“Oh, I say, Edna! Your toaster seems to be speaking in Latin backwards.”
“Why, yes! This place is haunted, don’t you know?”
“It is, you say? My, how very interesting! Do go on…”
But soon the walls were oozing blood and big chunks of plaster would come crashing down from the ceiling when she came into a room, and generally things weren’t as harmless as they had been before. Lit candles would appear under curtains and all the knives in the cutlery drawer would periodically fly out and do a little jig on the kitchen floor. It was that one evening, though, when the TV had suddenly switched to Hollyoaks all on its own and wouldn’t turn off, even when unplugged, that she realised someone could get hurt. Still, it was a nice house—roomy and grandly decorated—and Edna wasn’t going to leave without trying everything.
It wasn’t much of a séance: just her next door neighbour, herself and the medium she had found on Craigslist. Even so, the spirits clearly didn’t like it. The shot glass on the Ouija board twitched angrily.
“Is anyone there?” called the medium in her smoothest medium voice (marred somewhat by her forty-a-day habit).
The curtains billowed fiercely into the room, though all the windows were closed.
Louder. “Is anyone there?”
Lightning flashed between the standard lamp and the TV. In the laundry room, it sounded like the washing machine was projectile vomiting. Satanic faces leered from the floral wallpaper.
“Is anyone there?”
Finally, the glass moved. All eyes were on it as it crawled its way across the wood, guided inexorably by some terrible force from beyond, inching towards the spirit’s answer…
“No.”
A moment later, the glass moved again, tracing letters this time.
“L-O-L.”
10
My Big Fat Greek Weekend
As glad as the Minotaur had been to get out of the labyrinth for a couple of days, he had forgotten how hot it could be out in the sun. He wished he’d headed a bit further north than Greece, he wished he’d thought to bring a hat, and most of all he wished he’d bought some bicycle shorts while he was back in Crete. Apparently they didn’t do them in Minotaur sizes anywhere else. But Daedalus had been all like “Bicycle shorts? You’d look like the Cheeky Girls on Halloween” and the Minotaur had felt too self-conscious to go and get a pair. Sure, it was all well and good if you could just throw on a pair of wings and fly to Sicily, but some people only had a bike.
Stupid heavy jeans chafing horribly, the Minotaur was overjoyed to see the pub up ahead. Making sure to chain his bike securely to some sturdy railings—because you can’t be too careful while on holiday—he stepped inside. The cool shade inside was so nice that he didn’t really notice everyone staring as he stepped up to the bar.
“One beer, please,” he said.
There was an uneasy silence across the whole room.
“I’m sorry,” said the bartender. “We don’t serve Minotaurs here.” He pointed to a small but clearly typed sign next to the ouzo. The Minotaur was dismayed.
“You ‘eard the man,” said a very rude woman sitting at the bar. “Clear orff.”
“Look,” said the Minotaur, ignoring her (which seemed like the only polite thing to do). “It’s really hot. I just want to have a quick drink and be on my way.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” explained the bartender, “but that’s our policy: we don’t serve Minotaurs here.” He very helpfully pointed to the sign.
“Somebody kick this guy out!” Screeched the woman at the bar. “He’s covered in sweaty ‘air an he smells like old ‘amburgers.”
“Now now,” said the Minotaur, wrinkling his very large nose. “Let’s not get into who smells like what.” He turned back to the bartender. “Couldn’t you make an exception just this once? I’d only be a minute.”
“Oh no, sir. I don’t make the rules and if my boss found out I could lose my job.”
“Is he here now?”
“No.”
“Then I’m sure you could just…”
“No!” howled the woman sitting next to him. “Just clear orff! Nobody wants you ‘ere.” She gave him a shove.
Through a potent combination of heat, chafing and lack of beer, the Minotaur snapped. With a roar he wished he could have summoned that time he’d found Theseus sneaking around the labyrinth, he fell on the woman and devoured her. It only took a second, and he kind of hoped that nobody had…oh, no. They’d noticed. They’d all noticed.
