Adult Frog (horror short story)

(estimated reading time: 20 minutes)

Adult Frog

by

Blaine Arcade

A pool in the back is a suburban home’s most vestigial body part. If any sort of major stressor comes along, like the cancer double whammy that got Mom and Dad, one of the ways the house can fortify itself is by shutting down all resources going to the pool. Chlorine? Non-vital expense. Heating? Forget about it. Let the water pick its own temperature; it hardly needs a supervisor to follow the physics rulebook.

Lexi, the Ukrainian pool boy who stopped in once a month to scrub it and do the surrounding grass? Losing him hurt a little, he was hot, but it was just a sting, no actual damage to the property and thus the property owner, me, though I can’t speak to the current status of the paperwork.

Mom and Dad left it to me, the house, the pool, their car, and they even tried to have the medical debt ‘shove off’ from the rest of the estate on a sort of rhetorical raft of scavenged legalese. Anyway, their lawyer told me it didn’t work and they couldn’t leave me any of those savings, just the house, the car, and the pool. Continue reading

I Still Love the Truck

Chucky Brook can’t stop staring at the newly announced cybertr- I mean Gigaterra ultra-modern Atlas smart truck.  He has to have it.  It has to have him.  They must be together.  What follows is a horror comedy short story of one CEO’s dream and everyone else’s struggle to deal with it.

(estimated reading time: 15 minutes)

I Still Love the Truck

by

Blaine Arcade

“It doesn’t look like anything else. It’s not thin-skinned- all stainless steel. You’re welcome. The windows too, let’s show the glass demo. Now take that ball, don’t hold back, really wind up and nail it… Oh my f$$$ing god. That was too hard; nobody told you to throw it that hard. We threw the world at this thing and it didn’t break. For some reason it broke now. We’ll fix it in post.”

-Clive Murger, CEO of Gigaterra

-excerpt of Gigaterra ultra-modern smart truck ‘Atlas’ unveiling event

Chucky Brook’s memory echoed when he accidentally repeated a phrase he’d used hundreds of times throughout middle school: I’m not gay. This time no one was challenging his masculinity via the avenue of the gaping hole where a girlfriend could’ve stood. No, this time he was offering it up unprompted as an addendum to his comment on his first look at the Atlas truck he was currently sweating up the courage to buy.

“Oh man, look at those arms. They look super strong.” Addendum: something something not gay something.

“As if anybody could blame you,” laughed the dealer, pairing it with a smack on Brook’s back. “Those are the patented Atlas arms, an unstoppable vice that can secure any payload in the bed. Cords are a thing of the past. Even at their widest they only block a couple thirds of the side-views.” Continue reading

Twitch Stream Stories Redux #6: Recognizable Scratches

These stories were written live on stream based on prompts provided by the viewers. They have been edited, with this second more in-depth edit occurring much later, but not meaningfully rewritten or expanded so as to preserve the spirit of the exercise. Sadly, the prompts themselves were not recorded until many stories in.  Sometimes the prompts were silly challenges, or quirky thoughts, or dark ideas, or utter nonsense.  I did my best each time.

If you enjoy this, please check out the other activities from the stream. If you would like something longer and much more thoroughly planned, simply investigate my more traditional work at the top of the page.

Recognizable Scratches

prompt provided by Chaytoncross

Six little pairs of shoes hovered a foot off the old wooden floor of the schoolhouse. The seventh pair belonged to an adult and shuddered up and down where the others were deathly still. Four button noses were pressed against the peeling paint, flakes falling faster than ever thanks to their giggling. One of the girls tapped on the wood and waited for a response.

Clop, clop, clop, the wall responded, exactly like the hoof stamps of a pony. Their giggles answered it. The girl tapped on the wall twice more. Clop clop. Continue reading

Heirs of Cain: Venus in Charge

Severin Molochi is in love with a goddess.  She’s not the kind found in a church, or that you can take with you to church for that matter.  She’s of the old, muddy, animal line of Cain: those who gained power in the world’s first murder.  Just as Severin and his goddess Wanda are settling in their new home, setting up her future dominion, her jealous siblings come calling, but they’re not after her.  They want every gods’ most valuable asset, the mortal chosen as the conduit between them and the people, who in this case happens to share her bed.

Heirs of Cain, a gothic horror fantasy erotic thriller novelette series, concludes here.

(estimated reading time: 1 hour, 30 minutes)

Heirs of Cain

Venus in Charge

Locked in battle I was, with none other than my goddess herself, my dearest who so transcends the term wife, the mother of my child with so much more potential than I will ever have: Wanda Blasphemer Pelts.

