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:

Bank of Eerie versus BF Skinner Junior High

I hope nobody's got an appointment with the optician coming up, because you might find yourselves freaking out when she asks you to read the little eye chart. Don your GM2020s, everyone... it's time to Just Say No Fun!

See it here.

It's the 14th of the month, and that's the date we put aside to think about all those amazing minor characters, places, organisations and general backdrop that make Eerie so compellingly watchable.

This month's theme is:

BF SKINNER JUNIOR HIGH

The 666H Club had, once again, violated the laws of nature, and nature was, once again, understandably very annoyed about it.

Marshall Teller pressed himself tight against a bank of lockers as a bunch of man-sized carrots - or perhaps carrots that had once been men? - rampaged past, filling the small corridor with the coppery tang of spilled blood and the loamy scent of newly-turned earth.

"How did they make a problem this big out of a vegetable plot the size of a wardrobe?" he very quietly marvelled.

"They are taught to do more with less," Simon offered in a whisper.

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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Marshall hurried down the grimy corridor, two minutes late for his next class and letting his feet handle the familiar route while his brain scrambled for a hopefully not-so-familiar excuse. That was probably why he didn't notice one of the Michaels loitering by the display case until he was almost on top of him.

"Ow!" Marshall exclaimed, jerking his hand back and shaking it to dispel the sudden sting of static electricity.

"Sorry," said the Michael, his voice as quiet as soft pencil on rough paper. He turned, and Marshall could see what had fascinated him.

"Ah," he said. "Sara-Sue."

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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Ongoing Verse: Pay Attention

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The Eerie Waste Processing Plant and Pizzeria was recruiting again. "Earn while you learn!" screamed glossy pamphlets that fluttered from the scarred corkboards which lined the walls of B.F. Skinner Junior High and stacked beside that day's edition of the Eerie Examiner, waiting to be inserted.

What exactly prospective child labourers would be learning went unsaid, though Marshall suspected that the connection between the worker shortage and the addition of the new Meaty Mania Deep Dish pizza to the menu might be the biggest, and last, piece of knowledge imparted to some of them.

He tossed the leaflets out, unopened.

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

( Read more... )

It's the 14th of the month, and that's the date we put aside to think about all those amazing minor characters, places, organisations and general backdrop that make Eerie so compellingly watchable.

This month's theme is:

BF SKINNER JUNIOR HIGH

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:

"You too!"

I hope nobody's got an appointment with the optician coming up, because you might find yourselves freaking out when she asks you to read the little eye chart. Don your GM2020s, everyone... it's time to Just Say No Fun!

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:

"a quiet classroom"

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:

"better test scores"

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:

"here comes detention"

Does anyone remember Eerie Indiana?

— Georgina Joelle (@GeorginaJoelle) June 24, 2020

Yesssssss! With the kids who lived in Tupperware who were in every year book picture for decades?

— Joe Sims (@JoeSims10) June 24, 2020

(wooden spoon inspired by this story by evilinsanemonkey)

Tod scraped the last of the whipped cream from a bowl decorated with a repeating motif of cartoon bas smiling aroundelongated fangs. He picked up his lucky wooden spoon, which he had kept with him ever since the fateful day he'd found it at the back of the drawer, and smoothed the pillowy mounds into a single thick layer atop the crispy meringue base.

The kiwis and strawberries, already neatly sliced and waiting in a sealed ForeverWare container shaped like an old-fashioned coffin, came next. He arranged them carefully on the creamy yellow-white surface, moving them back and forth until he was satisfied.

A man who was either Bert or Ernie ambled over, clipboard in one hand, emergency exorcism kit readily accessible in one pocket of a neatly pressed and spotlessly clean apron.

"Good use of colour and form," he said, scrawling something illegible on the paper as he spoke. He leaned over the cake, inhaled deeply before straightening. "A little honey in the whipped cream?"

Tod nodded.

"It seems to help it stay fresh a little longer," he said, trying to ignore the way his teacher blanched at the "F" word. "And it stiffens the cream so it holds a pattern better too."

Ernie or Bert nodded, cleared his throat awkwardly, then nodded again with more enthusiasm.

"Yes," he agreed. "I'm very impressed by your screaming zombie head as rendered in a fruit topping."

"I used a few pomegranate seeds to make it look like it was crying tears of blood," said Tod. "And very thin strips of kiwi to give it's lips that 'toxic radiation' look."

"Excellent, excellent," said Bert-nie, circling the long worktable in order to observe the cake from all sides. "It looks at once delicious, and viscerally horrifying."

Tod blushed, and he beamed with pride.

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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On ForeverWare ladies:



On colour co-ordination:



On pickle-lifters:



On Annabelle Lee:

Marshall waited while Tod prepared them both a bowl of non-magical, pre-cinnamon-ified oatmeal.

"You heard about the accident with the Evidence Locker, I guess," he said, as Tod retrieved a couple of non-cursed spoons from the cutlery drawer of the BF Skinner test kitchen (sponsored by Things Incorporated, tm).

"Yeah," said Tod. "I'm really sorry. Having a cursed artefact contaminate the rest of your cursed artefacts with a different, incompatible curse must suck."

Marshall nodded sadly.

"I'm pretty sure Mister Wilson's hand is sentient now," he said. "It just keeps writing 'Simon' over and over again."

Tod patted his shoulder.

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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If the mysterious and arcane publishing company that had originally put together the Annotated Study Guide to the Sorcerer's Bible ever felt like putting out an updated edition, Tod thought, they could do a lot worse than asking Simon to edit it.

He had an almost BF Skinner-esque knack for breaking complicated ideas down to their simplest components.

The hard claws of the sugar mice made scraping noises against the asphalt as they poured through the uncovered vents at the back of Grandma's kitchen, straight into the enchanted shoebox that Tod had prepared for them.


The false bottom slid closed.

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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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

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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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Tweedle-Tweep did not appear to find it tough. He used one midnight-black talon to open up Simon's math textbook and began scratching out the answers to his calculus homework in the dusty earth.

"Huh," said Simon, rolling onto his side and propping himself up on one elbow. "You like math too, I guess."

Tweedle-Tweep sang his little seven-note song again.

"Well, okay," he said, pulling out a pencil and a notebook. "I was going to study with Mars after dinner, but I guess getting it done now means more time for UFO hunting."

Tweedle-Tweep's eyes gleamed in the oncoming dark.

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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Ongoing Verse: Holmes Brothers

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The 666H club had built a Wicker Man in the middle of the football field.

Local vegetation already grew thick around it, giddy with anticipation for the blood and fire yet to come. Some sixth graders swore they'd seen Were-Lettuce on school grounds in the last week, and staff and students were missing.

"I'm conflicted," said Tod, staring up into the hollow eye sockets of the towering effigy. "On the one hand, maybe if my old man had burned a few people, we'd still have our farm. On the other, I'm still on the football team, you know?"

Janet nodded.

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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Ongoing Verse: Harvest

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"That," said Tod, peering cautiously over the upturned table and wiping chunks of anti-matter from the lenses of his protective safety goggles, "Is not a speed between 'whip' and 'frappe'."

Janet nodded, although she didn't rise from her defensive crouch beside him.

"How does it look?"

Tod considered.

"Well," he said. "You know me. I'm not much for maths, physics, or the mysteries of the universe. But speaking as a casual observer, I think Things Incorporated's latest addition to the world of kitchen appliances just tore a hole in the space-time continuum."

"Oh," said Janet. "And our-"

"Cake's ruined. Yeah."


Ongoing Verse: Janet

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