short ones, followed by a trip to the hospital for whoever I’m with. Do you know what that’s like?”

“No,” I said, with perfect honesty. “Are you okay physically though . . . ?”

“Physically, I’m fine. Doctors have warned me that it might cause lowered intelligence, but that’s baloney. I’m at least as smart as anyone I know.” He stopped suddenly and licked his lips. “Hey, that quarter you gave me was pretty good. Do you have any more?”


Drowning Day

tub

I have to do it today. I’m just too sad to continue.

First I draw the bath, lukewarm. The next step is harder, rounding them all up and herding them up the stairs. They move slowly, listlessly. A few are crying. I look at these misshapen homunculi and although in the past I would almost feel a touch of pride when talking about them, now I feel nothing but disgust.

They’re clustered on the bathroom floor, not trying to escape, just standing there. A few are staring off into space. One is banging its head slowly against the wall. Another is trying to buy something with an expired credit card on a non-existent phone. Sad, really.

I take a deep breath, grab the closest one and with a quick movement, heave it into the tub. It’s not actually as heavy as I thought. I hold it under the water, watching the bubbles rise up, watching the last jerks of life escape that wretched body. When it’s done, I feel better and I grab another one. After ten minutes, there’s a pile of sodden carcasses on the floor by the laundry hamper and I feel fantastic.

Only a few remain when the phone rings. It’s my friend, Jeanie. “Hey girl, what are you doing?” she asks.

I wipe my hands on my pants. “Just drowning my sorrows.”

“Oh sweet. I have a pack of those myself. I’ll be right over.”


I Killed Rapunzel – Friday Fictioneers

copyright Sandra Crook

copyright Sandra Crook

I Killed Rapunzel

I killed Rapunzel.

The hair, it finally got to her. Some say it was the five hours of brushing a day that sent her mad; others, that her conditioner was cursed. All I know is she started strangling people.

She got five cops down on Brown Street; broke their necks with a single tug. Nothing there when I arrived but five corpses, and a single, 90-foot strand of hair.

I finally got her with a poison-tipped comb. No reward; they just handed me a pair of scissors.

Now what am I going to do with thirty bales of flaxen hair?

 


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