Dani's Shorts 4 Page 7

  Trial? The stranger bent down over him and tutted.

  "Are you wondering why you're here? Mmm? Are you? Well, Frank, we don't mind you humans making stupid rockets and satellites, or equations like your Drake Equation in your quest to conquer and understand the universe, but pointing a 25 meter dish at our sun is well out of order. No one likes to be pointed at. Take him away."

  He struggled as they picked him up and felt his body frazzle as he entered the teleportation beam. Realising the implications of all this, he wondered who he could tell?

  Grudge 13 - A Right Piece of Work

  (surviving the rain storm without a shelter, a belligerent raccoon, one half dialogue, one half description, story must be centered around the bubonic plague)

  Bumping into this guy was like rain sent from heaven, though the safe was still heavy. Talking of rain?

  "Why did we stay outside in that damn storm without any shelter? I'm drenched!"

  "We had to make some distance. Besides it's good air...did...did you feel that?"

  The guy dropped the safe and put an ear to the ground, coming back up muddy. He was one trunk short of an elephant. Josh let go of his end and sat down on the cumbersome thing.

  "Nope."

  "Must have been me, then. Sorry, I'm a bit jittery 'cause of this plague."

  He pointed a finger at Josh.

  "Is?is that a rat you've got there...hey!" A large creature jumped out of Josh's coat, clawing at the guy. "It's a raccoon! Almost bit my hand off!"

  Josh stroked his furry little friend. They made a good team, him stealing money, the other rummaging for food.

  "Yes, he's my pet. He's usually quite friendly."

  "I beg to differ, mate."

  "Whatever."

  Mate? Searching through his pockets for scraps to feed his belligerent raccoon, Josh came across some flowers.

  "Why are these in my pocket?"

  "They're posies, they are."

  "Nope, sorry, I don't get it."

  "Precautions. Didn't you see all those red crosses on the doors? And what about those kids back there?"

  "What about them?"

  The guy looked at him nervously as Josh scratched his head and neck, probably from the raccoon's fleas.

  "They were dancing in a circle and singing 'Ring a Ring O' Roses'."

  "That is strange."

  "Yeah, I thought so, too. You?can you?stop scratching?"

  Josh's raccoon showed its teeth and claws to the guy, causing him to take a step back.

  "Violent thing....oh, what? See? You made me start now!"

  They were all at it, including the raccoon, scratching away.

  "I can't help it..ah...ah...atishoo!" Josh sneezed, took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. The guy took another step back.

  "Bless you."

  "Thanks."

  "Are you coming down with a cold?"

  "Must have been the rain."

  "A bit of rain never hurt any...what's that?"

  This guy liked pointing. Now Josh's groin was the object of scrutiny. First time in a while.

  "What's what?"

  "That!"

  "What?"

  "That thing!"

  Josh looked down. There was a larger than usual bulge in his trousers.

  "I thought you'd never ask." He smiled and gave a wink.

  "I hope you're just pleased to see me, 'cause?"

  "Why, of course I am...but I feel a bit sick at the moment."

  Josh coughed and spat out some blood on the ground. Then he scratched a bit more.

  "Stop scratching!"

  "I can't help it!"

  "Stop...oh no, you've got it!"

  The guy was now slowly walking backwards, eyes and mouth wide open.

  "Yeah, baby, you know it...ah...ah...atishoo!"

  "You've got bubonic plague!"

  "Yeah, baby, I...wha...what?"

  "Scratching, sneezing, lumps down...down there!"

  "What? Lumps? Well, now you come to mention it..."

  "Ahhh!"

  Screaming his head off, the guy ran away through the mud, arms waving about madly.

  "Oi! The safe? Don't you want your share of the money?"

  91 (Steven L Bergeron Challenge) - The Master and the Master

  (Carnegie Hall, Prostate Cancer, facial hair, barbershop quartet)

  (All 4 elements in ONE WORD....1st ever!!!)

  Zappa.

  (...and now the 500 word version...)

  "Who are you?" Frank turned back to his guitar, playing the riff over again, stopping, picking up his pencil and scribbling down more black notes on the music staff paper. The intruder closed the door and with the aid of his dressing room mirror, Frank saw the man standing by the coat hanger. "Well?"

