Foxscriptions

[firefox451]

Solstice
by ff_b

Jonathan reposed in his warm bed, glad for its embrace after another monotonous day of school.--What a busy week lie ahead...Hanukkah for our Jewish friends, followed by Christmas, that Godzilla of holidays...next there was Kwanzaa, although he was about as black as the first snow of winter. Then there was Boxing Day, if you were Canadian, which didn't have anything to do with pugilism or the Boxer Rebellion, for that matter!

Ah yes,December 21st, the Winter Solstice! First day of winter and the day that the sun was over the Tropic of Capricorn, whatever that was! Jonathan wondered if the winter solstice really did mean anything, like it did to the ancients. For that matter, did Xmas or Hanukkah Harry mean anything? Jonathan decided to go for broke and pray to the whole lot of them for a real Xmas present, the one change that he really wanted in his life, the gift that would keep on giving.

But observance of the Winter Solstice actually preceded Christmas, and in some cultures had been a rather spirited carnival, with feasting, cavorting, and revelry! The Christian church had been unable to quell those pagan celebrations, and so had simply assimilated them with some modifications made into the Christian celebration of Christmas! Some very primal earth spirits accordingly retained their connections with the Winter Solstice, and harkened to those who petitioned them. Jonathan's prayers struck a responsive chord in these ancient spirits of earth, who identified with them and respected their intent by honoring them.--{i}Change was coming,{/i} promised Obama.--Why couldn't change begin with this poor soul?

When Jonathan awoke on that first full day of winter, he did so feeling energized and better than he had in a long time. He was covered with silver-tipped black hair, with some white grizzling on his back and sides. Jonathan's senses of sight, smell, and hearing seemed to be greatly heightened. He realized with a start that he had been transformed into a red fox in silver phase! Leaping and praising all spirits of earth and heaven that might have listened, Jonathan raced to his front door, at the portal of which he was greeted by friends, all kindred spirits now transformed into their furry selves! They clapped Jonathan on the back, licked his face, slapped a tankard of grog into his paw, and all went forth renewed into the world to make it theirs...

...it was going to be a great Christmas after all!

[firefox451]

Unknown Forces
by ff_b

There are some things that it is better not to read, such as the Republican Party Platform or the forbidden Necronomicon of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred. The old wolf, however, had been known to have been a great student of magic in his day, better even than David Copperfield or Cris Angel. Legend had it that the wolf could raise or quell storms at sea according to his whim. The wolf could gaze at another fur and give them a distinct feeling of exchanged personality, as if the subject were placed momentarily in the wolf's body and able to stare across the room at their real body, whose eyes blazed with a lupine expression. The wolf made claims about the nature of consciousness and its independence from the physical frame...or at least the life-processes of the physical frame. Indeed, the wolf was able with his dark powers to crowd someone out of their body and leave the other soul marooned in his own failing shell while he temporarily used their body for his own purposes. Such journeys were not enough, however, for the wolf wanted to live forever. With the formulas in the Necronomicon, he appeared ready to be able to do just that..

And so it was when Little Red Riding Hood went calling at her Grandmother's house, the old wolf had already dispatched Grandma, and assumed her garments when the young naive girl appeared by what she thought was her grandmother's bedside. It was then that the telepathic wave of the wolf's mental force swept over Red Riding Hood, twisting her face almost unrecognizably for a moment. A shivering motion passed through Red Riding Hood's body, as if all of the bones, organs, muscles, and glands were adjusting themselves to a radically different configuration and personality. The eyes of Red Riding Hood blazed forth, a pleased wolfish expression on her countenance. In the body of the wolf, the feeble consciousness of Red Riding Hood struggled, dispossessed and panic-stricken. It was then that the stalwart woodsman burst through the door of Grandmother's cabin, and gasped at the sight of the wolf in the bed. He raised the gleaming head of the heavy ax that he carried, and struck with it at the wolf with all of his might. Once, twice, three times did hard blows of the ax fall upon the body of the wolf, which was decapitated by the force of the impacts.

"I'm enormously grateful, brave Sir, for your most timely assistance," enthused the physical embodiment of Little Red Riding Hood to the woodsman, appreciative indeed for the new lease on life that had been given him. The parents of Red Riding Hood didn't know what to make, however, of their daughter's newly-acquired habit of eating meat raw, and apparently snarling at times as she dismembered rabbits with her teeth. In school, she would frighten her classmates with leers and winks of an inexlicable kind. It would be remarked by others that she had the glaring eyes of the devil himself. This life would be different, thought the wolf in the girl's body, but every bit as good as his previous one...he found that he could extract an obscenely zestful irony from his present situation while looking forward to others yet to come...


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

(With thanks to H.P. Lovecraft, who knew that "there are horrors beyond life's edge that we do not suspect.")

