eerieindiana | May. 8th, 2020

May. 8th, 2020

It's Friday, Eerie fans, and it's a great time to look back on all the sweet fanworks you've created over the years. Why not revisit some sweet artwork, admire someone's crafting efforts or leave an appreciative comment on an uploaded video?

froodle

The dumplings were jet-black, and they glistened as Tod scooped them out of the shallow-bottomed frying pan and onto the serving plate.

"Kraken ink," he said. "Ethically sourced, of course."

Janet gave him a long look.

"Does 'ethically sourced' mean you went down and scraped some of it off the corpses of drowned sailors so you could use it as food colouring?" she asked.

"No," Dash interjected. "It means I asked the Unkind Ones, 'hey do you guys have any kraken ink?', and they said 'sure kid, take a couple more bottles, Old Squidface won't be needed it anytime soon'."

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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froodle

Janet made a face.

"Tod," she said. "You realise that probably means the Unkind Ones got that ink in a fight, right?"

"Oh," said Tod.

"And then I asked their permission to take some," said Dash. "And they said I could. Ethically sourced."

"Ethically sourced by you from them," said Janet. "Sourced with punching by them from the kraken."

"Which would have been twelve guys in leather waistcoats versus a many-tentacle nightmare the size of a house," said Dash. "If there's an unethical slant on that fight, it's in favour of the kraken."

They both turned to Tod, faces expectant.

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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froodle

"Uh," said Tod.

"Look what you did," Janet said to Dash. "Now you've trapped him in a moral dilemma, and we both know you're not capable of leading him out."

Dash threw up both hands, so stained with kraken ink that the symbols on the back were barely visible.

"The assignment this week was local produce!" he said. "You really think this town would have looked kindly on it's only metal-head scraping squid ink off the bodies of dead sailors?"

"You didn't need to dye your food black in the first place!" Janet shot back.

Tod gasped.

"But... my aesthetic!"

Ongoing Verse: Janet

( Read more... )

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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froodle

"See?" said Dash, in a smug voice that made Janet want to punch him just about as hard as that biker gang had punched Cthulhu. "His aesthetic."

"You can buy food colouring at the World o' Stuff!" she said. "You didn't need to drag Tod into a conflict between Harley Davidson-riding vigilantes and the Lovecraftian pantheon that sleeps below the local body of water."

Dash waved one inky hand.

"Relax," he said. "The way the guy in the Santa hat was talking, that kraken isn't asking for a rematch any time soon."

"They're functionally immortal," said Janet. "They can wait!"

Ongoing Verse: Janet

( Read more... )

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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froodle

"And part of functional immortality is that they don't understand time!" said Dash. "When they eventually get around to avenging themselves, Eerie will most likely be a few wrecked foundations and a couple of footnotes in the history books of places nobody cares about."

"Those warning notes will probably say the town got destroyed because you did another stupid thing to rile up something worse than the kraken," Janet snapped.

"If they come after anyone," said Dash, "It'll be the Unkind Ones for stealing the ink in the first place, or Tod for cooking with it. We'll both be fine."

Ongoing Verse: Janet

( Read more... )

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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froodle

"Wow," said Tod. "Ouch."

Dash shrugged.

"Sorry," he said, not sounding sorry in the slightest. "But it's not like they'd know any of us were involved anyway."

"You have kraken-ink all over your hands," Janet pointed out. "You might actually be branded deeper than I am right now, and the things in the lake literally branded me when I worked at the Baitshop last summer."

Dash glanced down at his black-smeared palms.

"It'll wash off," he said.

"Sure," said Janet. "Eventually. In about... roughly the same timescale as a lake monster with a bruised ego might take to heal up."

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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froodle

The clatter of the frying pan sliding into the sink full of soapy water startled them both.

"Sorry," said Tod. "But if Dash is right and it's going to take a few years before the Deep Ones take their revenge, then I thought I might as well get started on the washing up."