“I’m…very sorry about that,” the Minotaur mumbled to the room as a whole. Guiltily, he picked up a wad of napkins and wiped his mouth.
“Well,” said the bartender, “that was very wrong of you, but I can’t pretend I’m going to miss her.”
“I don’t suppose I could have a beer, then?” the Minotaur asked hopefully.
“Oh no,” said the bartender, firmly. “We don’t serve Minotaurs here, and we certainly don’t serve Minotaurs who are on drugs.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” said the bartender, “that was the bar-bitch-you-ate.”
11
The Vampire
Challenge #5: Write a story that includes the themes of power and gender roles.
As he approached the palace, Losuco could see that it was not just the local politicians who had been corrupted. Though cloudless, the sky was dim and tiny bats flittered in the afternoon haze. The cattle were sickly and thin, as though the life had been sucked from the very grass in the fields, and the people…Losuco recognised some of the gaunt faces that stared back at him, but only barely. The gold that had poured from that noble’s hand seemed to have poisoned the place.
Despite its rich terracotta tiles and walls of light sandstone, the palace was somehow dark and cold. Losuco realised that it was the windows. The glass, in those that had it, was stained with deep reds and purples that he was sure would admit little light. Those without glass were little more than arrow slits and, in fact, might have been. The place was built like a fortress. Waiting for the sound of his knock to drift through the building, he glanced up at the ceiling of the arched entranceway. There were murder holes above.
The door opened a crack and a hunchbacked old man peered out. “Who shall I say has arrived?” he croaked, his eyes searching past Losuco for the coach of some aristocrat.
“If it please your master,” answered Losuco, “say that I am a merchant with a business proposition. Also…” he smiled, unwrapping the velvet from a tiny but exquisite gold figurine “…a small gift.”
The doorman stared greedily at the fine work. “Such generosity,” he said, heaving the door open all the way, “I am sure will earn you an audience.”
As Losuco followed the old man up the steps, he made sure to keep his smallsword well hidden within the folds of his travellers’ cloak. Though the doorman’s greed set him securely among the living, the stagnant air inside the palace reeked of damp flesh and graveyard earth: the telltale stench of undeath. The china bowls of potpourri littering every surface did little to mask the smell.
The doorman poked his misshapen head around the door before allowing Losuco to enter, but the noble had been standing nearby and caught sight of his visitor before he could be introduced.
“And who is this, Untor?” His voice was smooth and surprisingly friendly. Despite this, Losuco found his mere presence terrifying. There was a power to this figure that his sallow face and spindly limbs could not conceal.
“A merchant,” replied the doorman. “He brings a gift.” He pushed the door open and held his hand out behind him, waiting to be given the tiny statue. Losuco stepped forward and handed it to him. As he did so, he noticed the other person in the room.
She was frightfully pale, sitting in the shade of a window darkened by the image of some ancient family crest: a serpent encircling the head of a lion. Besides her floury complexion, there was nothing all that extraordinary about her appearance and yet, also, there was something
terribly wrong. Her eyes watched the figures moving before her, but they did not seem to recognise anything going on. This, Losuco realised, was the bride of the vampire: the thick ring on her finger suggested she was some Earl’s poor daughter, given away in exchange for land or gold and doomed to succumb, eventually, to her new husband’s corrupting influence. Seeing this, Losuco’s fear of the noble was replaced entirely by hatred. The town, and this maiden, had to be saved.
“Hm.” The noble turned the figurine in his hands briefly before passing it back. “You may keep this trifle, Untor. It will serve you as pay.”
“Thank you.” Untor bowed and backed out of the door, almost bumping into Losuco on his way out. “Thank you. Most generous. Thank you.”
The noble turned to Losuco, who realised he was studying the muddy cuffs of his trousers. “I’d be far more interested in finding out what sort of merchant cannot afford a horse.”
