Tansy Undercrypt
Author, Illustrator, Purveyor of Doom & Whimsy


May 18th 2013 in Microfiction

Terry smiled. She could hear “Uncle” Pat losing his shit downstairs, tripping and falling around furniture that’d been in the same arrangements in the same rooms since time began. “Too little intelligence and too much beer,” she told herself. “It must be Saturday night.” Terry’s mom was hiding in the bathroom and she knew it wouldn’t be much longer before Pat began the slow, teetering stumble upstairs. Having a very brief moment of panic, Terry’s eyes scanned her dresser to make sure the bottled imp her cousin Brenda had sent her was still there. It was, its tiny eyes hellfire red, its tiny teeth razor sharp and set in a perpetual smile from ear to ear. She’d followed Brenda’s directions to the letter; the bargain had been made and accepted. Footsteps on the stairs – the first (and the last) of many. She swung her feet off of the bed and retrieved the bottle, ready to remove the stopper. Afterwards, she’d walk to the bus station and head to Des Moines to live with Brenda. It would be a good life. Terry smiled again and waited.

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Only one piece of the wreckage was ever retrieved. The two men sat in the lookout above it, staring silently at the burned and twisted metal. The captain sighed. Spock turned to him and whispered, “You are the reason that I cannot have nice things.”

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A notation places this location as “Squeejaw, Rhode Island”. Careful letters on the back read: “[BLANK]“.

(Source: unknown)

Tansy’s answer:  “Annual Cthulhu Cultist Campout, 1921; guarding the sacrifice.” (Post your own answers and read the genius of others on the Tansy Undercrypt Facebook page here.)


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