[firefox451]

The Familiar by ff_b

The sorcerer Hieronymous stood by an interior window, considering from the parapet the angry mob advancing on his Bavarian castle, his black cat, Bane, perched on his shoulder. It was a standard group of irrate townspeople bearing torches, pitchforks, and assorted agricultural cutting implements. They jabbered excitedly among themselves, moving quickly as a group up the long, winding pathway in the dark.

"Why can't they leave us alone, Bane?," the wizard asked rhetorically. "Why do they persecute and seek to destroy that which they don't understand? -- Well, we'll prepare a reception for them, yes we will indeed!"

Hieronymous hurried to his book of black magic, the cat retreating unconcernedly to a comfortable small pile of straw in a corner of the stone floor. Ancient pages of text in arcane languages flew under his fingertips as he researched a spell, quickly targeting one. "Hah, Bane!," exulted the sorcerer. "Let's see how they like this!" The wizard raced to his window, holding aloft his bony arms and gesturing while he uttered mysterious, guttural phrases in Babylonian. Dark clouds gathered, and rained stones down on the villagers. They cursed, shielded their heads with clothing, and hastened their advance.

The sorcerer's expression darkened as he retreated to his book of black arts, again rifling through its pages while Bane the cat yawned and stretched. "I've used this one before!," he exulted as he hit upon one encantation. Sparks flew from the fingertips of Hieronymous as he gestured and chanted at a broomstick, which clattered to the ground, sprouted wooden arms and legs, and stood upright before multiplying to two, four, eight, and sixteen ambulatory figures. Hieronymous hurried to equip each broomstick with a flask of acid or foul-smelling substances before sending his inhuman army through the door to confront the legion of townspeople. The broomsticks flung their odious fluids upon the villagers, who shrieked their protest but met the wooden abominations with axes and firebrands, splintering and burning them until they were immobile and moved no more.

Hieronymous switched his efforts to reinforcing the heavy oaken door which barricaded his workshop, dragging benches and ironwork racks to buttress it. The villagers, however, had reached this perimeter, and smashed a heavy log against the door as others of their number applied axes to the heavy planking, the noise causing Bane to shift and open his eyes as if irritated. Knowing that even the massive door would eventually yield to the assault, Hieronymous prepared his final defense; a powerful confounding spell. As the thick door groaned and splintered, Hieronymous shouted in demonic languages, weaving a rich tapestry of magical incantation that almost seemed to hover in the air before descending upon the townsfolk in a miasma-like haze. The local folk, however, apparently lacked much in the way of minds to confound, and the spell seemed to have little influence upon them.

"You shall not suffer a witch to live!," cried the apparent leader of the invading group as his followers raised their cutting instruments to strike Hieronymous dead. The sorcerer made a move to dash to his cloak of invisibility, thinking to elude his tormentors. It was then that a powerful and commanding voice came into his head, a telepathic communication.

"Stand aside!," ordered the voice. "I'LL handle this!" The black cat, Bane, vaulted from his bed of straw, moving towards the angry mob. A kind of blue effluvium surrounded the cat, who reared onto his hind legs, his form stretching and expanding as he underwent an incredible transformation into a Smilodon, commonly called a sabre-toothed tiger. The former housecat flashed his seven-inch long maxillary canines at the now cowering humans and roared, the deafening sound reverberating in the enclosed area.

"Hello, boys!," grinned Bane. "Let's party!," he proclaimed, gaping his jaws 90 degrees and flinging himself at the humans like an avenging wraith. Ripping wounds were swiftly inflicted on human flesh by canines and claws as the Smilodon fatalis brought a swift end to the invasion of his lair, the few villagers surviving beating a hasty retreat from the castle.

His rout of the villagers complete, Bane morphed back to the form of a harmless housecat. "Forgive me, mau, beseeched Hieronymous, employing the Egyptian term for cat meaning seer. "I have failed you, and disgraced the black arts!"

Bane looked at his apprentice patiently. "You have practiced the magical arts for a mere three hundred years," he noted. "You cannot be expected to have the abilities that will come with maturity." With that, the cat settled on his bed of straw, leaving his apprentice to clean up the mess of blood and body parts...for rank has its privileges, and it can sometimes be difficult to determine who is the master, and who the disciple...

[firefox451]

Petroglyph by ff_b

When the past speaks to us in the modern world, its messages are often written in stone. Rock carvings called petroglyphs are among the most ancient of artifacts documenting human civilization. Among the most common stone carvings in North America are those of bear paws with claw marks, which seems to be a Native American symbol as they are often found on sandstone near the sites of former Indian settlements. Such settlements are believed to date from the Woodland Period, which ran from 1000 B.C. to the Native Americans' first contact with Europeans in the 17th century. The fact is that we just don't know the hidden meanings of picture inscriptions handed down to us through the misty veils of time.