Seeing a certain spark there, Losuco was almost tricked into looking into his enemy’s eyes. Instead, he squeezed his own shut and reached into his pocket, drawing out a phial. Uncorking it, he glanced up for just an instant to check his aim. It was like looking into the face of an adder, and the vampire’s magnetic gaze almost stopped him then and there. But he was already moving, and the holy water found its mark.
The creature reeled backwards, screeching. Losuco drew his sword then, hearing Untor thundering once more up the stairs, slammed shut the door and bolted it. When he turned back, the creature was already upon him. In the second since he had last looked, more than the skin-thick scalds had changed it. The eyeless face was bestial and warped with rage, and the hands that clutched for him had nails like chisels. There was no time to bring the sword to bear. Blinded, the vampire had lunged a little wide of the mark and Losuco escaped its sweeping grasp by ducking to one side. But his foot snagged on a small chair by the door and he toppled, landing heavily. Pointed ears twitching, the vampire hurled itself at the noise. As it did so, Losuco swung the point of his sword up to meet it.
The thing was dead before it fell. Hurriedly pushing it off himself, Losuco watched as it withered and the skin crumbled away. At last, the world could see this noble for what he had always been. The curse was broken. The woman by the window was already stirring.
“Don’t worry,” he said, kneeling and taking her hand in his own. “You’re safe now. I can help.” It was only then that he noticed the motif on the ring: a serpent, and a lion’s head. Without thinking, he glanced up into her eyes; no longer blank, no longer harmless.
“You’d better,” she said. “You just killed my servant.”
12
Double-Blind
“I assure you, I’m human.”
“Oh, really? Then you have a surprisingly good grasp of how to use apostrophes.”
“That sound’s like the sort of thing only spellcheck would notice.”
“No, jsut anyone whose not a moron. Or a copmuter.”
“You’re tpyos aer afwully contrivved.”
“Nuuuh! Im jsut typoing quikkly BECAZ IM ANGREE. Itsa people fing. U wldnt ndrstnd.”
“Yh? wl Bmprt tiyiobvioos mpuutr nd Trring wdb esham.d”
“Was that Welsh?”
“AaaaaaaaH!!!1reelp ooplednt’spkwelshnd Usukk!!!!!!!!!!!!”
“Thtsnoejli maetaend uknowit!!! Aypamnota nmber…. Aypamna hyuumanbeen!!!!!!!!!!!!”
“Lololololololjarg!!!!!!!!!!”
A technician popped his head around the door. “If you’re done misleading the Turing machines,” he said, “do you want to watch junk on YouTube?”
The professor stared at the gibberish on screen. “Not any more,” he answered. “No.”
13
The Captive Crown
Challenge #6: Write a story that includes the themes of failure and conformity, and where one of the characters is a Cloudcuckoolander.
“Though I have done my best,” the King said, projecting his voice through the thick air of the Royal Hall, “I have failed. I know that there are dangers beyond our borders, pacts wearing thin and spears being sharpened. With such threats looming, I pass the crown not to my son, but to the strongest of my people.”
Loud chattering rumbled through the hall. Thesus could hear people saying “The stone! The stone!” but, so far back in the crowd, he could not work out why until the King continued.
“I have placed the crown in a bowl beneath this great block of marble. If you can take it without spade or pick, lever or pulley, with only the power of sinew and bone, it is yours for the rest of your days.”
The chatter began again, louder this time. Anyone could be King, if they were only strong enough to shift that block. Thesus looked around. The eyes of everyone in the room had lit up with hope. Only Itmar, frail, ancient Itmar, did not share their enthusiasm. Itmar and, of course, himself. Though young and eager to lead, Thesus knew he had no hope of lifting even half such a block: he had been born with only one arm.
Before midnight, everyone had tried lifting the stone—even and especially the very small children who had no chance whatsoever of moving it—and everyone had failed. Despite what the King had said, most of the townspeople had expected the Prince to claim the crown after all. Though he had been set the same challenge as everyone else, he was a fearsome warrior and widely believed to be the strongest man in the village.