He shrugged.

"And if Janet's right and we could be overrun with angry tentacles at any moment, I didn't want to leave this mess for Bert and Ernie."

His fellow Future Homemakers, the future part now something of a question mark, began helping him with the clean-up.

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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Ongoing Verse: Janet

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froodle

Bert cut into the night-dark shell of the largest dumpling, releasing a spray of red from it's interior. He speared the slick black skin with his fork and scraped up a generous dollop of the crimson filling.

"Interesting presentation," he said to Tod, eyes flitting from the colours on his plate to the after-market dye job on Tod's letterman jacket. "Very tonally consistent."

He raised the scrap of dumpling to his mouth, inhaling deeply. His eyebrows rose.

"Strawberry," he said. "And... liquorice?"

Tod nodded.

"For the colours," he explained.

"Did you know you can just use squid ink?" asked Ernie.

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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froodle

Marshall Teller knows there were other Harvest Kings before him. The photographs with their wreaths of corn stalks and holly leaves have mysteriously vanished, and Mister Radford claims to have no idea where they went, but he remembers - old-fashioned clothes and crowns of dead and dying plant matter and a space, afterwards, where a person should have been.

Marshall Teller hopes that there won't be other Harvest Kings after him. Mister Chaney walks with a limp and eats more vegetables than he used to, but something still howls out in the cornfields at night, and Marshall dreads his twenty-sixth year.

Ongoing Verse: Harvest

( Read more... )

Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

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froodle

There is a cave under Wolf Mountain, where the first of Eerie's Harvest Kings lies sleeping. He has beaten his ploughshare into a sword and he wears a crown of woven plants that remains as fresh and bright as the day the prettiest girl in Eerie placed it upon his head.

(that pretty girl was fed to a dragon a few months later. you don't ask too many questions of the town elders, not if you want to avoid your name being the next one pulled from a hat)

The King Under the Mountain dreams of silver, and he stirs.

Ongoing Verse: Harvest

( Read more... )

Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

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froodle

The first Harvest King was a young man, the night he climbed Wolf Mountain in the company of Alderman Chaney. Now he is old, but his face is still unlined, his eyes clear and his hair thick and glossy.

(there are leaves in his hair and it hurts to pluck at them. he tries not to think about it)

The rock formations here are strange and twisted, and they capture and keep sound in a way technology won't replicate for years after his disappearance. He can still hear the echoing gunshot, and the night air smells of smoke and silver.

Ongoing Verse: Harvest

( Read more... )

Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

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froodle

There's blood on the ground and the strange, misshapen footprints in the soil are already overflowing with cold October rain. The full moon is reflected in the puddle's rippling surface, pumpkin-orange and hanging so low in a cloudless sky that the Harvest thinks he could touch it.

His mouth is dry, and the water looks cooling and sweet. He longs to drink, but his mother's voice whispers the old stories in the cavernous vault of his memories, and the Harvest King licks parched lips with a dusty tongue, and presses on.

Someone is wailing in pain, wolf-howl angry. He's close.

Ongoing Verse: Harvest

( Read more... )

Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

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froodle

There are four of them, huddled together atop a rocky outcropping overlooking a moon-drenched clearing. One of them, barely into adolescence, is still wearing his own Harvest Crown. It's been hard-used, for the corn stalks are bent and broken and some of the berries are leaking crushed redness down into the boy's hairline.

They're staring at something below, and the Harvest King feels a shock of recognition at the sight of Alderman Chaney, clothes torn and foot bloodied, howling up at them as he clutches the air around his wounded toes.

The smallest of the group spots him, and gasps.

Ongoing Verse: Harvest

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Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

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froodle

It is 3:45 in the afternoon when the faded yellow school bus pulls up at the end of his street and, with a clunk and a hiss of pneumatic doors sliding open, Simon is free.

Except he isn't, not really. Marshall won't be back until after six - the high-school is farther out of town and he stays late to use the arc welder when nobody is looking - and despite a standing invitation from the Tellers to stop by whenever he likes, it feels strange to be in their house without Mars.

