Month: July 2015

The windowless room was lit only by a dim, flickering radiance from the crystal ball in the center of the table. Probably a candle underneath, though Willie Forbes. Then, as he leaned a little closer and examined it through squinted eye, yep, it’s a candle alright, he decided. He looked about quickly to make sure that no one had seen him misbehave. All eyes were closed, all ears seemed to be straining to follow Madame Rowella’s monotone chant. Willie fought back a yawn. He had only come here to humor his old mother who had gotten it into her head a few days ago that she must contact his father’s spirit.

So Willie had picked a name out of the phonebook and arranged a seance for an outrageous sum of money. He hoped that his mother wouldn’t make a habit of this nonsense. The Rowella woman was as ugly as a dog, too. She looked like a witch, he thought, which is probably why she can charge all that money — she looks convincing, right down to the wart on her nose.

Willie couldn’t figure out why his mother would want to get in touch with his father anyway. They had never gotten along — his father hadn’t gotten along with anyone. He used to call Willie’s mother ‘Poopsie’. What a laugh! That old crow look more like Poopsie the Poodle than anything else.

Willie hadn’t gotten along with his father either. In fact, it was Willie who had arranged that little hunting ‘accident’ that had killed his father last fall. Last year at this time they had had a great big funeral. What a waste! They shoulda just dumped that bum in some hole in the backyard. There were a lot of tears, but it was the best thing that had ever happened to his mother and him. That drunk was just wasting away whatever money his mother had managed to save.

At that time, Willie had still considered his mom attractive and had hoped that she’d get remarried to some rich old geezer, but she kinda just withered away to the senile old woman she was today. It was all his father’s fault. Hate built up inside of him just like it had in the days before he had killed his father. Looking at his mother now and thinking about the way her mind had gone, Willie would have wrung that old goat’s neck if he were here today.

Along with the hate came a touch of fear. What if there were something to this seance bit? What if his father’s spirit did come back and told his mother the truth? Naw, all that was for the movies. None of that stuff happens in real life. Besides, his mother would be too senile to understand anyway.

Madame Rowella’s chant had increased in intensity. She said with a chill in her voice: “He is with us now.”

There did seem to be something fluttering about the room, dimming the ghost-light from the crystal ball. Clever, Willie thought, trying to cover his fear. Then suddenly, something gripped his throat.

Mrs. Forbes heard a choking sound from her son. “What’s wrong, Willie?” she asked with concern in her voice.

A pause.

“Nothing, Mom.” Willie’s voice said in the darkness.

“Shhh.” warned Madame Rowella, but the rest of the evening went without incident.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Forbes. I thought I had contact there for a moment, but then — nothing.”

“It’s quite alright, Madame Rowella. I’m sure you did your best. I had felt the need to summon my husband, but now that need has passed.”

“I won’t feel right unless you allow me to refund your money. I…”

“No, I wouldn’t think of it. Now I really must be going.”

Willie got her coat. “Yes, come along, Poopsie.” and, arm in arm, they walked to the car.

Second silly story alert, this one perhaps written when I was a little older. More old stories here.

One day, the Krebly decided to leave its home in a dark cave near the marshes and venture out into the world. It packed up all of its belongings and put them in its pockets (it had very few belongings and very large pockets) and set off on the road to adventure. The Krebly had only been walking a very short time when it chanced upon a beaver constructing a dam.

“Whatever are you doing?” asked the Krebly, eyes looking every which way (it had many, many eyes).

“Building a dam.” replied the beaver without looking up from its work.

“Whyever are you doing that?” inquired the Kreby with genuine interest.

“I–I don’t know,” the beaver said hesitantly. The beaver appeared thoughtful for a moment, shrugged its shoulders, smiled apologetically and said, “Well then, I guess I’ll be going.” and go it did, leaving the dam half finished and the Krebly looking confused.

The Krebly decided to return home and, along the way, found the beaver lying dead — its face very blue and its tiny hands clutching its chest.

“Well, well,” said the Krebly because it couldn’t think of anything better to say, but felt that something should be said. It then returned to its cave and, to this day, has not left again.

MORAL: Stay away from Kreblies. They are carriers of many lethal communicable diseases.

I’ve stumbled across a couple of very silly stories from when I was young.

“…and then when I look around, I don’t see anyone looking at me! Doc, I can’t take this anymore.” Beads of sweat glistened on Walter Dott’s forehead as he spilled forth his recently-unbearable troubles. “It’s just like that paranoia that you read about. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being followed and watched. It’s driving me mad.”

“Calm down Mr. Dott. Your problem is shared by thousands of other people across the country. There is some controversy though as to how it should be treated. Each psychiatrist has his own notions, but I believe that you will find my methods most painless and helpful. Through hypnotic suggestion, you will believe that you’ve confronted your pursuer and found him harmless and eventually nonexistent. Now here we go — you are relaxed, your limbs are growing heavy, your eyes are closing, closing,…”

Doctor Bergen wasn’t a doctor. In fact, he wasn’t even human, but a dying man’s delusion — as were all of Walter Dott’s surroundings. For in reality, he was on far planet, in a meat freezer, his mind slowly dwindling away into nothingness as his naked body was gradually being frozen to flavor perfection.

The Dott family had lived on a secluded island in the South Pacific and, one by one, they had been snatched by carnivorous Antarians and whisked away to their distant world to serve as exotic food for the ruler of the planet.

During this freezing process, the victim senses external stimuli in a limited way and weaves these into the inevitable hallucinations that a dying brain will conjure up.

The royal Antarian cooks had been having some difficulty in having the meat ready at the proper time. Either the flesh did not keep, eventually rotting away and making a horrible smell, or the meat was too frozen, or too tough from weeks of frightened struggles in efforts to avoid the cooking pot. Finally, the cooks had thought of this slow freezing process with the human still alive. This seemed to work — though there was a greater chance of a premature turning of the meat at unexpected death than there was of overfreezing. But experience had taught the cooks that constant surveillance was necessary during the entire process. There was reason behind Walter’s madness. The cooks had discovered that:

A watched Dott never spoils.