To whom it may concern

It's Tuesday, so today you get a choice between two prompts. Pick one, combine both, pit them against each other - on Tuesday, you choose!

This week, your options are:

PITBULL SURFERS versus UNKIND ONES

It's Tuesday, so today you get a choice between two prompts. Pick one, combine both, pit them against each other - on Tuesday, you choose!

This week, your options are:

Unkind Ones versus Pitbull Surfers

The vampire biker gang stared at the Unkind Ones, and the Unkind Ones stared back. For a long moment, the only noise was the growl of a dozen motor engines that were, frankly, entirely overpowered when it came to driving around a own as small as Eerie.

"So you don't... find things?" asked the leader of the Unkind Ones slowly.

"No," said the leader of the vampire biker gang. "We just put maggots into takeout boxes and laugh at people when we trick them into eating it."

The leader of the Unkind Ones made a face.

"That sounds very unkind."

Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

( Read more... )

Episode 4 of Eerie Indiana "The Losers" pic.twitter.com/3EAbcAYPOo

— James Gormanley (@JamesGormanley) November 8, 2020

It's not quite a Viking funeral - for all his muscle and mass, he's still a triple-folded sheet of A4 in the end and that means his body would burn up too quickly to suit the solemnity of the occasion - but it's not a bad approximation, either.

Sara Sue sketches a shallow-bottomed row boat, the benches missing, and after she's signed it into reality the three of them line it with moss gathered from the scrubland that surrounds the lake. She unfolds the rumpled sketch of the Nanny and smoothes the brittle paper over the soft, damp green.

Dash hadn't known Harley before the disappearances at the lake and his own long, dark years trapped in the cell beneath City Hall, and the quiet, slightly lost shadow left behind in Simon's absence doesn't bear much resemblance to the stories he'd heard back then. Still, he thinks he sees a glimmer of it when Harley shows up twenty minutes before Arnold's send-off with a crate of illegal fireworks and an honour guard courtesy of the Unkind Ones.

They slide the paper-light boat out onto the dark blue water, and when the gentle swell has carried it a little distance from the shore, the three of them shoot rockets at it until it catches fire, orange-white flames curling up to mingle with multi-coloured explosions that light up the night sky and reflect in the waves below.

The Unkind Ones stand with heads bowed and hands clasped, and Billy Millions doesn't answer when Dash presses him on exactly how Eerie's most notorious biker gang came to know the Haversock's mail-order nanny. Harley shrieks with laughter at some of the bigger explosions, and again Dash wonders about that six year old who could bite through reality, and how hard reality must have bitten back once Simon was gone.

Sara Sue selects a roman candle that's thicker around than she is, lining it up with the drifting, half-melted boat with the same carefully calculated precision that he's seen her apply to everything, from drawings designed to leave municipal buildings in screaming heaps of meat and rubble to the exact amount of whipped cream required to make a perfect sundae.

It bursts with a thousand cascading explosions of green and pink and blue, and the shrill whistle as it goes off is magnified tenfold by the empty space around them. As the last traces of Nanny Arnold are obliterated in alternating flashes of light and dark, Sara Sue's eyes are wide and wet, and she drinks in the final death of her oldest creation.

Ongoing Verse: Pay Attention

( Read more... )

Ongoing Verse: Holmes Brothers

( Read more... )

"Gross," muttered Marshall, trying to wipe his begrimed hands off on his t-shirt and succeeding only in smearing the mess around even more.

He looked down at his blackened palms, feeling the panic rise and trying to push it back down.

It wasn't that bad. Simon would be missing him by now. He'd get help. People would come for him.

But the Unkind Ones had tried, hadn't they? He'd seen the flames rising over their clubhouse, thick black smoke and choking fumes like a thousand tyre fires. Even if enough of them had survived to mount a counter-attack, they were effectively out of commission for the time being.

Time. The Dairy. The Dairy would... well, the Dairy would consult the Great Cow of the Cosmos and if causality demanded he be lost, then they'd shrug their white-coated shoulders and resign themselves to plucking a different Marshall Teller out of his home reality and starting all over again.