Simon walks slowly, and wishes the afternoon away.

Ongoing Verse: Holmes Brothers

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Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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froodle

It's when he's in sight of the cracked and peeling paint of his parents' front door that Simon realises it.

For the last three years, there has been a cockatrice nest in one neglected corner of the Holmes' neglected yard. Stony outcroppings surround it, weeds that had long-since petrified under the yellow-eyed stares of the inhabitants. The dust baths smell like rosemary and fresh mint and lemon balm, and the half-collapsed picket fence has been built upon and added to until it forms a fairly serviceable chicken run.

And now, for the first time in a long time, it's silent.

Ongoing Verse: Holmes Brothers

( Read more... )

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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froodle

Simon doesn't call for Tweedle-Tweep.

Firstly, because calling out to uncanny things is a good way to make sure even more uncanny things sit up and take notice, especially if the first uncanny thing responds to your summons.

Secondly, because staying quiet and unobtrusive around his parents is a habit so ingrained that it's become almost autonomic, an aspect of his body's continuing existence that he hardly thinks about anymore.

Thirdly, because if Tweedle-Tweep doesn't answer, and Marshall isn't home for another two hours, Simon will need to ask his baby brother for help. And Harley rarely helps for free.

Ongoing Verse: Holmes Brothers

( Read more... )

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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froodle

The roof of the chicken run was once made from damp and mouldering wooden pickets, pulled from the parched soil of his parent's garden like teeth from a rotting mouth and balanced atop sheets of corrugated plastic.

The cockatrice have turned those disintegrating timbers to stone, and Simon strains to lift them. He's glad they've chosen to fortify their home; it speaks to him of permanence and the sense that something, at least, can thrive beside this miserable house.

That doesn't make the granite slabs weigh any less, though, and Simon is small for his age and hungry to boot.

Ongoing Verse: Holmes Brothers

( Read more... )

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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froodle

Chick Four is asleep directly beneath the first slat that Simon levers free. When those first toad-sat eggs had hatched and the initial clutch of four burst blinking and sticky into the world, Simon had thought they all looked the same. Rooster wattle, dragon scales. Feathered wings and long, serpentine tails.

Then Harley had named them, and bound them to him, and over time they'd begun to change. Chick Four is the biggest, four heads on a broad body, and Simon thinks this one is his brother's favourite.

Did Harley know their future shape, or did the naming shape them?

Ongoing Verse: Holmes Brothers

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Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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froodle

Tweedle-Tweep's original given name was Chick Two Junior. Simon had no idea how Harley had accurately identified the fifth cockatrice's parentage, or even if he had, but it hadn't suited the tiny all-black cockatrice, who bounced and chirped and sang the same seven bars over and over again from dawn 'til dusk.

Harley hadn't argued when his big brother had renamed the newest hatchling, simply shrugged and smiled and continued his intense, silent negotiation with the Rat King.

And so, Tweedle-Tweep remained, singing and scratching at the dirt and inventing new forms of higher mathematics that were actually probably magic.

Ongoing Verse: Holmes Brothers

( Read more... )

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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froodle

And now Tweedle-Tweep was silent, and Simon couldn't find him, and the panic was a lump in his throat that he could barely breathe around, and...

And Chick Four moved one leathery wing, and there Tweedle-Tweep was in the deep shadow cast by the older cockatrice, dark as the void between realities and peeping very faintly in his sleep.

"Oh," said Simon, a rush of air more than an attempt at speech. His legs felt melting ice-cream soft as the fear receded and the sudden lack of adrenaline made his head spin.

Tweedle-Tweep opened one midnight eye and trilled sleepily.

Ongoing Verse: Holmes Brothers

( Read more... )

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

( Read more... )

froodle

The poisoned pellets were blue-green, with an iridescent shimmer like beetle wings in the bright light of an April morning.