As Native Americans were slowly driven out and decimated by the encroaching Europeans, the meaning of the bear claw petroglyphs was further lost in time, and the spirits represented by the stone etchings slumbered forgotten...that is, until the 21st century rudely intruded upon the sleeping spirits...

They came with their kegs and their boom-boxes, spray-painting satanic graffiti upon the cliffs where the bear petroglyphs had slumbered for so long. These were not the Native Americans who had respectfully and reverently etched the petroglyphs in stone so long ago, but rather neo-pagans who respected only their own appetites. The spirits harbored in stone took notice of this, and were not pleased when the barbarians cast stones at squirrels and other wild creatures in the area, and voided their urine on the trees and the cliffs themselves. When one of the pagans took a hammer to the ancient symbols carved in stone so long ago, the spirits couldn't restrain their anger any longer...

A rumbling sound as if of the grinding and shifting of heavy stone preceded the extraction of the great bear from the cliff. He was heavy and massive, being incarnate in the stone itself, and he emerged a piece at a time, beginning with a massive paw pulling free of the stone to be followed by a huge, shaggy head. A mouth opened on the head, giving vent to a roar that was ursine, yet rooted deep within the living earth itself. The rock face continued to crack and crumble as the other foreleg of the bear broke free, extending claws that grappled with the rocky cliff as the creature wrenched his body from the stone which had birthed him. Freed completely, the bear leaped from the face of the cliff, landing on the ground with a resounding impact. The bear of stone rose to his hind legs and growled a challenge to the human intruders that rolled and echoed through the woods for miles around.

The humans ceased their raucous partying and fled for their lives with the great stone bear in pursuit, some making it to their vehicles and others running frantically into the deep woods. Rearing to his full height the bear towered over an empty car before smashing his ponderous bulk down upon it, crumbling the vehicle almost flat and raking it with his claws. As the last of the humans disappeared, the bear again let out a resounding bellow of triumph. He then lumbered back to the face of the cliff, extended himself against it, and within moments again became one with it.

The local authorities grinned and rolled their eyes at the stories they were later told of giant stone bears and being pursued by one; they figured that some kids had gotten ahold of some bad acid or weed, and put a creative spin on how a rock slide had taken out one of their vehicles. But when they came to remove the wreckage, no fallen rocks were in sight and the linear gouged marks on the sheet metal couldn't be readily explained...

...and overhead in the clear night sky, the constellation Ursa Minor continued to circle the North Star, as it had since before the dawn of man and would continue to do after his departure...

[firefox451]

The Artist
by ff_b

It was one of those unseasonably warm days in earlier January when the butterfly flitted onto my shoulder. Those sixty degree days must have caused it to emerge prematurely, I thought. Still it was strange, and I gently entended my finger for the creature to climb onto, marveling at its delicacy as it did so. The butterfly perched on my finger as I examined it, realizing to my amazement that it was not organic! As the tiny insect fluttered its wings, I saw that the wings were a polymer-type material, and I could see microgears meshing as the articulated legs moved. Traces of microcircuitry could be seen running along the minuscule body. As if aware that its true nature had been detected, the butterfly flew away, and I saw it no longer.

The technology that could create such a thing was still in the process of being created, and for what purpose had such an extraordinary thing, complex but delicate, been designed? Apparently it had been devised just because its creator could do so, and he or she had engineered it for the joy of creating it. Such a person lived in this time, yet ahead of it. In all of human experience there had only been a handful of such individuals.

As a student of history, I knew that in the Hellenistic Age of Greece, there had lived an extraordinary man who demonstrated a knowledge of mechanics, hydraulics, and other technologies that was many centuries ahead of its time. So great were this man's capabilities that his understandings would not be approached until the Renaissance, and even then imperfectly so. The great Leonardo DaVinci, himself a genius, could not get one of his predecessor's machines to function, although in the present day they would, as Leonardo had incorrectly used square rather than pointed teeth in a gear design. What if this remarkable intelligence had somehow managed to engineer around the problem of death, so that his consciousness in this world survived his physical body? And what if that individual had continued to learn, grow, and evolve beyond a single human lifespan?

A few miles away, a most extraordinary butterfly flew through an open window. Servomechanisms hummed and whirred as the consciousness of Archimedes smoothly extended his robotic arm to provide a roost for his returning winged creation...and a positronic brain turned to ponder other marvels that it was even then just conceiving...

[firefox451]

The Avian Agenda
by ff_b

On the rooftops of lower Manhattan in the early light of a frigid January morning, the feathered multitude gathered. Thousands strong, they sat packed together, silent except for the occasional rustling of feathers. At last, a solitary crow came to roost on a chimney, elevated sufficiently so that he could be seen by the throng of birds gathered. The crow cawed loudly three times in succession to draw the assemby to order, and every eye was riveted on the black bird.