  "Oh, don't mind me. I'm just here to offer you the deal of a lifetime."

  "MGM already gave me that, thanks. It stank."

  "This one won't. I can promise you fame and fortune, girls, drugs?"

  "I don't do drugs. There's the door, I'm busy."

  A knock at the door broke the conversation.

  "Ten minutes, Frank!" It was the Mothers debut, and probably their only performance ever, at pompous Carnegie Hall. They'd somehow sneaked in with the line that Frank was "a very accomplished classical musician", though they'd be going out in a very different way.

  "What is it tonight, Mr. Zappa, more post-modern barbershop quartets? I saw the two monkeys outside." The intruder was referring to Volman and Kaylan, or Flo and Eddie, ex-Turtle members.

  "What's it to you? Are you some music critic?" Frank continued to compose, playing riffs and jotting down the notes.

  "And I love the facial hair. I've collected, sorry, met so many great people with facial hair."

  "I like it, too. Which is more than I can say for you. If you don't leave I'll call security."

  "Now, now, Mr. Zappa, no need to get all defensive. Stop a moment, think about it. This is a one shot deal, all you ever wanted, just like that."

  "Who are you? Some hotshot corporation dude? Go to hell."

  "Later. It would be a shame if I couldn't interest you in this fantastic opportunity."

  Frank sighed and fixed the strap on his guitar, getting ready to go on stage.

  "Look, I don't know who the hell you think you are, but you're starting to piss me off. I don't need your deal, I don't your great 'opportunity' and I don't need to see your fat ass face in mine anymore!" He went for the door but Frank was stopped by the intruder.

  "Fat ass face? I've been called a lot of things in my time, but 'fat ass face'? That is so?American."

  "Eat shit and die!"

  The intruder sniggered. An evil grin appeared on his wide face.

  "You'll regret you said that." The devil pointed at him and a deep, sharp, stabbing pain in his abdomen made him drop to the floor in agony.

  "Frank! Five minutes and we're on!" shouted someone from behind the dressing room door.

  "Twenty years, give or take."

  "You mothe...!"

  "Prostate cancer. You'll thank me later. It's surprising what a man will do when he knows he's going to die."

  With a twist of his hand, the devil released Frank from the pain, leaving a euphoria he'd rarely felt before.

  "Now, go play your arse off. The audience is waiting. As am I. Have a good life, Mr. Zappa."

  Weekend Quickie 71 - Hidden Within*

  (The feeling of being tired, winter thaw, hamburger patties, armed and dangerous little red riding hood)

  The winter thaw had begun, with snow melting from trees and small streams of cold, clear water flowing through the waking forest. His stomach growled and clenched.

  "Oh, what I'd do for a morsel of meat," he muttered. "I'd even go for a couple of rare, tender hamburger patties." But the hard winter had left him feeling tired.

  "Hey!"

  Through the naked trees he saw a figure of ruby red.

  "What are you doing here?" He saw the flash of red cross
his vision and made the decision to run, run as fast as he could.

  "You aren't wanted here anymore!"

  He knew that voice. A bullet whizzed past his ear.

  "The next one'll be your head!"

  No place to run?

  "You were warned before and now you're back to feel the wrath of my Colt M1911?"

  The undergrowth wasn't an option, he had to find help.

  "Owooooo!" He listened for a reply to the call as his attacker closed in.

  "Owooooo!" A distant, weak answer came forth.

  Now the real hunt was on, him on all fours, his assailant two. There was a chance that he might survive this torment, but his hunger grew with every step.

  "Don't think you can outrun me, you foul-stinking, flea-ridden old beast!"

  Bullets ricocheted off a tree. Without another thought, he dived into the wet, thawing undergrowth, falling through broken branches, spouting plants and rotten leaves.

  "Owooooo!" The call was close, strong and clear.

  "What the?!" His pursuer screamed. The forest turned red.

  Weekend Quickie 72 (Sunday Edition) - Ballet shoes*

  (You just found out that you won 1 million dollars, amputated ear, James Franco, ballet shoes - 100 word max)

  The doorbell rang, and I turned and opened the door.