"Oh," said Tod, peering into the red cardboard box with it's skull and crossed bones insignia. "It's pretty. I didn't think it would be pretty."

"I guess they make it in bright colours so humans will know not to eat it," said Marshall.

Tod thought about his spice rack, locked away in the BF Skinner-Things Incorporated Test Kitchen, bulging with pearlised sprinkles and edible glitter and pastes to buttercream any colour you could imagine, and a few you probably shouldn't.

Ongoing Verse: Janet

( Read more... )

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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froodle

They were four layers down in the labyrinthine twists of the Eerie Mall's unending sub-basements, and the Christmas decorations were on the move.

Marshall Teller pressed himself close to the rough breezeblock wall, watching as a gigantic inflatable Santa dragged itself past on wheezing, punctured hands.

"This is stupid," whispered Dash. "It's the middle of April, even the mall doesn't start setting up this early."

A nickering trio of wicker reindeer clattered by, fairy lights trailing from their hollow centres and dragging behind them like twinkling ropes of viscera.

Somewhere out in the darkness, someone was singing Jingle Bells again.

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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Ongoing Verse: Christmas

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froodle

Sara Sue isn't much of a screamer. Before the Eerie No.2 pencil, just sticking up for herself was hard enough. Afterwards, there'd not been much to scream about, unless it was other people screaming about the things she was doing to them.

Now, though... now she'd scream if she could.

The air is thick with the smell of wood shavings, heavy in a way that scrapes and scratches against her skin, that clogs her throat and weighs her tongue down in her mouth.

She tries to move, but that horrible suffocating atmosphere pins her in place, and she can't reach.

Ongoing Verse: Pay Attention

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froodle

If Simon had thought that anything could soften the nightmarish hard edges of Wendy-Go-Go's character design, it would have been being rendered in plush form for manufacture on a massive scale.

If he'd ever thought that, today was proving him very, very wrong.

"Adorable, isn't she?" said Mister Radford, arranging the doll's simultaneously squishy and skeletal limbs in front of the packed display case. "I can remember seeing her show back when it first aired."

He gazed into Wendy-Go-Go's hollow eye sockets, and for a moment his face seemed very gaunt.

"Of course, they've updated the character design since then."

Ongoing Verse: Holmes Brothers

( Read more... )

Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

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froodle

For a single, wonderful moment, Syndi thought that the faces in jars were simply her own reflection, distorted and made strange by the curve of the glass.

Then one of them blinked eyeless lids at her, and a mouth with flat and ragged lips wriggled like worms on a hot pavement as it tried to speak.

The thing in a white beautician's smock smiled at her with stolen features, and just below it's hairline a ragged red seam seeped and oozed where flesh met stolen flesh.

She clenched the gift certificate tight, wrinkling the heavy cardstock.

Marshall was so dead.

Ongoing Verse: Teller Family History

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froodle

Marshall steps into the dingy living room, the woman from the letting agency close on his heels in a cloud of expensive perfume and well-honed sales patter.

"As you can see, there's a good deal of space," she says, then stops as the clunky, old-fashioned television in one corner turns on with a high-pitched pop and a crackle of static.

"Hello, friend," says a smiling, white-toothed man who both does and doesn't look like Marshall's father. "Welcome to your guide on why you don't want to rent from these people."

The volume is up high as Mister Wilson continues speaking.

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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froodle

Dash puts a cross through the circled apartment listing.

"So your old man's cash machine is now warning people away from slum lords?" he said. "So what?"

"He did always like helping people," said Simon. "It sounds like the perfect job for him."

"You guys are missing the point," said Marshall. "This isn't a program. Nobody's telling him to do this. The letting agent unplugged the TV and everything and he just kept going."

"So he's self-employed," said Dash.

"Or a vigilante!" said Simon.

"Or a literal ghost in the machine," said Marshall.

"Who helped us dodge a crummy rental!"