"Fellow avians!," announced the crow. "We are gathered here today to commemorate a successful mission, the downing of U.S. Airways Flight 1549!" A multitude of cries, coos, and caws came forth from the feathered throng. "Several of our brethren have made the ultimate sacrifice by smiting the human flying machine from the air and into the Hudson River!," continued the crow, his alert beady eyes engaging the feathered crowd. "Our martyrs, with no regard for their own safety, have flown into the howling engines of the human flying thing, and with their own flesh did show us the way to even greater victories over the humans!"

A cacaphony of excited sounds arose from the great mass of birds as the crow strutted along the edge of the chimney, awaiting their silence. He then continued his oration. "Mighty indeed are the machines of the humans, but we are bullets with feathers!," cried the crow, galvanizing his people. "There is nothing made by the hand of man that cannot be undone by the wing of birds!," he thundered. Ten thousand beaks squawked and cried their agreement.

"Are we not the descendents of the dinosaurs?," asked the crow. "Let us darken the skies with our numbers, and let the flesh of the humans slide in strips down our gullets!" Wings beat in eagerness and agreement. "Go forth!," ordered the crow. "Defecate on their vehicles! Boldly cast your bodies into the maws of their flying machines! Spread disease among them! For in doing so, you assure your entrance into heaven!--Caw, caw, caw!," he concluded. Anxious to claim their destiny, the feathered minions of the crow ascended into the skies on their holy mission.

...and the reincarnated soul of Alfred Hitchcock in the body of that crow was pleased that his dark vision would at last be fulfilled...

[firefox451]

Black Sheep
by ff_b

Chip and Clarice flipped houses, buying "fixer-uppers" badly in need of work, restoring them and then selling them at a tidy profit. Antiques were among their favorite acquisitions, so it came as no surprise when Chip trucked home an old upright piano one night to the place that they were actively remodeling. He had picked up the piano surprisingly cheap, and figured that they could always sell it at a mark-up as well.

"I'm getting some strange vibes from this one," commented Clarice as she walked around the piano, which they rolled into the living room. "There's something about it that just isn't right." Her sentiments seemed to heighten as the evening wore on, and she went to bed early with vague complaints of not feeling well. Chip joined her in bed a bit later, and in the wee hours of the morning they heard a distant, off-key rendition of "Baa Baa Black Sheep" played faintly as if from the piano that they had just acquired. Half asleep, Chip trudged downstairs to investigate the music, shuddering as a mouse scurried over his slipper. Funny, thought Chip, haven't seen any mice in the house up to this point! Reaching the downstairs room where they had left the piano, Chip observed nothing. He could have sworn, however, that they had left the piano against a different wall. Rolling the piano on its casters to a different wall, Chip returned to bed.

The next morning as she went to prepare breakfast in the kitchen, Clarice screamed as she opened a cabinet to be greeted by a hastily-retreating mouse. "You gotta do something about these mice, Chip!," she demanded.

"OK, don't go ballistic!," he soothed. "I'll pick up some traps a bit later." Following breakfast, Chip took his coffee into the living room, nearly dropping his cup when he saw that the piano had inexplicably returned to its position the prior evening. He decided not to alarm Clarice, but hastily finished his coffee and went to town to buy the mousetraps.

Returning later, Chip found Clarice back in bed, again complaining of general malaise. He encouraged her to remain in bed, fetching a crowbar and a few other tools to remove some discolored wallboard while she rested. The work went well, but when he removed one panel Chip was startled when bones fell from behind it. The clatter of his rip hammer on the floor brought Clarice up from her bed. "Jesus!," she cried upon seeing the bones. "Are they human?-- Was there a murder in this house?"

"I'm no expert, but I'm calling a professor of anthropology at the local college," responded Chip as he took out his cell phone. It turned out that the prof was a bit of a buff on psychic phenomena, so they got a commitment from him to come the next day. That evening, their sleep was again interrupted by the tinkling of the piano, and horrible screams, as if from an animal. The next morning, twelve mice were discovered caught in traps placed by the couple.

The anthropologist appeared by mid-morning, and examined the skeletal remains. "These aren't human bones," concluded Dr. Williams, Professor of Anthropology.

"What are they then?," asked Chip, intrigued. "What are they from?"

"I'm no zoologist, but most likely a calf, or perhaps a sheep," mused the professor. "You see, in the earlier part of the twentieth century, a lot of people did home butchering. They'd buy an animal from a local farmer, take it home, and butcher it themselves. Animal bones have been discovered under floorboards, or occasionally in walls."

"But what then about the unusual things that have been going on around here?," inquired Clarissa. "The infestation of mice, and the piano that apparently plays by itself?"

