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The water supply had been shut off, and the great stone gargoyle whose spurting mouth and dripping nostrils had delighted children all summer now gaped, dry and thirsting. The bulb above it's head had burned out and it's craggy features were dull and pedestrian in the gloom cast by the alcove in which it nestled. The fountain's basin had once gleamed treasure bright with wishing pennies and discarded sweet wrappers, but was now covered by a thick green-brown layer of algae above a black and stagnant pool that stank of abandon and decay.

Officer Derek ran a roll of hazard tape between two traffic cones, marking off the area. He glanced at the gargoyle, leering emptily above it's desolate kingdom, and his eyes glittered with sympathetic tears. He reached out to give it a comforting pat while his other hand unclipped the heavy two-way radio from his belt. Sniffling, he pressed the large red "talk" button, gave his patrol number and location, and waited while Fred Suggs, posing as a police dispatcher, connected him to his boss.

"It's horrible," he sobbed. "Gum in the waterspout. Everything blocked! Who would be so cruel?"

Sergeant Knight reached for his sidearm, and stood.

Read the rest of the Microwave verse here )

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The burned out minivan crouched in the parking lot outside WERD-TV. A ram skull topped with ornate curled horns stared balefully out over the rows of parked cars, empty eye sockets glittering darkly beneath the heavy folds of a midnight-black cowl.

“Free Beer!” proclaimed the hand-lettered sign above the glowering mascot for Eerie’s most recently opened micro-brewery. “Hand-crafted in Eerie! Brewed with soul!”

A pair of rangy figures in blood-stained denim, their faces obscured behind rubber sheep-skull masks, handed out plastic cups of rich brown brew to the gaggle of eager station employees that had formed around the van.

“You have got to be kidding me,” said Dash.

“No!” said Marshall. “I’m telling you, Hooded Ram Breweries is a front for the forces of evil to harvest the unwitting souls of Eerie!”

“Yes,” said Dash. “An idiot could see that. They’re not even being subtle about it. What I mean is, do you really want to go to the effort of saving the people who couldn’t see through it, even though this has got to be the most transparent Deal with the Devil since the guy who literally had people sign in blood?”

“He’s got a point there,” said Simon.


Read the rest of the Microwave-verse here )
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The Eerie Waste Processing Plant and Pizzeria was on fire. Hissing globs of molten cheese leapt skyward, landing with a greasy sizzle on the street outside or congealing on the flat roofs of neighbouring businesses. The air was fragrant with the scent of baking dough and rank with the sweet-sour stink of reclaimed animal by-products.

Within the flames a vast shape moved, many-appendaged, bubble-skinned. It brought one popcorn-encrusted tentacle down on the red and white awning above the store front, sending a shower of candy-striped matchsticks over the assembled onlookers.

“Told you,” said Marshall. “Pineapple on pizza offends even the gods.”

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Eerie Indiana

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