eThis is a collection of odd short stories I wrote using prompts. Unfortunately, I didn't save the prompts I used in any way, so you'll just have to take my oh-so-reliable word for it.
Originally, this came from a "book" I wrote on a site called Writer's Cafe. I've omitted some of the stories I personally found to be lower quality, and I did edit some of the stories I've posted here, albeit in very minor ways. If you want to read every unedited short story in the book, you can find it here.
As always, with literally everything I post to Steemit, feedback of any kind is greatly appreciated.
A quick tip: three asterisks means a new story; one tilde means a scene change in one story.
***
“Why are you in my kitchen? Why is that on fire? You don’t even live here.”
“Calm down, Michael. I know what I’m doing.”
“Since when? I mean, look at you. Is that jam or blood?”
“Jam! Obviously jam! The blood is over there.”
“Keith, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Is it because I used the last instant coffee packet?”
“No.”
“Is it because I used your bathroom door as fuel for heating the cauldron?”“N- cauldron? What cauldron?”
“What, you thought this was it? There’s so much more, my friend. I had to use a cauldron because all of your pots are tiny.”
“Well, no. It’s not because of the cauldron.”
“Is it because of the cow heads? I swear, I still have no idea where those came from.”
“Oh, my sister works for a traveling slaughterhouse. I asked for them because I thought it’d be a nice treat for my dogs.”
“That’s nice. Why can’t I stay?”
“You got mud on the floor, Keith.”
“I also got mashed centipedes and baking soda on the floor, Michael. You’re going to complain about wet dirt? Really?”
“I’m not going to ask you again.”
“Fine, fine. I’m leaving. But you might want to turn the oven off. I kind of broke it, so I don’t know if it will turn off at this point, but I do know that if whatever’s in there keeps cooking, you’re going to forget about the muddy floor pretty quickly.”
“Lovely. Just go, already.”
***
“Honey, I’m home!”
Margaret’s heart skipped a few beats. Panicking, she threw the man’s clothes at him and motioned towards the window.
“Are you insane?! That’s a twenty foot drop,” he hissed.
“Margaret? Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine, Daniel! Just give me a moment, I’ll be down there!” Turning to the other man, she rolled her eyes and snarled, “Just get under the bed, then. I’ll get him to take me out for dinner. Once you hear the car start, it’s safe to leave.”
“Hon? I’m coming upstairs, okay?”
“Yeah, it’s fine! I just, uh… I’ve gotta clean this up.” Her eyes were thin slivers of rage burning his skin. “Get. Under. The. Bed.”
He quickly wriggled his way underneath the bed. She pulled the mattress skirt down in an attempt to keep him from being seen.
The bedroom door opened. Margaret sprang upright and waltzed over to her husband. “I’m sorry about that, dear. I knocked over a potpourri vase, and you know how much that annoys me.”
“Of course. I didn’t mean to sound paranoid. Did you check-”
Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no
“-underneath the bed?” Daniel got on his knees and peeked under the bed. The man already there froze.
Unfortunately, Daniel saw him.
Face ablaze, he pulled the man out from underneath the bed. Oddly enough, he was wearing ridiculously frilly
Renaissance clothes. “Margaret? What… who is this?”
“I’m Paul Derch,” the frilly man said reproachfully.
“What is Paul Derch doing underneath our bed?”
“Hiding,” Margaret whimpered.
“And why…” Daniel tightened his grip on Paul’s collar. “...was he hiding?”“Because I’m actually quite good at sewing but I hate your clothes and I don’t want you to be offended so I pretended I didn’t know how and this is where we’ve been getting all the money to eat out lately Daniel I’m so sorry please forgive me!” She rushed to him and wrapped him in a tight embrace, struggling to keep from crying.
Daniel was shocked, to say the least. “You mean…?”
“She sewed this shirt,” Paul replied, “and fixed the holes in these pants. Your wife is an excellent seamstress.”
“Oh.” Daniel let go of him. “So… you’re not having an affair with my wife?”
“With her? Ugh! Look, man, I said she was a good seamstress. I never said she’d make a good partner. I don’t know how you tolerate her.”
In a strange twist of fate, Paul Derch ended up exiting through the window, just as Margaret had originally intended for him to.
***
Again, she got the distinct impression that she was not being heard, and this time she decided to do something about it. She needed their support, but they didn’t agree with her and in order to be heard, she had to violate one of her most strongly held principles.
Amelia pulled a handgun out of her purse and aimed it at one of the teachers. “I’m telling you, if I don’t get an A on this test, something very bad will happen to me. If something is going to happen to me, something is going to happen to one of you. Can I have an A now?”
“B-but you only got seven questions out of thirteen right,” Mr. Ferdancci whimpered. His distress was caused by the fact that the gun was currently pointed toward him. “I can’t, in good conscience, give you an A.”