  "Who are you?" I asked.

  The face and voice were strangely familiar, though the black Gucci cap wasn't.

  "Congratulations, dear, you've just won yourself 1 million dollars," smiled an unshaven leather-clad James Franco holding a large cheque in both hands.

  "I'm sorry, what was that?" I replied, surprised.

  "Congratulations!"

  "I won what?"

  James Franco handed over the paper, smiled again and left. Glancing from the large amount, I noticed his ballet shoes.

  "Oh shit, it's a dream." My amputated left ear had miraculously grown back and I knew the truth.

  Thanksgiving- The All Week Story- Part 1 - Reasby Fen

  (You must title your story. Your story will begin with the second letter of your middle name, and end with the street that you lived on as a child. You need to have three characters, and only three, and one must be a Dr. Frankenstein fan. The beginning of your story must take place in a rest area restroom. You need to use the following words: tea cosy, Neosporin, and cranberry sauce. 900 words)

  "I wouldn't use that stuff if I were you," mumbled the fat man standing over the next sink, looking into the dirty mirror and squeezing blackheads from his nose.

  "Excuse me?" My eyes were blurry from the pain, and I couldn't read the description on the small tube of Neosporin I'd been prescribed.

  "That'll only decrease your antibiotic resistance, that will." He finished the beautician job and started on readjusting his belt, letting his bellies hang over the top of his trousers and tucking in his shirt. "Just use some petroleum jelly, that'll stop the bleeding."

  "Yeah, right. And where in the hell am I gonna get some petroleum jelly at 2am in the morning in some deadend rest area with little or no facilities?" The cut on my forehead had opened up and blood was starting to run down the side of my face. The fat man winced and took one step away, but still continued to adjust himself, fixing his belt.

  "I have some," said a small voice from one of the cubicles. We both turned back to see a thin hand extending under a door with a grey tub of the stuff. "I always keep some for emergencies."

  I dreaded to think. The fat man gestured for me to take the tub from the now shaking hand.

  "Why, err, thanks?" I reached down and took it. Once spread over my forehead, the bleeding slowed. The jelly had a certain smell to it, though...

  "Can you pass it back, please? It's kinda of an emergency..."

  "Oh, sorry."

  The fat man wafted the air as I handed it back under.

  "So, what's your story?" asked the fat man, now back at the mirror. combing his hair back and smiling a lot.

  "Story? Do I need a story?"

  "You do with that on your forehead. I saw a patrol car in the car park as I walked in."

  I got his hint.

  "I, err, I got into a fight."

  "A fight?"

  "Alright, not a fight. A turkey did this. I hit it while driving and I stopped to see if it was alright..."

  "More like if it'd be good for Thanksgiving," laughed the fat man. He was interrupted by the flush from the engaged cubicle and the door squeaking open. We both gasped when we saw the man, a doppleganger of Gene Wilder's Dr. Frankenstein.

  "Holy crap!"

  The man's face softened and turned back to the toilet.

  "Not quite, though it was difficult. Thanks for passing the tub back, I really needed it that time." He placed the tub back into his lab coat's pocket and came over to us. He was a clear 6 inches taller than either of us.

  "Are...are you a doctor?"

  "Doctor? Hell, no! Why do you ask?"

  We both pointed to his clothes.

  "Oh, this getup! No, I've just been to a convention. I'm a horror fan, especially Frankenstein, or more to the point Dr. Frankenstein. Some people get confused, thinking Frankenstein refers to the monster where in fact it refers to the mad scientist. Oh, he was such an interesting man!"

  "Erm, it's fiction, you know," I replied.

  "Sorry?" The man held his face close and I noticed some red splotches on his lab coat.

  "Is...is that blood?"

  The fat man was already edging towards the door, trying not to make any sudden movements. It looked like we had made the same judgement. This man was crazy.

  "What, this? Oh no, it's cranberry sauce, it being Thanksgiving and all!" He walked past me and went for a sink, turning the taps and washing his hands. "So, what about this turkey?"

  "Turkey?" I asked.