"Restless spirits sometimes manifest their presence through inanimate onjects," suggested the professor. "It may be that the animal's spirit has attached itself to the piano. The rodent infestation may be yet another indication of this," he added. "And you, Clarice, appear to be especially sensitive to the presence of this animal spirit, as is suggested by your not feeling well!"

"Animal spirits?," scoffed Chip. "Are you saying that we have a restless animal spirit here?"

"Why of course animals have spirits!," responded Dr. Williams. "That animal was apparently killed here...and meat is murder!," he remarked.

"Well, what is to be done?," wondered Chip. "How can we relieve ourselves of this restless animal spirit?"

"You must perform a binding ceremony, one which ties the animal spirit to the possessed object so it cannot further spread or escape," answered the anthropologist, "and then the piano must be destroyed!," he concluded.

That evening, candles resting on the piano burned in their living room as Professor Williams performed a solemn ceremony. "We command and compel any and all spririts present to be bound to this piano, nevermore to wander afield!,"he intoned. Afterwards, Chip and the Professor rolled the piano outdoors and beat it to pieces with sledge hammers, then loaded the pieces on Chip's truck and took it to a field where they buried it.

"That should be the end of your troubles," declared the anthropologist. Chip slipped the professor a few bills, and he called that evening to check on the couple. Clarice picked up the phone.

"Are the lambs still screaming, Clarice?," asked the professor. "Do you hear the silence of the lambs?"

"All seems quiet here at last, Professor," answered Clarice. Thanking Dr. Williams again, the couple fell into a deep sleep for the first time in almost a week.

Their bodies would be found the next morning, lying in bed neatly butchered and wrapped in white paper, dispatched by an angry ovine spirit who, having been led to the slaughter, decided to better the instruction...

[firefox451]

Colosseum
by ff_b

"See Rome and die," Roger's mother had always said. That was hopefully not to say that the visit would be lethal, but rather that Italy boasted so much for a visitor that one could be fully content just seeing the great city. Well, like most first-time tourists Roger decided to hit the heights of Rome, and that included an obligatory visit to the Colosseum. Loving ancient Roman history, the American was rather looking forward to it but was at the same time apprehensive about entering a place where so many had died so needlessly, and all for the cruel entertainment of others. Roger had heard it said that the spirits of those slain sometimes continued to dwell in places where they had met their demise.

--Perhaps the visit would be lethal after all!--These Italians drove like maniacs, and seemed to regard it as a competitive sport. Roger closed his eyes at times but trusted to the sturdy tour bus, and so arrived safely at the Colosseum, listening to the standard informative guide spiel but later wandering off by himself through the ruins in search of a little quiet reflection on the events that transpired there so long ago.

Did you think that only humans died here?, slammed a voice into Roger's consciousness with a force that almost knocked him off his feet. Reeling, Roger looked about but saw only other tourists some distance away. Many thousands of furred and feathered creatures also died here most cruelly!, continued the voice insistently. History is seen through human eyes!, declared Roger's unseen informant.-- Come see what horrors transpired here from a feline perspective!

His consciousness was clouded, and when Roger's mind cleared he was on all fours in a wooden cage with bars being pulled towards a light; emerging into it, the American was dazzled by its intensity, as if he had been in a dim place for a long time. There were noises, thousands of voices blending together into a roar.--Many were shouting at Roger; why? He staggered into a large open space, and saw that all of these people were sitting in an arena, above and all around him.--God, the stench!--Didn't these people use deodorant? There were other smells, too...smells of food, blood, sweat, feces, and a variety of animals.-- Roger couldn't ever remember having smelled so many odors at one time! He sensed that he was far from home...yes, captured, and brought here against his will!--Maybe this gentleman in gladiator costume could direct him how to get out of here, he'd apparently stumbled into a show of some kind...

"Oww!," screamed Roger.--"Hey buddy, you could hurt someone with that sword!--I don't want to be here, I tell you!--There's been some kinda mistake...Hey!--You're making me mad here!--This is the worst Martin Luther King Day ever!--Aieee!" With those words, Roger was run through, never understanding his brief sojourn in a feline body.

The mind and consciousness of the tourist being thus obliterated in another time and place, his body was free to be inhabited by the transmigrated soul of the leopard whose body had been slain in the Roman Colosseum centuries before. The leopard flexed his human limbs, looking with some distain upon his largely hairless skin.

"Ah well!," sighed the soul of Felis the leopard. "I've been waiting a long time, so I should be happy with whatever body I can get, I suppose!--Let's see what this 21st century is about, shall we?"

Felis boarded the tour bus, drawing strange stares fom the elderly woman seated next to him as he licked the back of his hand in preparation to grooming himself...

[Fleur-de-Lis]

Dang! You're a good writer, I'll hand you that one on a silver platter. You've reopened my eyes to the beauty of the short story with a twist.