Amelia gave an exasperated sigh. “Do you want to lose your kneecap?”
“Pish posh, Amy.” The speaker was the gaudy Mrs. Tustle. “You’ve got the aim of a blind penguin and the bravery of a CEO.” Her similes often made very little sense.
“I’ll do it,” Amelia replied, her voice quivering slightly.
“Sure you will! You know what? If you shoot me in the ear, I’ll not only have Mr. Ferdancci change the grade to an A, you’ll pass my class automatically, with straight A’s for everything.” Mrs. Tustle smirked a bit as she spoke.
Amelia cocked the gun and aimed for Mrs. Tustle’s ear. “You… you promise?”
“Absolutely! But you have to actually shoot the gun and get my ear,” she said condescendingly.
Amelia paused for a moment, then put the gun back in her purse. “You got me. I can’t do it.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” said Ms. Lopre. “Did you just put a loaded and cocked gun back into your purse?”
“Yes.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I need it for later. James hasn’t paid me back yet.”
“Put your purse on the desk.”
“No.”
Ms. Lopre pulled out a gun of her own. “Your purse. On the desk. Now.”
Amelia put her purse on the desk and ran out of the classroom, face pale and hands clammy.
Mr. Ferdancci shook his head. “I don’t understand what that fuss was all about. She doesn’t even go to this school.”
***
“Take a gander at these,” he said, dumping the burlap sack over my desk. Gems tumbled across my keyboard, splashed into my coffee, and assaulted my limited edition bobblehead.
“Kenneth.”
“Ethan.”
“Why did you do that?” It took all of my willpower to keep from throwing him out of my office. It was the fourth time this week that he had done this, and I was getting really tired of picking tiny peridots and sapphires out of keyboard crevices.
“Because I believe sharing is caring. And I care about you.”
“For the last time, this isn’t going to get you a raise, Kenneth.”
“But I’m such a hard wor-”
“No,” I snapped. “Just… no. If you need the raise so badly, why don’t you just sell all of these gems you keep dumping on my desk?”
“I stole these from a bunch of different companies, so I can’t do that.”
I stared at the precious stones glimmering in my coffee. “You’ve been giving me stolen jewels in the hopes that I’ll give you a raise.”
“Yes.”
I put two fingers on each temple. “I… I have to contact upper management about this, Kenneth. This is… this is unbelievable."
~
“Everyone, I’m sure you’re wondering why we’ve gathered you here. You see, at Faulty Enterprises, we expect great things from everyone associated with the company. But one man has stepped above and beyond the rest, ensuring him a place in the company’s history. Meet the new company president, Kenneth Toplern!”
The company went bankrupt a few weeks later. I can’t say I was surprised.
***
Marianne's eyes darted from corner to corner, trying to find something to talk about. The living room looked the same as ever, but by the way Fiona was acting, something new had surely been added.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed it.
"Is that... a spine?"
Nonchalantly, Fiona replied, "Yes. Yes, it is."
Marianne's jaw dropped. "Why is there a spine in your living room?"
"I dunno. I think it really compliments the couch."
Gaping like a fish struggling for air, Marianne managed to utter, "How did it get there?"
"Uh, I think my cat dragged it in." Fiona gave an affectionate smile to the drowsy calico napping on the couch.
"Your cat dragged a human spine into your house and you never questioned it?" Marianne was thoroughly convinced that Fiona was insane at this point.
"Peaches doesn't like being questioned."
Marianne never visited again.
***
Although the cave was not well lit, the warning signs at the entrance were clearly visible, but it would have taken a much smarter man than Richard to know what all those symbols actually meant, and a much less reckless one to restrain himself from entering the site anyway.
Inside of the cave was the perfectly preserved corpse of an elderly woman. At least, he had thought it was a corpse. The eye sockets were empty, the hair and nails had grown to triple and quadruple the lengths typically found, her dress was partially moth-eaten and no movements could be seen.
Those above reasons were why Richard screeched like a little girl when the lady offered him a cookie. It looked like a perfectly good chocolate chip cookie. But the lighting in the cave was rather poor, and our dear Richard was unable to anticipate the following events.
He somewhat shakily accepted it, trying his hardest to avoid hurting her feelings. After all, she seemed like a very nice, if lonely, old lady. He bit into the cookie...
...but he immediately sensed that something was wrong.
Those weren't chocolate chips.
They weren't even raisins.
They were cacao nibs.
He spit it out and dropped the cookie on the ground. "Ew, ew, ewwww! It's so bitter!"
The woman was aghast. "I... I worked so hard to make those cookies."
Richard froze and began to whimper. "I didn't mean to hurt y-your feelings, ma'am."
