Johannes Punkt’s Flaskpost

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Category: Writing

Nightmare Fuel October 2012, Day 8

Optophobia

Suicide by Cop

Lucy was in one of her moods when Clark came home from the office. The house was nearly speckless and dinner was cooking – something sweet. Even the bits of flappy wallpaper had been glued back to the wall. She wore a dress that was all buttons and flowers and an apron over that and she smiled her pearlywhite when Clark walked in through the door.

He struggled out of his jacket and scarf and hat. It was the 1950’s in the house and he tried to remember the rules for leaving shoes on inside the house.

“Shoot any criminals today, hon?” she asked him.

A scoff. “You know I just do paperwork, sugar.”

“But you brought the gun home, yes?” She was on tiptoes to kiss him and let her arms stay behind her back, balancing herself like a ballet dancer.

“Yes, as is regulation.” He rolled his eyes. Hung the jacket and holster on the wooden thing that looked a bit like a tree and had no name as far as he was concerned. Pulled away from the kiss and stepped into the kitchen, “need any help with this?”

There was a strong smell of syrup and it hit him like a sack of meat to the face and watered his eyes.

“No! It’s all me.” She dragged him out into the hall again and slammed the door. “Go do something manly. Watch sports or something.”

“I don’t even like– what is it you’re cooking anyway?”

He waited a bit at the door, shaking his head and opening his eyes carefully. She stood before him again with a silver tray and a smile and a curtsy. On the silver tray were two beer cans. “Drinking beer is manly,” she said.

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Nightmare Fuel October 2012, Day 7

Freaky Deer

“One drinks the blood of the animal and wears its skin and this is how one gains its powers. There are animals out here that you have never seen. The baanklides are the first of it. There is the averit which is a hunter. As far as I know, there is only one, but be careful around it. It hunts by getting its victim happy and drunk and then burrows into the back of said victim’s head, accomplishing both things at once. It may wear your skin for days without anyone noticing.”

(the man grinned)

“It really likes to brag.”

Nightmare Fuel October 2012, Day 6

Unknown Source

“Who buys a fireplace for a chimneyless house?”

“Just shut up and help me. It’ll make me feel more at home. Guy at the shop said it’ll transform all this urban stuff into a proper forest house.”

“Don’t they usually have like, installation offers?”

“No. Shut up. Lift on three. One, two–”

“Huh. It does feel more woodsy. Is that pine I smell?”

“They’ll appear, guy said.”

“Whoa. Did you see that thing’s eyes?”

“Don’t fuck around. Help me with this instead. Why are you locking up?”

“Miriam, don’t freak out but something’s watching us. If you turn, turn slowly.”

Nightmare Fuel October 2012, Day 5

They called the monster ‘the suicide box’.

“Just burn it down. Don’t talk to it.”

The suicide box was hardly big enough to sit in. It had no legs or wings or anything else that moved when it shouldn’t. A warning label said ‘will trap you in it with what you’re afraid of most’. Gus looked at the chair there and sat down in the chair, sweat breaking in his forehead, matches right there in his hands. A gust of wind and the door was shut. It was dark but he could make his own light. He opened his eyes.

Nightmare Fuel October 2012, Day 4

fear_ancient

Sometimes at night when all the electric equipment is on standby, Carey likes to shut her eyes and pretend it’s midday and she can remember everywhere she needs to go without blinking lights of machines that hide behind strand-of-hair-thin strings and spindly doll’s limbs.

Carey has a similar feeling now but she has never been on this bridge before. There are fish and deep things in the water, which she can ignore if she closes her eyes. She has walked a while and cannot remember how the bridge looks. Her shoe hovers and she needs to plant her foot somewhere.

Nightmare Fuel October 2012, Day 3

Untitled

This is how it happens.

Make love in seedy parts of town like teenagers again. Ignore the hip pain, hitch your breaths. “No-one’s going to use this for its intended purpose,” one of you says as you step into the glowing box.

And one of you disappears.

The one who stepped in turns around to no-one; the one who stayed outside sees you vanish when you walk in, like there’s a filter over your eyes. Going in after won’t help. You try. (It doesn’t.) You can never explain it. No reason, no explanation. ATMs have cameras. The recording shows nothing.

~

(Nightmare Fuel October is a Thing you can learn more about over here: https://plus.google.com/u/0/109187322359266879884/about)

Nightmare Fuel October 2012, Day 1 & 2

https://plus.google.com/109187322359266879884/posts

Bliss Morgan of Internet fame (just google her, like) is this year again doing a thing where she posts creepy pictures and inspires flash fiction in us. I will join in! Posting this a bit late because I don’t know how time works.

Last year I participated, and while I didn’t write every day, you can see my progress here: http://kewangji.tumblr.com/october2011

Now, without further ado,

~

Day 1

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“You sure you want to do this?” the girl with the shovel spoke with little conviction, her eyes already counting money.

“I said no questions.”

She snatched the cash from him and spread the salt around the would-be hole, rectangular. “You just don’t look like the regular clientele.”

He offered her a grunt. She dug in silence now. When all was done he climbed in and stared at the cloudless, starless sky. “What are you waiting for?”

“Last minute regrets.” Silence. “You must really miss whoever you sent to hell, huh?” The girl shoveled dirt over the stoic man’s face.

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Something Goes Wrong in Space (Idea) Part II

Last report on Something Goes Wrong in Space:

https://zombiesintelligently.com/2012/08/16/something-goes-wrong-in-space-idea-part-i/

Here follows a non-chronological account of what goes wrong in space. And how.

Developed by me and Drakekin.

