To whom it may concern

Marshall Teller accepted the damp washcloth with ill humour and a distinct lack of gratitude, and used it to clean the worst of the blood from his face and hands.

"What," he said, spitting the words out alongside a decent amount of gore, none of which was his own, "Was that?"

The Mayor looked at him, considering.

"Comforting lie?" he asked, "Or ugly truth?"

"Truth," said Marshall.

"I don't know."

Marshall winced.

"Comforting lie, then."

"A creature entirely under the control of the City Council, which everyone knows about and that you'll never be able to prove exists."

Marshall scowled.

"How would that have been comforting?"

The Mayor shrugged.

"I was working on the assumption that that's a familiar scenario for you," he said. "Less than ideal, possibly a little frustrating, but something you're used to."

Marshall didn't respond right away, mostly because the response he wanted to give would have been considered vulgar in all polite societies, and even a few of the impolite ones would have raised an eyebrow at the language he had in mind.

Then the import of the Mayor's words hit home, and politeness went out the window.

"Fuck," he said.

The Mayor nodded sagely.

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

( Read more... )

Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

( Read more... )

The halogen lights clicked and buzzed overhead, casting a sickly yellow illumination that blinked on and off in a manner that seemed random at first, but which, Marshall was pretty sure, was actually designed to let all manner of creepy junk from the Things Incorporated's sub-sub-basement sneak up and perform jump scares on him.

The lights came back up and he screamed as a filing cabinet that hadn't been there a moment ago loomed over him, all dull grey metal and temptingly half-open drawers.

"Marshall," said one of the Micheals - the tall one - wearily. "Can you please cut that out?"

Ongoing Verse: Teller Family History

( Read more... )

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

( Read more... )

Simon smelled them before he saw them, the heavy, cloying scents of cotton candy and fried onion that couldn't quite mask the underlying must and mildew that came from soft things stored too long in damp places.

"Dang it, Harley," he said, pushing back the heap of mismatched coverlets that couldn't quite keep out the chill of the unheated house. "I said no."

"You said no guns," said Harley, not turning from his place at the window. Firelight danced in his eyes as, miles away, the carnival burned. On the lawn below them, stuffed animals looked up, hopeful and smiling.

Ongoing Verse: Holmes Brothers

( Read more... )

Far overhead, lost in the cavernous spaces of the Bureau's high and dusty ceilings, electric lights flickered. They brightened, blinked, dimmed to nearly nothing, then burst into almost incandescent radiance before expiring with a muffled pop and, somewhere too close for comfort, the tinkling sound of falling glass.

Lodgepoole sat in the newly-dark office, listening to the diminuendo scream of something complex and mechanical slowly winding down in the shadows above him. No doubt there was a circuit breaker somewhere in these winding corridors, but as with so many things down here, it's exact location had been lost long ago.

Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

( Read more... )

The fog hung in the air like unravelling skeins of cotton wool, an almost-solid thing too heavy to be stirred by the chill November breeze that rattled bare branches overhead and threatened loose roof tiles as it passed.

Marshall Teller pulled out his torch, more out of a sense of obligation than from any real belief that it would help. The light was a warm gold, and the beam made shining yellow circles against the roiling mass of white that pressed in all around him.

He clicked it off again, stowed it away.

"Okay," he said. "Fine. And now what?"

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

( Read more... )

She was Miss Tornado Day, Syndi reminded herself, Maiden of the Twisting Winds, Queen of Whimsical Destruction, an actual, bona fide God of Specific Violent Weather Events. And therefore, she was not going to squeal in shock and discomfort just because the driving rain had turned into an icy air-borne slush that had just hurled itself with malevolent joy and malice aforethought down the back of her collar.

She took a deep breath, clenched her teeth to stop the chattering, and concentrated on building a small pocket of warm air around her exposed face and hands.

God, she hated November.

Ongoing Verse: Weather

( Read more... )

Ongoing Verse: Teller Family History

( Read more... )

"What I'm saying is," said the Mayor, "That if the Eerie Chamber of Commerce wants to invoke the Law of Matchy-Matchy and force you to organise all your stock by colour, then in my view that's an overstep which places an undue burden on Eerie's small business owners."

"Winston," said Radford, setting the bottle down with the exaggeratedly careful motions of someone who, if not already drunk, is at least less sober than he should like, "I'm not voting yes on a proposition to use taxpayer money to assassinate the ECOC."

Chisel sighed. It had been a long shot anyway.

Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

( Read more... )

The woman from the Eerie Chamber of Commerce, all cat's-eye glasses and candy-floss hair, smiled.

It was possible she had lipstick on her teeth, but the Mayor had been in a couple of meetings where some unlucky (and not likely to get luckier) participant had disregarded Robert's Rules of Order in front of her, so he wasn't about to rule out other, bloodier possibilities.

"You have-" he said, pointing to his own mouth.

She smiled wider.

"I know, Winston," she said. "I'm very aware."

"Ah," said the Mayor. "It's that sort of meeting."

"It is," she said. "Or can be."

Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

( Read more... )

"In retrospect," said Bartholomew J. Radford, surveying the black and smoking crater that had until recently been an end-cap display of brightly-coloured seasonal confectionary, "Stocking the Dragon Eggs(TM), the candy-coated novelty Easter chocolate right alongside Dragon Eggs(TM), the embryonic form of a fire-breathing carnivorous reptile with a voracious appetite and few social graces may have been a mistake on my part."

The Mayor produced a spotless red silk handkerchief from the pocket of his crisp charcoal-grey suit jacket and wiped a smear of ash from the tip of one shoe. The fabric appeared unsullied by the action, the soot and blood flaking away almost before contact was made, leaving behind only a faint hiss and the smell of lavender.

