Humor
A North Pole murder
Detective Biggles surveyed the area. The room had been thoroughly trashed and laying there in the middle was the body of Scampy, manager of the electronic toy division. Biggles walked over to where the elf lay. The elf’s back was riddled with sharpened candy canes. The detective leaned in to get an even closer look. “Hm,” he thought to himself, “very sloppy, amateurish… this was someone’s first stab at murder.” Officer Nettles sidled up to the detective. He had taken Nettles under his wing, sensing real potential in her as a detective on the North Pole Police force. “What do you see, Nettles?” Detective Biggles asked. “I think Scampy was targeted,” she posited, “but this was clearly not a professional hit.” Biggles allowed himself a smile. “Good eye,” he complimented as he stood back up, “Now what?”
By Lloyd Farley4 years ago in Fiction
“THE EXORCISM OF MICHAEL BLACKBURN”
“THE EXORCISM OF MICHAEL BLACKBURN” The feeling that ran through my body as I read the invitation I had received was that of excitement and anxiousness. It was a formal birthday party invitation from my good friend Ben. Back twenty five years ago receiving a hand delivered card with details of a birthday celebration was the equivalent of being invited to the Rothschild's Surrealist Ball, you were in, and you were elite. You knew you could live free from the shackles that our parents placed on us even if it was for only an afternoon. But this party would be different, this party was a sleepover.
By Doug Radmore4 years ago in Fiction
The Senator's (ex) Wife
Ellie Worthington woke with a start. She was vaguely aware of a loud, relentless noise. She was acutely aware that her head felt like an anvil was sitting on it. “Ooooh,” Ellie said as she placed her palm to her forehead. As she sat up, it became clear to her that the noise was her phone. She would have ignored it entirely if the ringing wasn’t piercing through her like a hot knife through butter. Ellie fumbled for the phone receiver on her nightstand.
By Erika Williams4 years ago in Fiction
Yes, I want your investment but I’d also appreciate you helping me recapture these clones.
Thanks for meeting with me today, and I apologize for running a little bit late. Better late than never, right? Unless you’d rather I’d have not shown up at all, what with the clones escaping in your lobby.
By Briane Pagel4 years ago in Fiction
A Funny Thing Happened on My Way to Hell Today: Chapter 1
I Get a One-Way Ticket on the Southbound Train This wasn’t quite how I imagined my promotion. Oh, it’s not like I was picturing champagne and cake and party hats or anything. As a matter of fact, I wasn’t expecting much at all. Promotions don’t tend to go noticed in my line of work. Usually, though, it means you’re heading to bigger and brighter things. Higher pay, a better office, prestigious assignments, greater recognition, that sort of thing. Not for me.
By Jo Carroll4 years ago in Fiction
Greta’s Story, told by an Extraordinary Cat.
My story in the beginning was very traumatic, very much so. Somebody dumped me in a trash can, leaving me terrified. Can you imagine it, me, in a garbage can. I still shudder thinking about it. Some stranger found me and took me to a place where other animals, of dubious character lived.
By Dianne Neal4 years ago in Fiction
Drug Trip
He wasn’t supposed to be here. And not in the good, wedding-crasher kind of not supposed to be here way, either. Like - the universe, capital U Universe, or god or God or even just Instinct had a very specific plan for him, and it most certainly did not include him being here. He knew that because his body was screaming at him. His body said “TURN AROUND!” but his legs wouldn’t listen. Okay, wait. Maybe it was his mind screaming that, then. His legs were part of his body. But anyways - not good. Legs unresponsive, aside from one of the most aggressive tremors he’d ever witnessed. It would’ve almost been fun to watch the way his knee was trembling, if it weren’t such dire circumstances. Like he had to give a speech in front of class with no pants on and he’d forgotten all his words and someone was live-streaming the event while the world mocked him and also someone had a gun to his head saying “say the speech exactly as we discussed or I’m going to cancel your existence,” type of tremble. But there was no time to appreciate the involuntary leaps his knee was taking. There was just: panic. “James,” the voice in his head said, “not good.”
By Peter Moran4 years ago in Fiction
The Mousekeeper
Edgar Allen Stevens had only been seen once since getting out of prison three months ago— entering a pet store downtown, and wearing a sombrero of all things. Only one person saw him leave— Melissa Muscustos, who also happened to know exactly what he had purchased, and exactly how many.
By Liam McCloskey4 years ago in Fiction