...I really wish I had more to say, but I'm still somewhat in awe from these neat stories!

[firefox451]

Thank you, Fleur-de-Lis, for reading and your kind remarks! -- You made my day! :)

[firefox451]

The Passion of Punxsutawney Phil
by ff_b

Each February 2nd, thousands of people descend on Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, a small town of about 6,100 people about 65 miles northeast of Pittsburgh to celebrate what had essentially been a German superstition. The tradition is that if a hibernating animal sees a shadow on February 2nd (the Christian holiday of Candlemas), winter will last another six weeks. If no shadow is seen, legend says spring will come early.

But understandably, Punxsutawney Phil had grown weary of being torn every year from his sound slumber in a warm burrow. He accordingly decided that when the top-hat and tuxedo-wearing businessmen of the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club Inner Circle came to carry out the tradition, they would be met with a little surprise...

Punxsutawney Phil had a friend (a mole, literally and figuratively) who was sympathetic to the groundhog's plight. Burrowing through the highest and most secretive branches of government, the mole had accessed some papers which the government had seized from Nikola Tesla following the death of the brilliant but eccentric inventor, engineer, and physicist in 1943, fearing that such information might prove dangerous should it fall into the hands of the Nazis. Many years ahead of his time, Tesla had developed among other things alternating current, remote control, the induction motor, and plans for the wireless global transmission of electrical power.

The groundhog had considerable time to pour over the papers and theories of the controversial inventor, and found them intriguing; he was even able to develop working prototypes of several devices. And so it was when Punxsutawney Phil was again rudely dragged from his burrow and deployed the particle beam weapon, his tormentors truly never knew what hit them...

[firefox451]

Mutilations
by ff_b

Dave the bovine-human hybrid awoke with a pain in his left side, reaching down under his covers to discover a surgically-precise slit from which one of his ribs had been deftly extracted. The wound had been cauterized and was still somewhat numb, although his pain upon movement suggested that he was regaining sensitivity.

"Damned aliens!," he cursed. "They took me rib!--Who do they think I am, bloody Adam?--Just because I'm part bovine doesn't mean that those grays can experiment on me and harvest my organs and body parts any time they bloody well please!" Not intimidated by the alien intrusion, Dave determined to show the extraterrestrials that he meant business.--He took them to court, calling the law offices of Johnny Cochroach!

Later in court, Johnny Cochroach waved his feelers as he pleaded his client's case before the judge. "What value can we set on a human life, Your Honor?," he asked rhetorically. "It is inherently priceless, is it not?--And so we cannot set a price on the value of a human, err, hybrid's rib, either! Therefore, we ask in settlement of this outrage the sum total of the alien's assets!" Johnny Cochroach clicked his mandibles together for dramatic emphasis as an excited murmuring ran through the courtroom spectators.

The defendant, Belzar of Remulac, drummed his slender fingers on the courtroom table and sighed through his barely-perceptible nostrils. Mama said there'd be days like this, there'd be days like this, his Momma said.

The judge regarded the alien coldly. "Your defense, Mr. Belzar, is that you are of a superior race, and have come to perform your unspeakable experiments upon denizens of this planet in order to hyridize and enhance your own race's genes?"

Belzar blinked his large dark eyes. "What you say is crudely put and represents an incomplete understanding, but is essentially correct, and I do in fact agree with your assessment," he intoned with no emotion.

Johnny Cochroach spread four of his limbs expansively before the court. "What more need I say, Your Honor?," he submitted. "And need I remind this court that cattle mutilations have occurred by the thousands in North America for decades? This is an affront to all those of the bovine persuasion, and I would urge that this court take the opportunity to use this case as an example of behavior which cannot and will not be tolerated!"

"So ordered!," declared the judge, banging her gavel. "This court finds the defendant guilty of grievous bodily assault with intent to maim, and remands the alien to a correctional facility until a proper assessment can be made of damages!"

"Well played, old man!," snorted Dave the bovine hybrid as he clapped Johnny Cochroach on the carapace and left the courtroom to look at a Jaguar coupe that he had long fancied.

Well, ain't that a kick in the head!, thought Belzar in some incomprehensible alien tongue which we may only roughly translate here. He was led away to be incarcerated, which was of course an exercise in futility...

...and that night, the brain of Johnny Cochroach and the uterus of the judge would be surgically extracted, right at about the time that the alien mothership slipped quietly into earth orbit to begin the sterilization of planet earth in preparation for alien colonization. The inhabitants of that ship began lowing as their newly-transfused bovine genes began to assert themselves...

[firefox451]

Songcaster
by ff_b

Sniffles the mouse feared little as he walked through this land, for he had evolved a unique defensive ability, the capacity to reach into the mind of a predacious enemy, identify the song which they loathed the most, and impose the same overwhelmingly upon their consciousness to a disabling effect.