  The fat man stayed by the door.

  "Yes, the turkey and your head. My, that is a nasty cut."

  "Yes, I suffer from symtoms similar to Hemophilia, so my doctor prescribed me this stuff." I showed the tall man my tube of Neosporin.

  "Don't use that, if I were you," he said.

  "I said that," retorted the fat man.

  "So?" The tall man dried his hands on his coat.

  "So what?"

  "The turkey?"

  "Oh." They weren't going to let me leave without the story. The tall man placed a wholly hat on his head, one that resembled a tea cosy, and went over next to the fat man, both of them leaning against the wall.

  "Right, erm, where do I start?"

  "From the beginning?"

  "Don't you have anything better to do than listen to me go on about a run-over turkey?" It was 2am in the morning, in the middle of nowhere, on a road less travelled, in the restroom of a disused and rundown rest area.

  "No," they said in unison. I was being steam-rollered.

  "For real?" They both shrugged. It was clear they weren't going to let me go without it.

  "Well?" asked the fat man.

  "Okay, okay, well, I was driving down this highway..."

  "Yeah, we got that, already."

  "...and I hit something. So, I got out and found this turkey. I thought, wow, what a stroke of luck, it being Thanksgiving and all..."

  "What did I tell ya?" the fat man spoke to the crazy tall man with a tea cosy for a hat.

  "...and I picked it up and carried it to the car. It wouldn't fit in the boot."

  "What have you got, an Aveo?"

  "It's not mine, it's a rental."

  "They all say that."

  Thanksgiving- The All Week Story- Part 2 - Reasby Fen

  (One of your characters must die.One of your characters must break out into song.

  One of your characters just found out that he/she is a shapeshifter. 300 words.)

  "Do you want to hear the story or not?" I clenched my fists and felt something happening to me, a familiar rage building up inside, something I'd long forgotten...

  "What's that?" asked the tall man.<
br />
  I turned to what he was pointing at and there was a long, furry tail resting on the floor behind me, a tail connected...to me?

  "Is that...a tail?" he asked. I looked back to the two men and the fat man's face went as white as a ghost. He fell to the floor among the dirt and grime of years of misuse. It would take more than a brush down to get those stains out.

  "Is he alright?" I moved to help but the tall man put up his hand.

  "Don't come a step closer!" He reached down and checked the fat man's pulse and listened to his chest. "He's...he's dead..."

  "What?" I went over to the fat man and checked myself. The tall man slided back over to the wall and began to sing.

  " Wes Herd dies auch sei...?"

  "What the hell is that?" I opened the fat man's mouth, whipping my head back from the breath escaping and began resusitating him.

  "Wagner, Valkyrie, Act 1, when Siegmund tells of his misfortune. I always sing it in times of trouble... hier muss ich rasten!"

  His singing, whiny and shrill, echoed in the confined space of the restroom, making hairs on my back stand up, hairs I never knew existed.

  "What are you?" he asked, finally having a break from Wagner. "Are you some kind of wolfman or shapeshifter?"

  "What? You're crazy!" I pushed my hands down on the fat man's chest and listened for a beat.

  "I'm not the one with a tail."

  He had a point. Or at least the tail did.

  Thanksgiving- The All Week Story- Part 3 - Reasby Fen

  (You will add a new character to the mix, and she is the daughter of one of the characters in your story. One character will also discover something very important. 150 words.)

  "Dad? Dad?" The door swung open and there stood the most attractive girl I'd seen in yonks. "Dad!" She saw the fat man on the floor and slid over to him. "What happened?"

  "Erm, he got a shock," I replied, a little out of sorts.

  "Shock? That's it!" shouted the tall man. "We'll electrocute him with lightning, just like the monster in the movie!" He held up a finger in a moment of eureka.

  "Are you joking? That's a Hollywood myth. You can't start a flat-lined heart with a shock, you need some life in it first!" screamed the girl, checking her father's life signs. "Anyone call for an ambulance?"

  "Really?" asked the tall man. "Now that is important..." He sidled into a corner in contemplation.

  The girl turned to me and noticed my appearance.

  "And since when did you have a tail?"