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

( Read more... )

froodle

The molten cheese on top of the lasagne had caramelised in three spots, forming a perfect smiley face. Tod set it down on the counter, instinctively smiling back.

To his absolute horror, the face in the béchamel winked at him.

"What the-" he exclaimed, almost tripping over himself as he backed away, making the moray eels at the next table peer curiously at him from within the protective confines of their human skinsuit.

One of the Wilson twins ambled over, a handful of protective sage clutched in one chubby fist.

"Dear me," he said. "A dairy homunculus. Well, it happens."

Ongoing Verse: Janet

( Read more... )

froodle

Either Bert or Ernie sat a shaken Tod McNulty down in front of the eyewash station, while either Ernie or Bert fetched him a glass of water.

"It's nothing to worry about," said the one who'd brought him a drink.

"Very salvageable situation," his twin agreed, nodding energetically.

"You have two options," they said as one.

"Firstly, you can pop it back under the grill until the top layer is crisp and brown enough that you no longer see a face," said the here-take-a-seat Wilson.

"Or you can set it free to live with it's own kind," said his brother.

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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froodle

Tod stared at them.

"There are other things like that?" he said, his voice hoarse. "Here? In Eerie?"

"All over the world," said Bernie.

"Anywhere people see faces in things without faces," said Ert.

"The ones in Eerie call themselves the Order of Pareidoliac Beings," said Bert. "Trees with eyes, rocks that look like a woman in profile, at least a dozen potato chip Jesuses."

"They meet up in one of the Eerie Library's reading rooms once a month," said Ernie. "I'm told it's quite a thing to see."

"Oh," said Tod, weakly. "Well, let's go with option two then."

Ongoing Verse: Janet

( Read more... )

froodle

See it here.

froodle

Out now for #Patreon supporters: we get our eyes examined on this month’s trip to #EerieIndiana! Check out the back catalogue of Center of Weirdness at patreon.com/predictocast

froodle

Watch it here.

froodle

Episode 8 - OUT NOW 🎶🤘

Apple https://t.co/E2tistJJn4
Spotify https://t.co/WRsPR3uQfx
Web https://t.co/EEyFfyLjtS #eerieindiana #brokenrecord #betterweirdthandead pic.twitter.com/AZP4duykR8
— Return to Eerie, Indiana (@eerieindianapod) May 8, 2020

froodle

Anita Morris as Eunice Danforth in ‘Eerie, Indiana’ pic.twitter.com/4GNbs32h72
— runningwithscissors (@running42419669) May 8, 2020

froodle

Hi! Anno Mutationem is a 2.5D pixel action adventure set in a cyberpunk universe, we try to combine action with rpg-like elements, while also including stuff like platforming, boss battles and story-wise some pretty eerie indiana stuff
— ANNO: Mutationem (@AnnoMuta) May 8, 2020

froodle

Do you remember this episode of #EerieIndiana? [6.7547@797s] #NoContextTV #NBC pic.twitter.com/f7lwQYhEXo
— No Context TV (@UKNoContextTV) May 8, 2020

froodle

Out now for #Patreon supporters: we get our eyes examined on this month’s trip to #EerieIndiana! Check out the back catalogue of Center of Weirdness at https://t.co/6O9f9hlSAy. #trypod #podernfamily #indiepodcast pic.twitter.com/jsrUVUtTgt
— Predict-O-Cast ✋🔮🤚 (@PredictOCast) May 7, 2020

My current "Favorite Thing We Do" - covering Eerie Indiana, episode by episode, a story of a smug teen and his baby friend. https://t.co/V78DWZJL1D
— Brian Entertainment Skinner (@TheBrianSkinner) May 7, 2020

froodle

What little gifts has @bunnydarke bought for herself and @JoshuaTonks?

Josh guessed right at question 7! 💝 pic.twitter.com/7J9m8szhYq
— Return to Eerie, Indiana (@eerieindianapod) May 7, 2020