Frogs Everywhere
There were frogs everywhere. Of the carpet there could be seen not one inch and the amphibians also adorned the three piece suite, curtains, photos, nested tables, television stand, and mantelpiece. Tens of thousands of eyelids opened and closed at regular intervals and a small number of the many creatures shifted or squirmed over neighbours but there was an otherwise strange stillness to the room. “There are frogs everywhere,” said Jay quietly, but not quietly enough. A wave of startled movement broke out near the taller of the two men’s feet but swiftly ebbed into the uneasy calm once more. “I know,” whispered Luke. “I have the gift.” Jay looked down at the top of his friend’s head, unable to see his face but certain it would show exaltation from the tone of voice. “There are frogs everywhere,” he repeated, quieter than before. Luke looked up, smiling. “I can make the noise and summon them,” he said, and took a deep breath. “Stop!” said Jay a little too forcefully as he grabbed his friend’s arm. A short chorus of croaks and other assorted noises broke out in the room and there was a concerted effort by several hundred of the room’s cold-blooded denizens to get away from the loud and scary man. A kaleidoscope of greens and yellows and browns with occasional gems of bright blues, reds, and oranges undulated across the floor. After about a minute near-silence and near-stillness returned. “You’ve ruined Katie’s birthday,” whispered Jay. He saw Luke’s shoulders drop slightly but there was no response. “Six today,” Jay continued, “and all she’ll remember is a semi-aquatic home invasion, her cake ruined, her friends in tears, and her screaming in terror in her room.” “I’m sorry,” said Luke, and it sounded like he meant it. “Why today? Why would you choose to try this gift out today of all days?” Luke looked around the room, seemingly seeing it and studying it for the first time. He couldn’t deny that there were frogs everywhere; some were on the walls and a couple had even made it across the ceiling and set up home amongst the light fittings in its centre. And the smell hit him suddenly too. Frogs had a distinctive odour and in this volume it was quite overpowering. “I’m sorry,” repeated Luke. “I’ve felt I had this gift all my life and I don’t know… I just felt compelled to try it today.” “All your life!?” Jay said incredulously, keeping his voice low. “Even six months ago?” There was a barely perceptible nod by way of reply. “Six months ago! Damn! Our planet is invaded by...
Justifiable Homicide
“Would you like a cup of tea?” “No.” “Okay, well then… why don’t you start? Take us back to that morning.” “We went for a walk.” “Your wife and you?” “Yes.” “Just the two of you?” “Yes.” “Carry on.” “I picked up my camera bag and we left the house. We went for a walk. I photographed a few things.” “What sort of things?” “Anything. I photograph anything interesting. Buildings, people, views, rubbish, anything.” “Carry on.” “We got near the pub – the Rose – and she told me to put the camera away.” “This camera?” “Yes.” “Tell me about it. I don’t know much about them.” “Digital SLR. Canon. Telephoto lens. I’m not sure what you want to know.” “That’s fine. So, you got to the pub and put your camera away?” “No. I don’t put my camera away. I might see something interesting.” “So you argued?” “No. Not really. We went in a had a drink and I didn’t put the camera away. I didn’t spill anything on the camera. I don’t know what her problem was.” “Indeed. Did anything else happen there?” “No. We left after the drink and carried on with the walk. Then we noticed the clouds coming in and we decided we should probably make for another pub.” “People after my own heart. Did anything happen here?” “She told me to put the camera away when the first spots of rain came down.” “Sensible.” “No, the camera is water-resistant. A few spots won’t hurt it.” “So you didn’t put the camera away?” “No. Rain can be good to photograph.” “And when you got to the second pub?” “I kept the camera out there too. We were indoors then. And there were some interesting people in the pub.” “Did you photograph them?” “No, but I could have.” “And how did your wife feel about this?” “She was irritated, but she always is.” “Irritated enough to fight?” “No, we didn’t fight. We left the pub and saw an old woman fall over in the street so I photographed her. My wife was not pleased. She said we should have helped but it was on the other side of the road and there were other people nearer. Here, here’s the photo I took.” “Ouch! Face in the turd!” “I know. Classic. Anyway, it would have been difficult to get across the road as there was a funeral procession driving slowly through just about then.” “And you… photographed it?” “Yes. The reflections in the rain puddles of the cars and their flowers was too good to miss.” “I’ll bet your wife didn’t think the same thing.” “She...