One day while passing through the forest, Sniffles was approached by Silvio the fox, owner of the Furry Bada Bing Bar and Strip Club where scantily-clad vixens writhed seductively around poles for the entertainment of the patrons. Silvio, a member of La Costa Nostra, barred the path of Sniffles, anticipating an easy meal.

"Now this ain't nothin' personal, " declared Silvio to Sniffles, "but this being the natural order of things and all, I propose to like eat you now, and you really won't feel it much, 'cause I done this kinda thing before, 'ya know?," offered Silvio condescendingly, gesturing with his black-furred paws as he did so.

"Gee, Mr. Fox," responded Sniffles brightly, "I'm afraid I can't allow that!" Having said that, Sniffles reached into the mind of Silvio, nodded knowingly after a moment, and closed his eyes so as to better concentrate and utilize what he had found.

A strange and confused look clouded the countenance of the fox as the song Memories flooded his head, performed at full volume by Barbara Streisand. "Memories/Like the corners of my mind/Misty, water-colored memories/ Of the way we were," sang Streisand passionately. Silvio's paws flew to his head and covered his ears, but he couldn't stop the auditory assault. As the song entered the chorus, Silvio clawed at his head frantically, as if trying to tear the lyrics from it.

"Stop!--In God's name, make it stop!," he cried.--"Alright, however you did that. mouse, just go!--Just take that dreadful song and inane lyrics from my head!," implored Silvio.

Sniffles batted his large eyes endearingly. "Alright, Mr. Fox!," he said cheerfully. "I'm sorry to have had to do that, but you really left me no choice!" Having said that, Sniffles advanced along the path, leaving the fox behind to clutch at his head in search of relief...

..."Blood sucker!," cursed the fox at the departing mouse, retching and nursing the mother of all migraines.

Sniffles continued onward, meeting some time later with a gray and white cat called Paulie. "I'm a cat, you're a mouse, and here your journey ends!," declared Paulie, baring his teeth, and extending a clawed digit at the mouse.

"I don't think so," disagreed Sniffles, extending his counsciousness into the mind of the cat and finding a tidbit of information. At once, Paul Anka's voice filled the cat's head, singing "Having My Baby." The cat looked visibly ill, all confidence driven from his stricken face.

"What...did you do...to me?!," howled Paulie, the cat's paws clawing at his head as he staggered and reeled at the horrendous violation to the very core of his being. A push from the tiny paw of the mouse was more than sufficient to topple the cat to the ground, where he writhed in agony.

Sniffles then turns his petite features to you, dear reader, easily batting aside your psychic defenses as he grasps your mind with his intelligence, smiles darkly, and asks "What song do you hate the most, Bucko?--Or have you several?--Let's see, eh?" You can feel the invasive tentacles of the small but powerful mental dominant as he begins to smirk knowingly, and your mind fills with the overpowering strains of the song you abhor the most, one which shall repeat itself until all semblance of sanity is lost...

[jake_slayer]

nice man i really liked it

[firefox451]

Thanks, Jake--Appreciate you reading and commenting!

[firefox451]

Regeneration
by ff_b

The guy had read that your bodily cells regenerate themselves constantly, and that if you look down at your legs, you'll have a new pair in three months! Well, that sounded like a good deal to him since he had hoped for a more muscled pair in time for short-wearing season. He had seen the article three months ago, marked the date on his calendar, and now exactly three months later, he bounded out of bed in the morning in eager anticipation of seeing his new legs!

He looked down to behold his legs, and saw that they were new just as promised...unfortunately, they were also distinctly female, shapely and well-curved, and without a trace of hair. Silently cursing his misfortune, the guy resigned himself to three more months of wearing long concealing pants. He suffered this indignity in silence, but rather enjoyed fondling his new curvaceous legs at night. He wondered if this made him some kind of autoerotic freak, but it still floated his boat, and made his nightly masturbations inspired.

Well, three months again passed, and the guy leaped out of bed to see if his legs had again regenerated, wondering if they would resort to a male form. They had, but unfortunately they were male duck legs! He saw that his feet were webbed and orange, and wondered how he would ever find a pair of shoes to fit! At least he wasn't quacking yet. The guy stuffed his orange webbed duck feet into oversized shoes for the next three months, and waited for the next regeneration.

The time passed, and on the three month anniversary the guy got out of bed to note that his duck legs and feet were gone, and had been replaced with normal male legs. Breathing a sigh of relief that things were back to normal, the guy trudged off to the bathroom. Flicking on the light, he beheld his whiskered face and sleepy features in the mirror. But what was that thing moving slightly behind him?