The grueling ordeal entered its fourth hour, judged by the sun’s journey, as Wanda controls my sense of time’s passage and could have been using it against me to gain an edge in our high stakes contest. Half my army was gone, banished to their dark central grave, and there were traitors in the midst of those that remained. Continue reading

Heirs of Cain: Venus in League

Severin Molochi is in love with a goddess.  She’s not the kind found in a church, or that you can take with you to church for that matter.  She’s of the old, muddy, animal line of Cain: those who gained power in the world’s first murder.  Just as Severin and his goddess Wanda are settling in their new home, setting up her future dominion, her jealous siblings come calling, but they’re not after her.  They want every gods’ most valuable asset, the mortal chosen as the conduit between them and the people, who in this case happens to share her bed.

Heirs of Cain, a gothic horror fantasy erotic thriller novelette series, continues here.

(estimated reading time: 1 hour, 16 minutes)

Heirs of Cain

Venus in League

Including her name serves no purpose, for she was never going to be a citizen of our village. Such was her stated intent, with so much simulated earnestness that I could not smell the trick, nor could my goddess, lover, and wife Wanda Blasphemer Pelts, until she encountered the applicant up close that is.

Her waiting period was nearly over, which all potential residents of Quarantown had to endure to even step foot over our borders and barriers, both obvious and arcane. The plague called Throng’s Delirium, the impetus for the founding of Quarantown in the first place, before it was commandeered, still in secret, by my Wanda, and before I was wooed as her chief disciple and chiefest confidante, still ravaged the continent. Continue reading

Mysterious America Catalog: ‘True Knothole’

M-A-C (14): ‘True Knothole’

Category: whatsit

Collection Date: (REDACTED), 1979

Collection Location: (REDACTED), Oregon

Collection Report: This MAC was independently discovered by two parties simultaneously; unfortunately only one was trained to handle such things with caution first and discretion second.

The party affiliated with us, Collector (REDACTED), then junior rank, was following the newly established ‘Horseshit Protocol’, by which agents of the Catalog identify and ferret out local ‘horseshit’, ‘bullshit’, ‘(REDACTED)shit’, and ‘batshit’ stories connected to uncatalogued and improperly stored MACs.

His initial lead was a deceased finch that, when dissected, displayed unnaturally braided feathers, Celtic knot intestines, and tangled muscle and optical fibers.

In one of the earliest examples of the protocol’s effectiveness, he was able to trace it back to a (REDACTED) tree approximately (REDACTED) centuries old on an abandoned property, given wide berth by all surrounding trees, some of which suffered unnaturally knotted branches.

He discovered on this tree a large regular knothole, its back and sides invisible when light was shined directly into it. Any object placed within is swallowed in darkness and emerges knotted, regardless of rigidity, with no other damage.

Our collector arrived just fifteen minutes after the other party that stumbled across the tree, a teenage girl who had placed her left arm inside the knothole. No knots resulting from the MAC can be undone, again regardless of material, and while the victim was initially still able to use her hand the limb had to be amputated at the elbow (REDACTED) years later due to poor circulation, apparently from the gradual tightening of the knot.

After this incident the MAC was uprooted live and transported via flatbed to a private collection where it was replanted. There was as security concern, as a trail of knotted insects had been left all along the route traveled, but it was addressed before any incident by varmint control truck 2.

The MAC has been sealed inside a cylindrical box wrapped about the tree, fitted with a door and knotted key that cannot be copied, to prevent future access.

Current Collector: ‘Sisyphus Philosophizer’, senior rank

Notes from Collector: “I use it to make balloon animals for my kids’ birthdays. They take forever to pop. You wanna sanction me for using it, well you go right ahead and go to the trouble of ripping up those roots and hauling it across state lines a second time, on your dime.”

Current Status: active

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Heirs of Cain: Venus in Labor

Severin Molochi is in love with a goddess.  She’s not the kind found in a church, or that you can take with you to church for that matter.  She’s of the old, muddy, animal line of Cain: those who gained power in the world’s first murder.  Just as Severin and his goddess Wanda are settling in their new home, setting up her future dominion, her jealous siblings come calling, but they’re not after her.  They want every gods’ most valuable asset, the mortal chosen as the conduit between them and the people, who in this case happens to share her bed.

Heirs of Cain, a gothic horror fantasy erotic thriller novelette series, continues here.