Doctor Maniac’s Meeting
“Gentlemen, thank you for coming today. Such a prestigious group of the world’s greatest criminal masterminds the world has truly never seen, nor shall it ever with our skill at evading the law. Most of you are probably wondering why I’ve asked you all to this meeting and why I’ve insisted on such secrecy and I… the chair recognises Wan Tring of the Hong Kong triads.” “Thank you Doctor Maniac. I am Wan Tring. Most here are not Wan Tring.” “Right. Wondering. Won-der-ing. Not Wan Tring. Can I continue? Thank you. I have asked you to this… the chair recognises El Diablo.” “Is this one of those meetings where you kill anyone who dissents with you?” “No! No! Where do you get these ideas?” “I steal movies. I watch movies. Do these chairs slide down into a pit of spikes and fire?” “What pit? This is clearly a laminated floor and we’re on the third storey of this building. You came past the floor below on the way here. You had the tour. Do you remember the office staff? The pretty secretary with the big you-know-whats? People, please! Can I get to the point of this meeting? Oh, for fu… the chair recognises Minister Montezuma.” “I have a dentist’s appointment at three. Will this meeting take long?” “Let’s… start again. And please: no interruptions. Oh… Minister Montezuma, again?” “It’s just that it’s about an hour’s drive and I need to get there early to fill in some paperwork. I would really like to leave by one thirty.” “You can leave at one thirty. That’s not a problem. Gentlemen, I’ve…” “I will leave at the same time as the Minister. Unless the Minister doesn’t want that!” “El Diablo, why would the…” “My friend El Diablo, you may do whatever you please.” “What’s going on with you two?” “There’s nothing going on but let’s just say that I think we should all leave together or not at all.” “Is this something from one of your movies again?” “We have seen this movie in Hong Kong too. Wan Tring Enterprises has imported many copies. Good film. Robert Vaughn.” “I wish you would take this meeting seriously.” “You’re thinking of The Man From U.N.C.L.E.” “Can we please stop talking about films?” “Many apologies. Perhaps it is a common theme.” “Really, please, please can we get back on track here? I’ve only booked the Death Room until four.” “Aha! You are trying to kill us Maniac!” “I am not! It’s named after the architect, Francis Death. He’s responsible for the unique lintels you see over there and the rosewood panelling designs. You people are…...
The Jewish Invention
So, you want to know about my incredible invention and how it affects every Jewish person on the planet, yes? Very well. But where to begin? I’m drawn to Poland in the early 1960s. You might not think it would be a hip and happening place – certainly nowhere near, say, London – but there were places you could go and things you could do that put London in the shade. In a sense, almost quite literally so, since it was just outside Warsaw that saw Europe’s largest solar array built, a vast collecting dish lined with early photovoltaic cells. They weren’t much like the things you see these days, though. You have to remember that this was during Poland’s decade of experimenting with genetic manipulation, before the animal rights people came in and freed the cooking, twitching silverfish from their power parabola prison. I dated an animal rights activist for a while but we all do crazy things when we’re out of our faces on glue. No horses were harmed in the formation of that glue. The same can’t be said for my short run as head of innovations for the world famous Ragtag Circus during the summer of 1971, touring South America. I was convinced that a 21-horse pyramid was possible but, well, maybe we’ll never know for sure what caused the collapse. My dear friend Monsieur Bolobo the clown claimed a painted zebra had infiltrated our number on the night of the spectacle, its weaker back giving way under the weight, but this was his stock excuse for every failing. Made for an amusing divorce hearing from his wife. Someone else who divorced his wife was Ignatius Lemming. Now, it’s a strange name but I’d be surprised if you’d heard it before since he went out of his way to hide it from the public, adopting noms-de-plume in much the same fashion that celebrities adopt children and charities. Among his many aliases for a while he was Charles Ford, tobacco importer; then he was Jermaine Montezuma, backing singer for the soul group The Five Spaniards; I remember a wild fortnight when he had clicks in his name because he’d seen some television documentary about a native tribe somewhere. This was right around the dolphin uprising at Chicago Zoo. And now you know why. The Five Spaniards wasn’t a real group, unlike The Six Senoritas, although funk and soul weren’t their specialities; they preferred rumbles and robberies. They were rough, they were tough, and they were buff, but you accused them of being anything other than straight, angry women at your peril. I first encountered them as...
