Apr. 22nd, 2020

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April is here and the shops are full of cut-price chocolate eggs. Traditionally a time for bunnies, in Eerie they probably have the Easter Jackalope bringing their chocolate eggs. To celebrate, I'll be posting a different Jackalope-themed bit of merch every day in April.

Here's a sad coned jackalope by KikiDoodles:

IMG_20200202_115853.jpg
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What have you been working on this week, Eerie fans? Now's the time to spread the word about any fannish treats you've got cooking: a line of dialogue from an upcoming fic, linework for your latest art piece, the yarn colours for a new toy. Let us know in the comments!
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It's the year 2020, and to mark the occasion we'll be running weekly prompts based around Just Say No Fun, the episode that introduced everyone's least favourite optometrist.

Your prompt for this week is:

Womp-Bomp-a-Doo-Domp
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The rain fell hard, rattling on the tin roof of the little shack.

Once it might have been a useful place for enthusiastic bird watchers and over-ambitious hikers to shelter from inclement weather. There was a small honesty box in the driest corner, packed with wet wipes and matches in waterproof boxes and the kind of lightweight poncho that folded up to the size of a handkerchief only once, and into an ungainly bundle of plastic forever after.

The addition of several severed human hands in various states of decomposition cast a pall on any kindly intentions behind it, though.

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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The Milkman dragged himself up the last of the six hundred and sixty six steps leading to the tallest point of the tallest tower in Eerie, and stopped.

He leaned against the warped and rotting door frame, breathing hard, willing his heart to return to it's normal rhythm. He wasn't as young as he was, or as he would be again, and he hadn't expected to make this climb today. He'd not had to make it in any of the previous iterations, but then, maybe that's where it had gone wrong.

The thirteen clocks of the bell-tower began to chime.

Ongoing Verse: Milkman

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From her vantage point high on the cold slopes of Wolf Mountain, Janet could see the way the roads twisted.

Every bend was a blind one, even in the places where it didn't make sense for the street to turn that way. Shops and houses were cut short to make the curve, or stretched long and thin, like they'd switched places with their reflections in some giant funhouse mirror.

Deadwood Park was changing shape, the ornamental pond narrowing in the centre as though some invisible hand was choking it, the two ends bowing out to form the sign of infinity.

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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Some idiot had buried the mangled doll parts which once hung from the dead trees in the dead centre of the dead section of Deadwood Park.

Now they had sprouted, horrible rubbery growths of dyspeptic pink with staring eyes and too many limbs.

"You'll need to pull up the root system," Euclid Daganfort informed the Faceless Aide that had shown up on his doorstep. He handed back the stack of photographs and added:

"He'll be tempted to burn them, but it won't help. All the fumes and melted plastic might just spread their spores further."

The Faceless Aide scowled, facelessly.


Ongoing Verse: Euclid

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Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

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"I swear to the Lords of the Corn," said Marshall, teeth gritted and hands pressed over his ears. "If we get one more spirit who thinks the way to right the wrongs of their mortal life is shrieking in people's faces, I'm setting fire to their haunt."

Simon and Dash exchanged a look.

"I'm okay with that," said Dash. "Nobody cares about a ruined Amway salesman haunting an abandoned strip mall anyway."

"I have a flame-thrower," said Simon, a little too quickly for anyone's peace of mind.

Marshall paused, then shook his head.

"One more try," he said. "Then arson."

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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Someone had placed a traffic cone on the head of the Taxidermied Deer. It wobbled precariously between a pair of dead and desiccated antlers, and even with the kick stool he'd taken from the cleaning cupboard, Dash couldn't quite reach it.

"Just use the mop handle," the fox advised. "Knock it down. It'll be fine."

Dash glared at it.

"You know that thing comes to life," he said. "Roams the halls, orders drinks, tips in solid gold. I'm not jabbing it with a broom."

The fox scoffed.

"It's a new moon," it said. "Stuffed animals don't roam in the dark!"

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

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The flagstones outside the ruined house had been swept and mopped, old leaf litter and discarded organs collected into a tidy pile at the northern-most edge of the little yard. It looked like the new occupants were planning a bonfire, or perhaps a barbeque.

Beneath the surface of the freshly-scrubbed stone, crawling, segmented things writhed. These were the dangerous words uttered by the home's previous inhabitants, roused from a long sleep by the presence of fresh blood.

A wind chime hung on the gate, tinkling in a non-existent breeze.

Marshall slid a free newspaper into their mailbox and wished them luck.

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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The kelpies that lived down by the creek in Deadwood Park had covered themselves in bright rugs and garlanded their heads with bridles made from silver thread and human intestine.

They clustered together in the shade of the red oak, the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves and obscuring the slime-slick scales of their coats.

"Pony Rides!" the sign beside them might have read, written in an indifferent hand using a dusty brown ink that smudged and flaked at the slightest touch.

The day-trippers from the Eerie Nursery and Garden Centre crowded around them, and the kelpies muffled their giggles.

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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Miss Holahan used a trowel to gently turn the soft earth of her flower beds.

In the bassinette beside her, the child she'd found under the rhubarb leaves grown wild in the back garden burbled happily, plump and greenish hands smeared with mud and mouth ringed with the sticky remains of earthworms.

The small retinue that Chimpbee had sent to wait on her when she moved in buzzed about, pollenating here, leaving educational pamphlets exhorting the merits of letting bees live inside one's organs there.

She left them to it; she had no time for proselytizers full of honeyed words.

Ongoing Verse: Leprechaun

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Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

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The clouds had taken on the shape of a great wyrm, it's body a series of serpentine coils and it's jaws the sucking tooth-lined throat of a monstrous lamprey.

Farmer Ephraim Chambers gathered his flock in great butterfly nets, scooping them up as they bobbed over the fields of flowering helium that gave them their white and balloon-like coats. His mostly-faithful, somewhat revolutionary-minded dog, Jess, ran back and forth, snatching the trailing ribbons of the stragglers and towing them to the safety of the low-roofed wooden barn.

Above them the dragon yawned and stretched, pretending it hadn't planned a thing.

Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

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