Radford would miss him, of course, but he'd been firmer about his policy of non-interference since his stock room turned into a hollow-backed Hollywood set and he'd had to pay for an extensive and inexplicable refurbishment, not to mention replacing all his supplies.

Ongoing Verse: Milkman

( Read more... )

Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

( Read more... )

The Mayor leaned back in his oversized office chair, fingers steepled, expression condescending. The Faceless Aide stepped forward and flipped the scrapbook open, positioning it in the centre of the enormous polished desk.

"I appreciate your use of embellishments, boys," Chisel said, deigning to flip through a couple of pages. "Very... crafty. Did you take your lessons from the Unkind Ones or the Ladies?"

"Both," said Simon. "Part of the service is providing the information you asked for in an attractive, easy-to-understand format."

Chisel tugged at a length of slime-green ribbon, and a concertina of folded paper unfurled towards him.


Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

( Read more... )

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

( Read more... )

"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

( Read more... )

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

( Read more... )

"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

( Read more... )

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

( Read more... )


Ongoing Verse: Microwave

( Read more... )

The man from the Dragon of the Black Pool Cantonese Restaurant and the man representing Eerie's most notorious biker gang took a seat at the very back of the closed and darkened restaurant, far from the street-level windows and the prying eyes of the thing in the ornamental fish tank.

"So," said Gnomey, pulling off his dark sunglasses and replacing them with a pair of round wire-rimmed spectacles that did nothing to diminish the rumour that he was secretly Santa in disguise. "Let's take a look at these accounts, shall we? Can't recoup lost income until we know what's missing."

Ongoing Verse: Christmas

( Read more... )

Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

( Read more... )

The roar of a dozen Harley Davidson engines jolted Simon out of a shallow, unsatisfying sleep. He pushed back the covers and crept to the window, watching shadows gather beside the rusted mailbox on his parent's driveway.

The Unkind Ones were here.

The dirty carpet of the upstairs hallway sucked unpleasantly at his bare feet as he ran, but this was not the time for socks or slippers. There was only the low rumble from outside, and the hope that made his chest tight.

"Think you lost this," said Billy Millions, as soon as opened the door.

Tweedle-Tweep twittered merrily.


Ongoing Verse: Holmes Brothers

( Read more... )

NEW EPISODE! We meet The Unkind Ones and pay a visit to the Bureau of Lost. Now where did my headphones go...? #eerieindiana #TheLosers https://t.co/DTQ5W3Wh3M

— Becky Darke (@bunnydarke) April 3, 2020

I went to listen to this and discovered I had literally just lost one of the rubber things off my earbuds. Dang you Lodgepoole!!

— eerieindianadw (@eerieindianalj1) April 3, 2020

Billy Millions stared out of the clubhouse window at the tarmac'd parking lot below, and shook his head.

"What are they doing?" he asked, of no-one in particular.

Gnomey sighed and took a long pull of his beer.

"I think they're trying to intimidate us because you told the Eerie Enquirer that the only biker gangs in town were us and those elementary schoolers who ride tricycles and wear weird little felt caps."

"Well, we are," said Billy.

Gnomey looked at the riding mowers currently circling outside.

"I guess the men of our local Home-Owners Association disagree," he said, shrugging.

Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

( Read more... )

Fun fact: Grant Gelt, who played Bertram Grover Weeks in The Sandlot, now manages Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. pic.twitter.com/uINc3AC11t

— Kelsey Kingdon (@KelseyKingdon) August 12, 2018

See it here.

Read it here.

( Read more... )

It's Tuesday, so today you get a choice between two prompts. Pick one, combine both, pit them against each other - on Tuesday, you choose!

This week, your options are:

Bureau of Lost versus Unkind Ones

It's Senior Race Day in the Isle of Man, a public holiday and the last day of a two-week festival of motorcycle racing. In honour of me finally being able to open my windows without being deafened by the roar of bike engines, how about some fanworks celebrating Eerie's most notorious biker gang, the Unkind Ones?