To whom it may concern

Eerie is a town with issues. Whether it's shitty parenting, missing kids, the fact that the spectre of death haunts every pint of milk left on your doorstep or just an overly-amorous hominid pursuing a relationship with you against your will, the people in Eerie have problems, and they need help.

For this challenge, write a letter to an advice column from the POV of one of Eerie's beleaguered citizens, or the reply they might receive. Maybe you could write both, or maybe you could reply to someone else's cry for help.

One of the sugar mice had died in the night. Tod had come downstairs that morning, pulling away the dark cloth that shielded the cage from the great pancake-griddle eyes that the four identical old ladies who ran Grandma's Kitchen used for scrying, and seen the little pile of powered sugar huddled in the far corner.

Already the green glow of whatever candy magic had given it life was fading, and even as Tod watched he could see it's shape slipping away, the tiny corpse dissipating into a mound of fine, crystalline white that shivered and scattered, and finally dissolved.

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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It's Monday, the start of the working week. To counter-act the post-weekend blues, cheer yourself up with Radio Weird: Songs of Eerie. Whether you're checking out some of eviinsanemonkey's amazing filks, or taking up deifire's awesome recommendations for Eerie-centric listening, or creating a musical fanwork of your very own, share your thoughts, and your favourites, in the comments!

( Stabbity Steve: a Murder Ballad by Eviinsanemonkey )

( After Wolf Mountain: a Filk by Eviinsanemonkey )

( Pay Attention: a Filk by Eviinsanemonkey )

( Krampus: an Eerie Christmas Poem by Eviinsanemonkey )

( Moo! A World o' Stuff advertising jingle by Eviinsanemonkey )

( Bigfoot Stole My Mail: a Musical by Owen Neil )

( Eerie, Indiana fanvids by Roseveare )

( Weird Science (Don't Leave My Arms): an Eerie, Indiana Melanie/Devon/Marshall fanvid by Current Joys )

The Jackalope Queen sat upon her haunches, larger than any rabbit Marshall had ever seen, larger even than the taxidermy hare that loomed over the entrance of the Eerie Museum of Unnatural History.

Her bearing was regal, and her long ears twitched back and forth as she surveyed the mewling pastel ranks of her loyal subjects. About her neck was a garland of skulls, vanquished enemies all. Foxes and badgers, the broken-antlered remains of an erstwhile pretender to the Jackalope throne, and at least a dozen humans.

Marshall set the Easter basket down gently upon the altar, turned, and ran.

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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Ongoing Verse: Easter Weekend

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It was raining, the heavy pounding rain where the water falls in great splattering gobs of moisture and the sky is slate-grey and the street lights come on at noon and still struggle to keep the dark at bay.

Marshall Teller looked through the streaming kitchen window at the half-drowned back yard beyond, and grinned. There was a box and a half of brownie mix at the back of the cupboard, a nearly-full jar of peanut butter in the refrigerator, and a stack of rented horror movies in the living room, which is where they would stay since his father would almost certainly not want to return them to Eerie Video in this weather.

He crept up the stairs, careful not to make any undue noise that might stir his parents or his sister, and retrieved his walkie-talkie from beneath a pile of discarded bedclothes.

"Simon," he whisper-hissed, pressing hard on the big red "talk" button. "You awake? Over."

A burble of static on the other end confirmed that, yes, Simon was awake, though perhaps not fully if the slightly muffled response was any indication.

"Come 'round the back," said Marshall. "Everyone's asleep, we can call dibs on the TV."

Ongoing Verse: Teller Family History

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Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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Poplio stood silhouetted against the rising sun, body butter-yellow and bulbous and almost completely obscuring the long, low bulk of the Eerieplex behind him.

The familiar cinema-going scents of burnt sugar, salted grease and old carpet that had lain too long in darkened rooms were still present, but buried beneath a new, more overpowering odour.

Sara Sue Haverstock had spent too long in her father's house to be put off by something as simple as a weird smell, but she'd also been there long enough to appreciate a cautious approach.

She sniffed again.

"Hot dogs or human remains," she decided.

Ongoing Verse: Pay Attention

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The man-eating water horses that made their homes in the clear streams and babbling brooks of Deadwood Park were out in full force today, sunning themselves on wet river banks where the dark mud and verdant green plant-life made a fetching backdrop for candy-coloured coats and showed off glittering manes to their best advantage.