(estimated reading time: 1 hour, 30 minutes)

Heirs of Cain

Venus in Labor

Accepting their compliments proved difficult, and I had no way of explaining myself either. You see, I, Severin Pelts, still had not informed anyone in Quarantown that my wife, Wanda Blasphemer Pelts, was secretly a bloodthirsty goddess from a smudged and misinterpreted age long before any notions of a Christ child or contemplative Buddha.

One day they would all know, the shock bending them into kneeling prayer, where they would no doubt stay for the remainder of their lives. They’d be fools not to. Already they knew the magnetic draw of her company, knowing it just then at the dinner party I’d arranged, the guest list made up of several early pilgrims to Quarantown who seemed like good candidates for lesser disciples than myself when the time came: Miss Giselle Ulterrine the duck farmer, Giggles Terroir our town sommelier, Doppler Burstyn the mining magnate, and the freshest of them, Godwin Hammerstein, a playwright looking to be heard of. Continue reading

Mysterious Americana Catalog: ‘Firebird’

M-A-C (13): ‘Firebird’

Category: varmint

Collection Date: November 25th, 1999

Collection Location: (REDACTED), New Mexico

Collection Report: A seemingly ordinary frozen turkey was purchased at (REDACTED) Foods and stored in preparation for the (REDACTED) family’s third annual hybrid Mexican-Thanksgiving dinner, where they cooked both traditional holiday dishes and cultural hybrids like pumpkin pie churros and hot pepper stuffing.

When the bird carcass was removed from its opaque bag, in the presence of seven witnesses, it immediately thrashed. It was dropped, but brought itself to its nub feet and aimed at the nearby open door of the oven. The oven was not yet heated, but the turkey ran for it, launched itself inside, and continued to flail.

After some seconds, multiple bystanders witnessed it ‘realize something’ and extract itself before fleeing.

Four individuals pursued it out of the kitchen, out of the house, and through a neighbor’s backyard where it created a dangerous situation by leaping into a vat of boiling oil the neighbor was about to use to deep fry their own turkey. The resulting splash dissuaded all but one pursuer.

Seemingly dissatisfied with the overturned oil as its secondary suicide method, the M-A-C proceeded through the doggy door of the next house over and attempted to insert itself into their oven.

This house belonged to a then-member of the catalog, and they acted quickly in turning away the last pursuer on the grounds of trespassing. After wrangling and registration by catalog varmint control truck 4, it was observed that the carcass, nicknamed ‘Firebird’, would perpetually try to cook itself by any methods available. It could only be contained by keeping it in a pit lined with aluminum foil, where it then ambled perpetually and aimlessly.

Current Collector: (REDACTED) Alvarez, junior rank, expelled

Notes from Collector: “In my defense, I didn’t know my family expected me to host Thanksgiving that year. They showed up and I had nothing… except for a bird begging to be cooked. If anything, it should have counted as research; we now know it tasted normal and didn’t make us run for any open graves.”

Current Status: inactive (consumed), skeleton displays no unusual properties

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Twitch Stream Stories Redux #1: The Ninth Tentacle

These stories were written live on stream based on prompts provided by the viewers. They have been edited, with this second more in-depth edit occurring much later, but not meaningfully rewritten or expanded so as to preserve the spirit of the exercise. Sadly, the prompts themselves were not recorded until many stories in.  Sometimes the prompts were silly challenges, or quirky thoughts, or dark ideas, or utter nonsense.  I did my best each time.

If you enjoy this, please check out the other activities from the stream. If you would like something longer and much more thoroughly planned, simply investigate my more traditional work at the top of the page.

The Ninth Tentacle

prompt provided by DarkLordofSheep

Jeremy’s can hit the water with a splash smaller than he would’ve liked. Its bubbling green contents leaked out into the lake while he leaned over the edge of the kayak to watch the guppies that had scattered on impact.

You shouldn’t litter,” Stephanie chided him, pulling her pale blonde hair back into a ponytail in case he tried to get the bigger splash he’d sought.

Who says I’m littering? The can’s in there… but maybe I’ll fish it out. It’s only littering if I leave it there.” The guppies failed to investigate the bobbing can, perhaps scared away by Jeremy’s snaggle-toothed grin.

How are you going to get all the lightning chug back then?” Ryan asked, referring to the bubbling caffeine concoction leaking out. “I don’t think the fish want it.” He grabbed the paddle and turned the orange kayak just enough to grab the can himself. “This is my aunt’s cabin and I don’t think she wants any hyperactive fish jumping out of the water.” Usually the quietest of the three, Ryan felt emboldened by their position in the middle of the lake. They couldn’t ignore him out there, especially since the trip was his idea in the first place. Jeremy’s only idea was to invite himself. Continue reading