Of course, there were a few he hated more than the others

Blood Bank Beauty

Source: Blood Bank by Thomas M. Malafarina

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

Orobas born in human form

By: Lothar Tuppan

Tags: Halloween, Letter, Satan

Source: Halloween Memories by Lothar Tuppan

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

Chicken of the Corn

By: Lothar Tuppan

Tags: Dark Humor, Horror, Mystical Symbols, Rural Folklore, Supernatural Revenge

Pain. He knew nothing but pain. Until he opened his eyes. At that point he also knew confusion.

He was on his back, spread-eagled, with each limb tied firmly to stakes in the ground. It was a hot summer day and he could see the leaves of the corn stalks swaying around and above him.

His entire body ached as if someone had punctured him thousands of times with wooden golf-tees. God, he missed playing golf. Maybe after starting the new job out west, he’d be able to afford to play again. He could feel that he was bleeding all over but he couldn’t lift his head up enough to see. He was too weak from loss of blood.

He remembered pulling over on the long and nearly deserted two-lane road as he drove across Iowa to take a piss. He vaguely remembered seeing a strange statue, next to the corn rows, shaped like a rooster with two-heads and four wings. It had strange symbols carved on its chest. Symbols that had made him angry, even though he had no idea what they meant. He remembered pissing on the statue to show his disgust.

He had no recollection of what happened after he finished emptying his bladder but, as he heard the sound of angry clucking, he knew he had made a mistake. A very serious mistake.

God knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men

By: Mark Slade

Tags: Church, Evil, Occult

Source: When Is a Duck, Not a Duck? by Mark Slade

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

We threw his body overboard

By: Edgar Rice Burroughs

Tags: Asea, Murder, Overboard

Source: The Land That Time Forgot Pt 4

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

Remember me?

By: Tyson Blue

Tags: Bar, Hitman, Prosthetic

Source: The Bitch is Back By Tyson Blue

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

Hold on now, Gina. You can’t go blaming me for this.

By: Thomas M. Malafarina

Tags: Marriage, SUV, Urns

Source: Urns by Thomas M. Malafarina

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

…my health was quite unnecessarily robust.

By: E.F. Benson

Tags: Gothic, Hallucination, Victorian

Source: Between The Lights by E.F. Benson

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

She had been walking ceaselessly on the Camino Real

By: Lothar Tuppan

Tags: California, Church, Enigmatic

Source: The Camino Real by Lothar J. Tuppan

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

A new business plan

By: Mick Rose

Tags: Business, Coke, Hookers

Source: The Charity Stripers by Mick Rose

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

In the Church of the Dragon

By: Robert W. Chambers

Tags: Church, Dark, Music

Source: In the Court of the Dragon by Robert W. Chambers

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

The cans had corroded and begun to leak

By: Tyson Blue

Tags: Bleach, Crime, Money, Stains

Source: The Money Plot by Tyson Blue

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

Where predators now lived in fear

By: Thomas M. Malafarina

Tags: Carpenteresque, Killers, Post-apocalyptic

Source: The Death Patrol By Thomas M. Malafarina

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

The Heir of Otranto

By: Horace Walpole

Tags: Castle, Gothic, Prophecy

Source: The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

Midnight Snacks & Movie Macabre

By: Susan Elizabeth Gray

Tags: Dracula, Movie, Vampire

Source: Beloved Father by Susan Elizabeth Gray

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

My uninvited visitor was a fox

By: Brian Warf

Tags: Black, Fox, Snow

Source: A Dead Ringer For A Black Fox: Part 1 by Brian Warf

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

Jimmy Doesn’t Believe in Black Pete

By: Chauncey Haworth

Tags: Bedtime, Black Pete, Brothers, Christmas, Folklore

Source: Black Pete: A Christmas Tale by Chauncey Haworth

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

The Blue Before the Black

By: Eric J. Guignard

Tags: Clouds, Sky, War

Source: Yōkai of the Rising Sun By Eric J. Guignard

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

Doubt of the real facts is inevitable

By: H.P. Lovecraft

Tags: Cosmic, Lovecraftian, Mythos

Source: At the Mountains of Madness Chapter 01

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

Biting Into the Big Apple

By: Tyson Blue

Tags: Blood, Hitman, Vampire

Source: Edible Friend by Tyson Blue

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

A Buzz and A Scratch

By: Chauncey Haworth

Tags: Library Terror, Paranoia and Fear, Psychological Horror, Shadowy Threats, Supernatural Suspense

Source: The Librarian by Chauncey Haworth

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

What on earth are you doing out there?