~

The Point of No Return (Incident T0)

This is the first scene. We start with a slow scene where the ISV Alhambra releases all the pods layer by layer, expertly navigating them through the fine mesh of the honeycomb framework. Our surviving characters are rather solemn, trained not to panic (as the ones who didn’t catch this training have all, ah, panicked and died).

Something humanoid but toadlike floats toward the giant dish, at the centre of which our characters are sitting, watching through thick crystal. Someone squeezes someone else’s shoulder as the thing bumps into the dish with a creaking, clanging sound that is heard through the metal. It climbs down a railing a long way, into the air chamber and closes the door, pressurises the chamber, and goes inside. This is Danetage. Ze deflates into a more human shape, with machinelike sounds, and quickly is presented with hir non-spacesuit and then hugged.

[number of crew awake: 41; sleeping: 220; dead: 419]

~

Incident T1

Danetage gets hugged, and then scooted off to an ‘interview’ with Solvieg. They’re in the climate controlled area to let Danetage feel as safe as possible; it is unpleasant for Sol, but she does not let that show. Not all of the conversation is shown: some of the time the camera is more focused on the despair of the crew and how they stare at the ‘fish skeleton’ their ship has become. (People shudder at that phrase.) Sometimes the dialogue of the Sol/Danetage conversation is muffled or muted to show the disorientation of the crew and machines. The gist of the conversation is that something went wrong, and if you people at the bridge hadn’t sodded up this wouldn’t be happening.

(Crewmembers who are still in space, die. All the ejections of pods crush them, some flung out into space, others crushed by two different pods, etc.)

The android ambassador ask how they can be of assistance. They are ignored. Kiloyield talks to them about nothingness, which gets grim.

Someone still thinks they can save most of the pods by radio-controlling them to steer toward the planet, and land in the sea (if the planet has a sea, which it might).

[number of crew awake: 37; sleeping: 220; dead: 423]

~

Incident T-negative-1

Wvera goes back to listening to the ansible and becomes worried it might be infected by That-Which-Speaks. She tries to discuss this with Irving, who is distraught by the fact that they have no radio with Antruth or Danetage, and also the report that the sunsail covering the hole in the deflector isn’t holding still – it’s doing what sunsails do, which is to move. He’s telling some engineers to put the deflector dish to spin to minimise the damage to the superstructure by having sunlight only pass every now and then. It is revealed, however, that he pseudo-remembers That-Which-Speaks’ voice.

Antruth and Danetage arrive at the level of the ship where the cargo spire main control node is. Danetage, while ze still has usable vocal cords and isn’t all blowfished up, asks if Antruth shouldn’t turn the radio on. But it’s a simple thing we’re doing and we don’t need more of that douchetrucks’ ‘jokes’, says Antruth. Danetage puffs up.

They start manually ejecting and restructuring pods to get into the ship. Eventually they are inside and have a double airtight seal and Antruth turns on an atmosphere pod and leaves the spacesuit. They have to keep tetrising the pods in order to move toward the shutting-off-node, which they are aware might have turned into something else once they get there, given the reshuffling of the computer.

As they’re walking through the honeycombs and finding the computer, Danetage – half deflated to speak and manoeuvre – freaks out about it being a brain. Antruth just wants to get this over with. But they’re people! Not more than, say, a fish is. Fish don’t feel pain, ‘Tage. Shuts it down slowly. The ship is still under the impression that they have arrived and it should unload, because Antruth’s radio was off since the joke that was in poor taste, and the bridge can’t control anything blindly. Antruth gets sucked out into vacuum and dies. Danetage finds the airtank and sucks some air from it, inflating hirself, thinking fuckfuckfuck.

[number of crew awake: 43; sleeping: 220; dead: 417]

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New Story! TIME TRAVEL SEX CLUB

https://zombiesintelligently.com/vignettes/time-travel-sex-club/

That is correct. This is exactly what it says on the tin. Or, is it?

Obviously, you have to read it to find out.

MEAT Chapter 1 – Sarcophagus Anonymous

[Content Warning: story concerns polyphagia, zombieism]

~

The woman coughed; a dry, raspy cough. People say paper doesn’t taste like anything, but that was false. In front of her were two bowls, and in front of the bowls there were stacks of paper. Neat, rectangular stacks. One of the bowls contained a brown sludge of dissolved, environmentally friendly paper. The other contained regular white photocopy paper, drenched and still whole and separable. The photocopy paper was almost entirely untouched. (The photocopier itself had a lock on the side and to access the paper, the woman had told the printer to print the nothing in the machine at the moment.)

The rest of the room came into focus bitwise: the carpet with its grey-beige swirly patterns, the knife on the middle of the floor and the glossy shavings strewn around it, the open photo album with its empty pages. Then, the swirlies in the cabinets, the metal handles, the classy paint job on the walls that hid the way the wires crawled upwards to the wall-lamps. Then, the wax candles – wicks lit once just to blacken them, untouched for three years now.

(The crumples of the family photos on one corner of the carpet, under a chair.) It had turned out that eating images of meat was close enough to start the salivation, which lead to the hunger cramps. Pazit stared at her phone, which displayed a website full of GDA levels. Then she coughed her lungs up.

“Focus, Pazit; focus,” a voice told her. Recognizing it took a moment as this was the first time she’d heard herself speak with such a dry throat. Drinking water helped, a little. She felt small.

A couple of feet away from where she was, a box blinked and animated. The woman called Pazit got the remote control from somewhere between two couch cushions and turned the volume up.

“…may be talking about an epidemic – with us tonight, with her multiple PhDs, is Claire Wellsh. Claire, could you shed some light on this strange disease?”

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