All Stories, Humour

Lucian Boneknitter and The Bandits by Austin Roberts

Lucian didn’t want to comply.

He didn’t want to climb off his horse. Take off his sword. Or throw his money pouch on the ground. He’d been searching for the petty varmint who had stolen his property all day under the scorching rays of a bitter sun. The search left him frustrated. His heavy black robes left him sweaty and tired. And, if he was being completely honest with himself, which he very rarely was, he would have to admit that he just wanted to go home and take a nap in his cool cave and forget the whole ordeal. But certain threats had been made, kingdoms put on notice, graves robbed, damsels abducted, so, unfortunately, he was rather beyond the point of simply stopping. In short, he needed his stolen parcel retrieved and a certain level of theatrics were required to do so.

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Fantasy, Humour, Short Fiction

The Adventures of Beezer and Barkevious by Leila Allison

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I heard toenails slipping on linoleum in the kitchenette off my office. Only Dogs create that sound; and sure enough, upon inspection, I discovered the “Baw Brothers,” Beezer and Barkevious, teaming to raid the refrigerator. I am guilty of leaving the fridge door ajar, so this situation happens almost constantly.

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Fantasy, Humour, Short Fiction

Wuthering GOAT by Leila Allison

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Meanwhile, “inside” a song playing in the fantasy multiverse….

A middle aged man dressed in late 18th century finery stood pensively at a window. It was late in the evening and he was gazing across the wily, windy moors at an ethereal, yet extremely familiar young woman in a fleecy white dress. She was singing (incredibly, accompanied by an invisible orchestra) and steadily progressing toward the window in an artistic dance. He heard his name in her song, “Heathcliff.” (The lyrics also contained some character observations that Heathcliff could have done without.)

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All Stories, Fantasy, Humour

Kingdom Collapse by Doug Hawley

On July 5 of 2033 Antarctic bases McMurdo, Davis, Casey and others reported earthquakes of 6 magnitude on the Richter scale. South Africa and Tierra Del Fuego in South America had minor tsunamis shortly after the earthquakes.  Helicopters flew to the suspected center of the disturbance near the South Pole.  What they saw was deeply disturbing.  An area of hundreds of thousands of square kilometers had subsided anywhere from a few to a hundred meters deep.  What appeared to be naked humans were slowly digging out of the steaming slush.  As the observers goggled at the scene, something like a red guided missile flew out of the depression so fast it was just a blur.  There was no safe landing place, so the helicopters which were short of fuel flew back to their bases.  When the film they had taken was released, the world observed a second odd event.

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Fantasy, Humour, Short Fiction

My Fair Juan G Starring Boots the Impaler By Leila Allison

I was watching the 1969 Science Fiction flick The Valley of Gwangi on TV last month. It was playing on the ancient Philco set that connects the PDQ network in our sister realm of Other Earth to my home realm of Saragun Springs. The film was the final Ray Harrhausen/Willis O’Brien dinosaur picture. The story involved a thirty-foot tall, psychotic Allosaurus named (brace yourself) “Gwangi,” who somehow managed to reproduce (apparently without a Mrs. Gwangi) and survive at a “Forbidden Valley” in Mexico with other unlikely creatures for at least 145-million years–without, mind you, attracting notice until 1969–that from a reptile with the brain power of a caraway seed.

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Editor Picks, General Fiction, Humour, Short Fiction

Week 460: Terminating The Tree With Extreme Prejudice and Welcome to the Holiday Rerun Fest

Fang and Rags circa 1972

Well here we are, Christmas. Today I choose to remember it well. My family used to include a Dachshund-Chihuahua mix named “Fang” who joined the team when I was in sixth grade (named after Phyllis Diller’s fictional husband). Fang was a fairly peaceful little guy but he hated Christmas trees. Every year he would attack the damn thing late at night at least once. His partner in crime “Rags,” a tiny Rat Terrier, would encourage Fang with little barks, but feign innocence when the light came on.

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Fantasy, Humour, Short Fiction

The Giant Clock Radio by Leila Allison

Prologue

A psycho doesn’t need to explain her actions until the trial begins. And even then it is optional. Thus the answer to all things “Why?” in my make-believe land of Saragun Springs is almost always a case of a shrug and the words “shit happens”–a concept that is a byproduct of Free Will. Still, everything sounds fancier in Latin, and telling someone “Stercore Accidit ” gives one an air of scholarship; the following is a case of Stercore Accidit if there ever has been one.

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Fantasy, Humour, Short Fiction

From the Files of the Alone Park Project By Leila Allison

Behold the little god of half-assedness

Officially nameless, Charleston’s “Alone Park” was once part of neighboring New Town Cemetery. “Once” because In 1973 two-hundred square feet of graveyard property was accidentally left out when chainlink replaced New Town’s original fencing. Upon discovering the error, the city council refused to cough up another cent for link-fencing, but it didn’t want an inch of their property left unconquered, either.

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All Stories, Fantasy, Humour, Short Fiction

billigitmania by Leila Allison

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It’s hard to ignore five shadows cast on your desk by as many hovering beings outside the window. I do not know if there is an achievable degree of determination to successfully ignore such a situation; if so, it lies beyond my level of sticktoitiveness.

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