By: Marie Belloc Lowndes

Tags: Horror, Murder, Victorian

Source: The Lodger: Chapter 01

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

Then they had cauterized the wound

By: David R. Solomon

Tags: Medical Horror, Survival, Wilderness

Source: Fear by David R. Solomon

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

Beep-beep

By: Mark Slade

Tags: Murder, Roadrunner, Satire

Source: The Roadrunner Murder

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

I know what you desire…

By: Mark Slade

Tags: Fantasy, Royality, Suspense

Source: The Queen of Death by Mark Slade

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

I didn’t give a fuck about anything

By: Paige Keir

Tags: Bubbles, Survival, Television

Source: The Unintended Consequences of Daytime Television

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

The Nemedian Chronicles

By: Robert E. Howard

Tags: Ancient, Barbarian, Conan

Source: The Phoenix on the Sword Chapter 1

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

Assassinated a small black cat

By: Paul B.D. Lynde

Tags: Bewitched, Satire, Weird

Source: Darrin’s Dilemma By Paul B.D. Lynde

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

The Sounds of Pity and Alarm

By: Algernon Blackwood

Tags: Cold, Crying, Horror

Source: The Wendigo Chapter 3

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

Whispers Beneath the Ice

By: H.P. Lovecraft

Tags: Horror, Ice, Lovecraftian

Source: At the Mountains of Madness Chapter 02

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

A really boring David Lynch film

By: Lothar Tuppan

Tags: California, David Lynch, Mosquitoes

Source: The Immortal Gas Pumper Boy by Lothar Tuppan

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

Fat hands fanning powdered breasts

By: Joel Townsley Rogers

Tags: Crime, Horror, Psychological Thriller

Source: Hark! The Rattle! By Joel Townsley Rogers

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

A Servant of Father Christmas

By: Chauncey Haworth

Tags: Brother, Brothers, Christmas, Father Christmas, Moonlight

Source: Black Pete: A Christmas Tale by Chauncey Haworth

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

A Look of Terrifying Joy

By: Chauncey Haworth

Tags: Horror Transformation, Monstrous Librarian, Suspenseful Survival, Terrifying Encounter, Unnatural Hunger

Source: The Librarian by Chauncey Haworth

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

The old lady had a favorite nephew

By: Marie Belloc Lowndes

Tags: Serial Killer, Shadowy Threats, Suspense

Source: The Lodger (Short Story) by Mrs Belloc Lowndes

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

Setting my Sights

By: Tyson Blue

Tags: Docks, Hitman, Murder

Source: Traffic Jam by Tyson Blue

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

Arthur covered their garage floor with a plastic tarp…

By: Thomas M. Malafarina

Tags: Art, Dark, Murder

Source: Art’s Work By Thomas M. Malafarina

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

The Lost Pocket of Earth

By: Edgar Rice Burroughs

Tags: Adventure, Lost, World

Source: The Land That Time Forgot Pt 1

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

It was always gentle, even when it was rough

By: Mark Slade

Tags: Bar, Detective, Windower

Source: Blood on the Tracks by Mark Slade

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

Echoes of Frost and Fire

By: Robert E. Howard

Tags: Barbarian, Conan, Dark Fantasy, Sword And Sorcery

Source: The Phoenix on the Sword Chapter 2

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

Southeast Across the Arctic Wasteland

By: Lothar Tuppan

Tags: Terrifying Encounter, trouble, Unnatural Hunger

Source: The Frozen Warrior By Lothar Tuppan

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

Half Awake, Half Dreaming

By: Robert W. Chambers

Tags: Gothic, Mystery, Mystical Symbols

Source: The Mask by Robert W. Chambers

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

The Blonde from Beyond

By: Thomas M. Malafarina

Tags: Alien, Seduction, Space

Source: Space Girl Returns by Thomas M. Malafarina

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

…her vivid dream burnt into her waking memory.

