Saturday, October 23, 2010


The Cycle 4 prompt was:
Monsters – write a story featuring at least one classic monster.
Genre: Mash-up! Mix monsters with genre of your choice.

I guess you could call mine a kind of suspense tale, maybe, with a monster thrown in the mix. Enjoy.


It was yet another dark and starless night--cool, crisp and overpoweringly seductive. I was intoxicated with the lure of your love and it drove me on to heights never before reached or even contemplated. The strong wind carried me to your balcony doors, open and ever inviting. Once within, I became, again, The One. The One for whom this moment in time has long awaited. I gaze upon your beauty in awe, knowing it is for this moment in time I also was created. My hand brushes against your alabaster cheek and you stir slightly--knowing, wanting, hoping. You turn your head and your raven hair shifts and reveals the prize I seek. The veins in your graceful neck pulse, and summon me home. I will bite deep and drink until your soul and mine are…


Thump. Crash.

"Damn owl! See what you’ve done? Again? You woke me up from my favorite dream. Only this time, I’ve also knocked down one of the vases from the side table. You know, if you keep this up, one of these days real soon, you’re going to find yourself laid out on a serving platter with parsley stuffed up your butt, a nice salad on the side and a goblet of chilled Chardonnay."


"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Well, no point in straining your throat or anything. I’m up now. Time to find some supper. Must be some O pos. or AB neg. in the fridge. I’m usually not this hungry when I first get up. Oh, terrific. First, you wake me from the only great dream I've ever had, and now you barge into my home and start poking around. I suppose you expect me to be hospitable and offer you something to eat. Well, alright, guy, I'm sure I can find something for you. What's your name anyway? What would an owl's name be? How about Blackie? Will that work for you? When I was a kid, I used to have a dog named Blackie. Not exactly the same thing here, but I'll just call you that, okay?

Stu? You're beyond pathetic. You're a vampire living in a deserted dusty old shell of a house that backs up against a no name dried out forest, entertaining and having a conversation with a bird. A one sided conversation, I might add. Ah well. Nobody promised me a rose garden, did they?

My 'Dark Gift'. Right. What a load of crap. You know, Blackie, here's some water for you. Anyhow, I was on my way home one night and there was this guy who looked like he'd been mugged or something on the road. So, I pulled over to see if I could give him a hand, and what do I get for my trouble? A bite on the neck, that's what. Another car came by, and he couldn't finish me off, so he does me just enough to turn me into a vamp like him. Then, he leaves me laying on the side of the road and takes off in my car. In my car. What kind of a self respecting bloodsucker drives? I always thought they turned into bats and flew away. Boy, did I have a lot to learn.

But, Blackie, old friend, we're a good team, huh? Couple of misfits. We'll do alright though. If you'd just stop waking me up from... What the hell is that?"

Stu saw a brief flash of light from the forest side of the property. The moon was shining brightly enough to enable him to see two men pushing something in a wheelbarrow. He couldn't figure out how they got back there without his knowing. They would have had to come up the long driveway from the road, then go around the house, through all the overgrown bushes and that certainly would have been noisy enough to attract his attention. Unless they had made the trek back there while he was asleep. Blackie's ungodly screech always woke him up, but this was a bad omen. Obviously, a person or persons unknown could roam the property at will while he was resting. What if they had decided to come into the house? Maybe he should get a dog. He knew he'd have to go back there to see what they were doing, and what in the world was in that wheelbarrow? When Stu got closer, he could hear them, and he also got a clear view of their load.

"Richie," the shorter one whined loudly, "can't we dump him here? He's so heavy, dead. Lonny was a fat pig alive, but now? What difference does it make anyway? Nobody lives here anymore. Why do we have to bury him? No one would ever come this far back?"

"Saul, Mr. Costanza said to take Lonny where no one would find him and bury him, and that's exactly what we are going to do."

Richie often wondered why he worked with Saul, and tonight was no exception. He was never content to simply follow orders. No matter what the job was, he always found something to complain about. Even this latest one, which had been going very smoothly until Saul decided to open his mouth.