"You may be right," he allowed. "Perhaps the dragon eggs which will eventually hatch into actual dragons should be kept in another part of the store. With the fireworks, possibly. Or next to the crossbows."

Radford shook his head mournfully.

"No room," he said. "That whole section is full up with unsaleable metric conversion tables. I've been trying to shift them for years, but nobody's buying."

"Market them to the cows," suggested Chisel. "They're easily confused, but they want to learn."

Ongoing Verse: Easter Weekend

( Read more... )

Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be



Preparations by froodle. Winston Chisel, the morning he became Mayor.

Confluence, in which Eerie experiences a midsummer and a full moon and takes full advantage of both

Harvest, in which it is 1979, and the Harvest Moon is rising

Hungry, in which the Mayor is unimpressed

Licensing, in which Chisel lays down some bureaucracy

Light Pollution, in which there is a newcomer in town

The Storm, in which Mayor Chisel has a very specific job for Eerie's resident weatherman

Not Welcome, in which there is an intruder at the World o' Stuff

Reading Room, in which Marshall looks around

Subsidence, in which the Loya Order of Corn experiances some structural issues

Shattered Dreams, in which there are space whales

Greenery, in which there are hanging baskets

Loss Prevention, in which there is hubbub at the Eerie Mall

Targeted Marketing, in which Radford has some promotional material

Capability, in which the are Bigfoots, and Marshall is unwell

The Listener, in which Eerie dreams, and Melanie watches

Populace, in which it is just another normal day

Still, in which there are worst things than Old Bob

Clockface, in which there is an early start, and a character death

CAT, in which two members of the Canine Liberation Army go on patrol, and have an unpleasant experience

Blue Apron, in which Mayor Chisxel considers an expansion to the town by-laws

National Garlic Day, in which there are vampires, and restauranteurs, and conflict

Housekeeping, in which there is a cult, and things get awkward

Strawberry, in which Eerie celebrates the summer

High Speed Sanitation, in which there is a street race

World Chocolate Day, in which there is a heatwave

Pressure Tactics, in which Chisel faces off against Eerie's ravens

Upgrade, in which there are changes happening at the Eerie Library

Waterlogged, in which there is a problem with the Eerie water supply

Bag for Death, in which Radford is a born salesman, and Radford is learning

Eww... in which Simon makes bad choices

Public Spaces, in which there is a soiree

Deterrent, in which there are pigeon spikes

The Bad News List, in which Dash is himself

Leisurewear, in which the Loyal Order of Corn has a surprisingly generous leave policy

Jackolantern, in which there is a disturbance at the local pumpkin patch

Pest Control, in which the Mayor is an unhappy customer

Frost Spiders, in which Eerie's Christmas decorations are very beautiful

Freelancing, in which Sara Sue takes a consultancy gig

Presentation, in which Chisel has an edict, and Simon has a plan

Email, in which Marshall is 29 and Eerie is never as far away as you think

Agenda, in which the Mayor takes a meeting

Visitor, in which Marshall's grandmother comes to stay

The wooden handle of the spatula was smooth, sturdy, and slightly warm to the touch, as though the ghosts of every chef who'd come before her had left some trace of themselves upon it. The head was a glossy rounded curve of smooth and flexible rubber, supple and unbroken.

And yet...

"Tod," said Janet, trying to pitch her voice at it's most un-judgemental level and probably failing, "Do you have any kitchen utensils without skulls and bats and pumpkins all over them?"

The smile of the grinning jackolantern on her spatular seemed to fade a little.

"Nope," said Tod. "None."

Ongoing Verse: Janet

( Read more... )

The moray eels in their human skin suit surveyed the locked doors of the Eerie Museum of Aquatic Mysteries with suspicious eyes and downturned mouths. They carried a backpack, though technically not on their backs, and the straps hung strangely over lopsided and sagging shoulders supported by no scapula or collarbone.

In the backpack was a recipe book, old and worn and much-repaired with sticking tape and the best efforts of creatures without opposable thumbs. Or any thumbs. Or digits at all, really.

"1001 Atlantean Delicacies for the Discerning Piscivore" was a best-seller, and they were determined to use it.

Ongoing Verse: Janet

( Read more... )

The window of the little bathroom was plain glass, though fortunately some previous tenant had thought to apply a layer of frosted privacy-preserving adhesive along the inside at one point. Now, as the bright winter sun streamed through the cloudy surface to form a golden rectangle on the aging tiles beside the sink, Simon could see the silhouette of a seated cat clearly outlined against the glow.

He turned the tap off, dried his hands.

"Hello," he said to the shadowy outline. The cat's ears flicked and it turned it's featureless head towards him.

Simon reached out. The cat purred.

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

( Read more... )

Marshall Teller gazed in dumb-struck horror at his prized New York Giants sweatshirt, the white of the logo now tinged with a pale and watery blue. Behind him, the boy from the Eeriemat clicked his thick flannel tongue against his nickle-silver in sympathy.

"That's too bad," he said, exhaling fabric softener and the chemical sting of dry cleaning with every breath. "May I offer you a colour saver?"

"Don't you need to add that before you put the wash on?" asked Marshall.

"Not this one," said the boy from the Eeriemat. He held out an unmarked package.

"First one's free..."

Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

( Read more... )

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

( Read more... )

They say that one swallow does not make a summer, but as the swirling mass rose into the pale December sky and the unseasonable heat prickled his skin and scorched the winter-bare branches of the trees around him, Wally wondered how many it took to force the issue.

A patch of dead-brown grass at his foot burst into flame, causing him to start backwards with a cry of alarm and a faint smell of singled suede from his comfrotable brown house shoes.

Above him, the flock chittered happily, wings blocking out a sun that was already too bright, too hot...

Ongoing Verse: Weather

( Read more... )