Sex Sirens Of Saturn
Previously… Leopard Ladies Of Mercury Buxom Amazons Of Jupiter "I put it to you Mr Hawkes that this is the gravest danger we have ever faced." I was most adamant on this fact and jabbed my finger in his general direction even as I jutted out my chin to check for stubble growth in the reflection afforded by the rear porthole with its view of the star-filled heavens. Mr Hawkes was his usual voiceless self. I had now spent countless weeks in the admittedly well-furnished space-traversing vessel with just Mr Hawkes for company, and poor company at that. It is no exaggeration to say that my mind had entered a dark place just as my body was hurtling through dark space too. "Damnation man!" I exclaimed loudly, wheeling around. "Won’t you just speak up for once! This solitude and silence are enough to fray the edges of my mind!" Mr Hawkes kept himself just outside the edges of my peripheral vision. It was an extraordinary talent he possessed in this respect but it held scant recompense for his otherwise dreadful companionship. Our games of tag and hide-and-seek had been initially entertaining but ultimately grated on the senses. There was little entertainment in playing with someone as skilled as he was. I prepared a meal for one from the ship’s kitchen. I didn’t like to exclude Mr Hawkes as it gnawed at my sensibilities, yet if the man would not so much as converse then he deserved to suffer. He hadn’t complained thus far and I suspected he was consuming ship supplies slyly while I slept. At the conclusion of the meal – a full Sunday roast for the seventh day running for I had determined there was an excess of potatoes that needed to be consumed before the eyes they had already sprouted started winking – there was a rather loud knock on the outside of the spaceship. "Mr Hawkes! Will you get that?" I asked. He would not, and there was a second knock, followed swiftly by a third. I put down the plate that I had been washing, dried my hands, and made my way to the foremost porthole. I glared at Mr Hawkes as I did so but he leapt away from my gaze preventing me from seeing whether he was in any way sorry for being so utterly unhelpful. At the front of the vessel I expected to see what I always saw: the black beach of outer space sprinkled with star sand. I jumped back in shock. Needless to say but my eyes were greeted by something wholly unexpected. "Carruthers!" I gasped. "It simply...
An Interview With Author Mark A. Rayner
It was a dark and stormy night… somewhere… more likely than not. All I know is that – for me – it was dark because my room is dark and I rarely open the curtains. It may well have been night but I don’t wear a watch and my body clock was fried after a run-in with a cattle prod (another story, another time). It wasn’t stormy though; unless it was one of those quiet storms you never hear about. To be frank it doesn’t really matter about the general luminance and exterior weather conditions. What actually matters is that I was conducting an interview with prominent (he protrudes into three of my very favourite dimensions) internet-present author and occasional Canadian Mark A. Rayner. We discussed the decline of sea shanties at length. We formulated a new theory of life, the universe, and everything bar Miley Cyrus. We broached the subject of sex but decided that it wouldn’t be fair to our respective partners and the distance thing would be a killer. Mainly we talked about books, writing, publishing, authoring, and other related synonyms. If you want to know a little bit more about writing and getting your work published then this interview could be just the thing you need; if you’re interested in sea shanties then I’m afraid that section was cut for brevity’s sake. ME: My readers – based on search referral traffic – are perverts and I like to cater to their needs so first thing’s first… this book we’re about to talk about features sex. Weird sex. Animalesque-human sex. Some might say “forbidden sex”. Some might say “the sort of sex the Catholic Church would cover up for decades if their sexual cover-up goons weren’t so busy with all the paedophilia and other related shenanigans (not that there’s necessarily any cross-species sex going on in the church (donkeys feature at Easter but I don’t really recall any other major animal featuring heavily in the New Testament which is probably why a lot of them don’t go to church in the first place (also: they’re not stupid))). Now that I’ve peppered this opening paragraph with terms that deviants are likely to type into Google perhaps you could talk about how easy or difficult it was to write the sex scenes, what sort of research you conducted, and how much of you went into the sex scenes? Hopefully in a manner that won’t get you fired from your job. Although: what a story! MARK: The writing of sex scenes is notoriously fraught with pitfalls, and many great writers have made complete asses of themselves in attempting it....
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