"We got him outside of town, put a bullet between his eyes, and made it all the way back behind this old dump without anybody being the wiser. All we have to do is dig a bit and drop him in and then we'll cover him up with a bunch of leaves or something. No one's going to find him here, so it's not like we've got to put him deep. This place has been deserted for years. Alright, we'll do it here, Saulie, get started over there. The ground looks soft. I'll go through his pockets and make sure he's got no papers on him. Then, we'll just push the wheelbarrow behind those trees."

Saul started digging a shallow grave while Richie went through the corpse's pockets. Nothing. Perfect. Stu had heard enough. These men--these outsiders--were going to bury their kill on his land behind his house. How did this Richie character even know the house was back here? Only locals knew what was at the end of the long driveway, and they knew better than to come calling. He decided he'd have to teach these intruders a lesson. He'd have to make it clear that they need to bury their dead in their own back yard. He couldn't have snoopers and reporters and coppers roaming all over. That's how it went down on the TV shows. Criminals think they haven't left any clues, but something gives them away, and then there's no stopping it. Searchlights and crime scene tape, the yard all dug up, and then, the house. Yes. They'd come in and tear it apart looking for anything and they would find Stu, resting.

That would be bad enough because he knew what people did when they found vamps. He'd seen enough documentaries. Worse yet, what if he was out and they came in and discovered his bed, surrounded by all those dark curtains. They'd know something was up and he could never go back there. Where would he spend his days then? He probably should have listened to the others and got himself a coffin and stashed it in the cellar. But, he couldn't stand the thought of laying down in one of those contraptions. Too creepy.

No. He wasn't going to just stand by and allow his home to be violated and taken away from him. He'd figure out something to keep them all away. Let's see now, he thought, what would Columbo do?

Early the next morning as Stu was preparing to hit the sack for the day, he heard the first of the sirens. He had to smile. He had time before sunrise, and decided to stroll down to the village and get as close as he could to see if his plan had worked. Seeing all the flashing red lights and policemen told him it had. So many people standing around, taking pictures, measuring just everything in sight, and sealing off the area. And right in the middle of it all, a body right in the center of Main Street. While Stu was proud of the location he chose for Lonnie's new resting place, he was most proud of the note he's pinned to the body's jacket. Stu had written 'My name is Lonnie. Richie and Saul murdered me on orders from Mr. Costanza.' He had no idea who any of those people actually were, but he was sure the police would. Now, the focus would be on the individuals involved and not on his back yard. He put the wheelbarrow left behind that he used to move Lonnie right in front of Mr. Johanson's lumber yard. He was sure they'd be able to make use of it.

He hurried home to find Blackie sitting on one of the living room window's sills.

"Hello, old boy. Well, that took care of the problem this time, but what about the next? You know as well as I do that sooner or later, somebody's going to find us back here and ruin everything. I was thinking maybe I'd take in a boarder. Someone who's up during the day. I know this werewolf one county over, sleeps in somebody's garage. I'll bet he'd be happy to have a roof over his head. But, that screech thing you do. You might want to watch that. He might not be quite as understanding as I am..."


  1. Thanks for stopping by, Paul. Glad you enjoyed it. This was some nutty stuff that just popped in my head. Loads of fun writing it.

  2. Great pace and a tongue in cheek horror to this one Joyce. You keep us guessing throughout it.

  3. Thanks, Richard. This just got sillier as it went along, but I wanted to do something light and kind of nutty this Halloween.

  4. I trusted you Joyce. I trusted you and then . . . "What would Colombo do?" Let me tell you lady, coffee and keyboards DO NOT mix. And they get soggy and grumpy too. Beautiful. Funny and scary all at the same time. This is just . . . so satisfying. Thank you.

  5. Thanks so much, AJ. You know I just had to get my boy Columbo in there somehow? I know those episodes by heart and still watch them over and...sorry. Got carried away for a sec. Coffee and keyboards DO NOT mix. I've learned that many times over. Somehow, it just doesn't seem to sink in after one with me. Glad you enjoyed this one. I didn't want to use a 'name' monster, just kind of create my own little oddball. Happy to see it worked. Thanks again.