By: Chauncey Haworth

Tags: Bedtime, Horror, Shadowy Threats

Source: The Rogue Brainchild by Chauncey Haworth

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

I caught a glimpse of the man in black standing in the doorway

By: Tyson Blue

Tags: Cars, Hitman, trouble

Source: Incident on a Florida Highway (A Vignette) by Tyson Blue

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

BAT DICK!!!Or: Two Guys Running from a Bat Monster

By: Salt Dixon

Tags: bats, funny, monster, Suspenseful Survival, Terrifying Encounter

Source: Twisted Pulp Magazine Issue #29

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

No Go the Sloppy Joe

By: Lothar Tuppan

Tags: Alien, Dark Sci-Fi Humor, Surreal Survival, Virtual Reality Dystopia

It was in the third century of my exile into the virtual world assigned to me when I encountered the Lunch Lady.

My spinal fluid (the real meatspace stuff) was being harvested to add a choice “seasoning” to the food of our ultra-dimensional overlords. It turns out that I am part of the 3% of the humans that have rarified spinal fluid… I’m finally part of the elite! Yay!

They gave me a choice “life” to live while they milked me. It was part adventure story, part erotic thriller, and part music video. So it was a surprise when my living room turned into a high school cafeteria serving area.

“You are late again little Jimmy,” said a woman’s pinched mouth while her pinched eyes accused me. “No sloppy joe for you today. Just this pistol.”

I looked down and saw my small, child-hands holding some sort of ray gun.

“Now,” she said looking invitingly, “Make sure you eat all the food on your plate.”

I was suddenly and extremely hungry for whatever came out of that barrel. I just knew it would be the tastiest of treats. I put the barrel of the strange gun in my mouth, winked at the lunch lady, and pulled the trigger.

My meatspace eyes opened. I was in some sort of encounter suit with tubes and cables. I looked up and saw that the biological computer my suit was hooked up to was dead. It smelled like a rotting frog I found once.

I clumsily got myself out of the suit (it was going to take a while to get my strength and coordination back) and looked around.

Everything was broken and deserted and insectoid scientists, still wearing their chitinous lab coats, were dead around me.

What the fuck had happened?

I see those dog-faced assholes now!

By: Mark Slade

Tags: Engines, Post-apocalyptic, Tanks

Source: Rat and Miriam by Mark Slade

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

Only a fortnight, my Queen.

By: Mark Slade

Tags: Horror, Suspense

Source: The Queen of Death by Mark Slade

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

Vinny has gone nuts!

By: B.R. Stateham

Tags: Crazy, Murder, Phone

Source: Something Deadly by B.R. Stateham

He hated Mrs. Critsch, who would come in constantly complaining about pain and picking up enough pain meds to take down a thoroughbred; and some wine to chase it. Every week it was a new pain and a new prescription. Never once a nice word; never once a hello.

He hated little Toby Walsh, who would spend way too long looking at the fashion magazines while slowly squeezing the front of his pants. When the eleven-year-old was done sexually exploring himself, he would linger around the candy until he thought no one was looking so he could pop a few pieces in his pocket and run out.

There was Father Jessup, the priest that would lounge by the counter, disturbingly sucking on his Icee’s straw while watching that slut, Katie Carlson play pinball.

There was handyman Ted Kline, who was always out to seduce a wife while their husbands were at work, with his tan skin and premeditated lingering glare.

Ted’s current conquest was Mrs. Hathaway, the only real estate agent in the area, there to take advantage of people’s misfortunes as their houses were closed in upon by the bank.

Speaking of banks he hated Paul Theurber, who was always too on top of the rent, as though it was going into his own pocket. He’d always show up a day early with a warning.

He hated them all. The population of Richfield was about one hundred and fifty, and Lonny knew each and every one of them; and knew, in detail, how much and why he hated each and every one of them.

Of course, there were a few he hated more than the others

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