Janet Donner watched as one pastel-pink pony kicked a blood-stained picnic basket behind a nearby rock before resuming it's artful posing beside a child-sized waterfall, and shook her head.

"Every summer," she said. "You'd think people would learn."

"I'm going to ride one," said Melanie, grinning.

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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Learning that B. F. Skinner Junior High was haunted should not have come as a surprise, at least not to a professional weirdness investigator of his calibre, and yet Mars had been taken embarrassingly off-guard when it happened.

"Sorry!" said the ghost, when the screaming eventually stopped. "Sorry!"

Marshall shook his head, willing the pounding in his chest to slow before a fatal heart attack lead to him joining the floating spectral thing currently caught on the ceiling fan.

"It's okay," he wheezed. "You just startled me, is all."

The ghost nodded sympathetically.

"That's how they got me," it confided.

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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Chimpbee reclined upon his throne of honeyed flesh, surrounded by a thousand buzzing courtiers. Before him, delicately wrought in honeycomb and sweet-smelling beeswax, lay an exact replica of downtown Eerie. Worker bees darted this way and that, black velvet leg moving quickly as they enacgted the King's campaign against the little model town.

Here, a stronghold of mirrors ruled by Miss Eerie, she of the trailing ribbons and shining eyes. There, the Unkind One's clubhouse, smelling of smoke and leather and arcane things wrought in hot metal. Beyond that, the Ladies' Society, cold-iron fists in white lace gloves.

Chimpbee scowled.


Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

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People gathered beneath the striped awning in front of the Eerie Bus Terminal and Supper Club, grateful for the shelter that protected their elegant evening wear from the light spring rain.

The pterodactyls who made their home in the rafters of the Mark Twain Boarding House eyed the glittering sequins and starched white collars with interest, long beaks champing in anticipation of the frenzy to come.

Inside, waiters in neat red uniforms laid the finishing touches on a long line of banquet tables, bright floral centrepieces to lure human participants and high-backed chairs making a perfect perch for avian claws.

Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

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The old couch was too short, too narrow and had at least three springs that jutted up from the sagging cushions in ways that turned sitting without prior inspection into a very dangerous proposition indeed.

"Aye," said the proprietor of Noel's Knick-Knack Bric-a-Brac Emporium, who claimed to be a white-haired, ruddy-featured man named Noel but who was almost certainly three leprechauns inside a trenchcoat. "But is it cursed?"

"It's been cursed at," Simon offered. "A lot."

"Also bled on," added Marshall. "Some vomit. Tears from a banshee who took losing at Mario Kart very badly."

Noel considered.

"I'll take it."

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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Ongoing Verse: Leprechaun

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Sheila was already at her desk when Simon arrived, blue-white semi-translucent fingers flying over the keyboard.

"Boss!" she greeted him, then, spotting the familiar silhouette of Bert and/or Ernie in the doorway behind him, "Double boss!"

"Morning Sheila," said Simon, taking off his heavy winter jacket and exchanging it for a crisp white lab coat.

"Morning Sheila!" echoed the Wilson twins, removing matching sunshine-yellow rain-slickers to reveal identical (and, to Sheila's undead eyes, unbearably hideous) knitted sweater vests over paisley-patterned dress shirts.

"What brings you two down here?" Sheila asked, handing Simon a clipboard with the day's schedule neatly pinned to it. "I thought you were busy getting the frozen yoghurt business off the ground."

Bert - at least, Sheila assumed it was Bert, although she was basing this on her pre-death memories of Bert Reynolds and the fact that this twin had a slightly more luxuriant moustache than the other - beamed.

"Happy Brothers Yoghurt is already up and running," he said. "We hired a very capable young lady named Radford-"

"Presumably some sort of niece," his brother added. "Apparently, Radford's run in the family."

"And she's got everything under control," Bert finished.

"So we thought we'd stop by here."

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

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"Come on," Simon coaxed. "Just one more."

At his feet, a great black Hellhound whimpered and writhed, it's central head held in place by the pressure of Simon's knees on either side of his muzzle. Eight red eyes, crusted with yellowish phlegm, rolled and blinked and watered as Simon raised the pipette in preparation for the final dose.

"It's almost over," he soothed, reaching out his free hand and scratching as far up the thick trifurcated neck as he could reach. "And after this, no more trying to read the signs outside of churches, okay?"

Sparky barked his mournful agreement.

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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