"You ungrateful brat! You didn't have to throw it on the ground and ruin it!" Furious, she tripled in height, her features growing darker. The walls of the cave went from brown to a deep, eerie blue as she towered over Richard. Swirling around the cave ghoulishly, she began making hissing sounds.
Richard soaked his pants in piss.
She stopped just in front of his face, almost adding a brown stain to the yellow one on his pants. Almost, but thankfully for him, not quite. "Don't you know, sonny..."
Her nose pressed against his. "...that it's very rude to waste food?"
They stared at each other for a few seconds, Richard doing his best to keep from bursting into tears and having a panic attack. "Y-yes. I... I-I kn-kn-know that. I'm... s-s-s-so sorry, ma'am... so sorry! I'm so sorry!"
Within the blink of an eye, the old lady returned to her chair, back to her original form. "All right then, dear. As long as you keep that in mind. I did have a sign hung up to remind people of that, but we all have off days. You'll visit me again, won't you?"
Richard took a deep breath, then said quietly, "Yes, but... do you have access to a washer?"
"Oh, did you soil your pants? Here, I'll turn away. Just take them off, toss them in that corner and pull a chair out for yourself while I go wash them for you. Can't have you going out with such a stain."
That day, Richard learned two very important things.
- When offered food by a nice old lady, if you don't like it, politely explain why and give the rest back.
- When approaching a cave with a sign you can't understand, always go inside.
Number 2 later led to him being mauled by an angry bear.
***
"I... I can't believe this, James!" Carolyn waved the paper in his face. "Just look at this!"
He snatched the paper out of her hands. "The drink of the gods, the most coveted liquid, sweet ambrosia, drank by Zeus himself, is comprised of... wow."
"Do you know what those ingredients create?" She stood by his side, tapping her foot impatiently.
"Looks to be some sort of carbonated drink..."
"It's not just any carbonated drink," she spat. "It's cherry 7-Up!"
"What?!"
"I know, it sounds insane, but it's true!"
James jumped out of his chair and ran into the conference room, where five other archaeologists were carefully studying the original artifact Carolyn had decoded. They looked up and saw the paper in his hand.
"So, James, I'm guessing Carolyn figured out what this thing said?" Zachary tapped the slab carelessly as he spoke.
"You guys aren't going to believe this! Take a look!" James shoved the paper in Zachary's face. The smarmy scientist's smirk slipped off of his face. White as a ghost, he handed it to his coworker.
"Is... is this serious?"
"Yes! I can hardly believe it myself, but this is definite proof that 7-Up did, in fact, produce a cherry-flavored version of their drink!"
***
Gerry woke up in an inn, feeling slightly dizzy. He remembered being afraid of something… running away from it… and asking if it was okay to take a nap…
The sight of the twenty-meter tall lizard with black flames lining its spine outside of the window reminded him of what he’d been running from.
“Hello, Gerry! All rested up now?” It smiled as kindly as it could.
“Um… I just need a bit of breakfast and we can get back to what we were doing.”
“Excellent! I don’t mean to pressure you, but please don’t dawdle. I need to crush your body into tiny pieces for a stew garnish,” it explained. “I’m having a party tomorrow and I want everything to be ready.”
Gerry nodded slowly. “I’ll, uh… I’ll get on that.”
The monster took a seat outside of the inn, waiting patiently.
The sun set.
The sun rose again.
The sun set again.
The sun rose again.
The sun set again.
This time, it was the monster that rose. It looked very upset.
“Hello? Gerry? You made me miss the party. You’re being very inconsiderate right now!”
Gerry didn’t answer.
It lifted the roof off of the inn and peered inside. Gerry was nowhere to be found. Angry, the monster stormed away.
Gerry paid the innkeeper a few hundred dollars and scampered out of the cellar.
***
Melissa rubbed her chin. "So, let me get this straight, Mr. Lucifer."
The formless mass of shadows produced a low, echoing chuckle. "Please, call me Satan."
"Okay, Satan. I pick a game, and if I win against you in that game, my wildest dream will come true?"
"Absolutely."
Melissa narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "Can I make the game up?"
"Of course. I'm not exactly a stickler for strict rules."
"Awesome! We're going to play 'Be Melissa'. To win, you have to be Melissa Thornbridge as fast as you can."
Upon hearing the sentence finish, Satan did his best to shapeshift into Melissa's likeness. However, before the
head was even formed, Melissa shouted, "I win!"
"No fair," Satan whined. "Those rules are stupid."
"You said it could be any game," Melissa replied nonchalantly. "Now get me a grilled cheese sandwich!"
"A... what?"
"You heard me. I want a grilled cheese sandwich!"
Satan paused for a moment, then disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving a grilled cheese sandwich in his absence. Delighted, Melissa picked it up and took a bite, only to recoil in horror and spit it out.
The cheese was... Velveeta.
In the depths of hell, Satan laughed, enjoying every second of poor Melissa's misery.