As the night drew on, however, and the torches died down, it became clear that there would be no new King before morning. Thesus wondered if the stone was perhaps a little too heavy to be suited to the task. A pair of fishermen had agreed to use their combined strength to shift the marble and rule together. However, the King quickly put a stop to this. “A good ruler,” he said, “cannot simply ask for help.”
Thesus fumed inwardly. A good ruler wouldn’t necessarily have huge muscles or an iron grip. It was a good town, and he would have accepted the reign of any one of its citizens (except perhaps Itmar, whose mind was not what it had been), but the King’s challenge would do nothing to bring out its best. But in their haste to move the marble, none of the able-bodied townsmen seemed to have noticed.
“The way I see it,” said Itmar, staring at the huge block above the crown “the problem is simple.”
Thesus was glad that at least somebody could see that not all was well. “What is it?” he asked.
Itmar sucked his gums. “There’s a big stone in the way. If that wasn’t there, it would be easy.”
Thesus was disappointed. Itmar had been a great thinker once, reputed to hold knowledge of ancient power, but his own years had caught up with him. He, like the others, could see only the stone and nothing beyond it. His problem was the same as theirs.
“Yes,” Itmar said. “It would be easy if you could just magick it away. Or at least turn it into bread. Bread is light. Bread can be eaten.” He sucked his gums again. “Yes, the task would be easy were the stone not there.”
It was then that Thesus had an idea.
First thing in the morning, while the sorry townspeople were still sleeping off their sad-swigged beer, Thesus approached the King’s house. With his one arm, he hammered on the door.
“What is it?” It was the Prince who answered.
“I have taken the crown,” Thesus replied.
The Prince looked him up and down. “I don’t want to call you a liar. Are you sure you’re not…mistaken?”
Thesus laughed. “Of course I couldn’t move the stone, but…” just then, he saw the King come into the room behind. Thesus spoke to him past the Prince. “Your challenge,” he said. “To take the crown without pulley or shovel…”
The King rolled his eyes. “You can’t dig it out with your bare…hand, either. If you’ve been up all night scrabbling at…”
“Of course not.” Thesus stared at him. “I used magic.”
“Magic.”
The Prince spoke under his breath. “So you do lie.” He spat on the doorstep.
Thesus ignored him. “Itmar taught me.”
&nbs
p; “Magic,” said the King. “Really.”
Thesus said nothing.
“Very well. Show me the crown.”
“That,” said Thesus, firmly, “certainly was not part of the challenge.”
The King continued to stand there, arms folded. “It won’t be much of a coronation,” he said, “if you don’t produce the crown.”
This was exactly what Thesus had feared, but the Prince, his greatest rival, saved him. “Your false words sicken me. Servant!” he called, inside the house. “Come with me and we’ll settle this now. I won’t have this cripple making a mockery of the contest.”
Together, the three of them marched the short distance to the Royal Hall, the crown interred beneath the marble monument within.
“One, two…” the Prince had almost been able to move the block on his own “…three!” With the help of his servant, it was easily toppled. “There!” he said, pointing at the hollow they had revealed. “There’s the crown, still in its bowl. You do lie.”
With no great haste, Thesus stooped down and picked up the crown with his one arm. He handed it to the King, but did not let go himself. “I have taken the crown,” he said. “I used no picks or levers, I asked for no help, the marble was moved with nothing but bone and sinew. The throne is mine.”
“Those were indeed my rules.” The king scowled, but it passed quickly. “You may not be much of a warrior,” he said, “but I think you’ll make a fine politician.”
14
Sports Day
There were no cheers as the man flumped lightly into the crash mat, setting the best high jump record of all time by some considerable margin. Neither had there been any applause for his grand performance at the long jump. Or the discus. Instead, the spectators watched him in cold, angry silence. The way he staggered from one event to another, an empty bottle of vodka dangling from his fingers, he was clearly drunk. The athletes ignored him, the standard of their performances shining as ever. In this competition, the spectators knew, silver would be held in higher regard than gold.