Turning quickly to the side and regarding his mirrored image, the guy saw to his amazement that he now had a large fluffy fox tail protruding from his posterior! It was white-tipped, and otherwise covered with reddish-brown fur. He could move it from side to side at will...

...well, he thought, things were finally starting to look up around here!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Alternative Ending:
On the three month anniversary of his last transformation, the guy jumped out of bed to observe that his duck legs had again converted to female ones! While he preferred this, he still felt out of synch as one of the male gender, so he went to a psychiatrist who diagnosed bodily dysmorphic disorder, and arranged for radical plastic surgery. On his way out of the psychiatrist's office, who should the guy see in the waiting room but Michael Jackson!

Sharing that he was a fan, the guy conversed with Michael, who was sympathetic to his condition, and revealed that he too had bodily dysmorphic disorder. "Show me your legs," requested Michael. The guy shrugged but did as he was asked.

Michael beheld the guy's smooth, curvaceous legs. "Wanna trade?," Michael slyly whispered...

[Tack]

Your writing is interesting and fun to read. Thanks for posting, I hope I can read some more soon. :D

[firefox451]

Thank you, Tack, for reading and commenting! I think it was Mark Twain who said that he could live for a month on one good compliment! :)

[firefox451]

Trinity
by ff_b

Located just off the tip of Long Island and six miles from the Connecticut coastline, the Plum Island level-4 bioresearch facility was during the Cold War era a secret government installation reputed to be involved in the genetic engineering of animals for use as biological weapons against the Soviets, and it was there during the mid-1980's that a young fox named Renald writhed in pain as a large needle was driven into his flank for the third time that day in a treatment regimen that had been carried on for several months. The thick serum being injected burned as it passed into the fox's bloodstream, and he strained in vain against the gloved hand of the lab technician that held him immobile in his cage.

"If only I could bite him, he might stop!," thought the fox, but try as he might, he was unable to reach the restraining hand with his teeth. Renald pulled towards the man's arm with all his might and the full force of his will, and then something unexpected happened. A small patch on the sleeve of the lab technician's coat burst into flame.

The technician didn't notice the burning spot on his sleeve for an instant, and then he stared at it for a moment longer, as if incredulous at what he was seeing. The man next released his hold on the fox and slapped at the flames, shaking his arm which seemed only to fan the growing fire. As the flames grew and crept up the worker's arm to reach his shoulder, he began to panic and begin a kind of jerky, spinning dance. Screams began as the blaze reached his head and face, causing the technician to beat at himself wildly. Fully enveloped now in fire and with reason having left him, the man ran into the wall and fell to the floor in a ball of flame, where he flailed and twitched until becoming still. An odor of burning flesh much like pork filled the air.

Pulling the hypodermic from his flank with his mouth, the fox took advantage of the unexpected chain of events by jumping out of the cage door which the technician's departure had left open. Renald moved cautiously towards an access door in the lab, and suddenly found a cat appear at his side.

"Hello," greeted the calico cat. "My name is Felis, and who might you be?," he asked the fox.

"My name's Renald," answered the fox, "and I didn't see you coming! Did you pop out of thin air," he asked.

"Well, in a manner of speaking, I did," smiled the cat. "I'm a teleport, you see. They did something to me here that made me able to move from one area to another just by thinking about it!"

"How can you do that?," marveled Renald.

"Gee, I dunno," responded Felis. "They say it's something about passing through other dimensions."

"That's really cool!," remarked Renald. "But if you can pass through stuff, why didn't you just get yourself out of here?"

"I really didn't want to," confessed Felis. "They feed me here, and sometimes pet me!"

The fox rolled his eyes. "I sure can tell that you're a domestic animal!," he chided. "But I'm wild, and want to run free!--Can you help me get out of here?," he asked the cat.

"Yeah, maybe," said the cat, "but we should ask someone else here if they'd like to get out as well."

"And who is that?," prompted Renald.

In answer, Felis led the fox to another portion of the lab where there was a cage completely covered over with opaque materials. "Freddy lives here," explained Felis. "He's a ferret. They don't want him to be able to be able to make direct eye contact with anyone," he continued. "Even when feeding him or cleaning Freddy's cage, they only view him through a mirror."

"Why is that?," marveled Renald.

"Well, Freddy's a mental dominant," remarked Felis. "If he makes direct eye contact with anyone, he can make them do pretty much anything that he wants!"

"Ain't that a kick in the head!," exclaimed Renald. "Do you think you can get him out of that cage? There's a lock on it," noted the fox.

"No problemo," replied Felis. His form then vanished right before the fox as Felis phased into another dimension, re-appearing inside Freddy's cage. "Game for an outing?," the cat asked the ferret.

"Sure, why not?," responded Freddy. The cat then wrapped his paws around the ferret, and momentarily they both appeared outside of the locked cage in front of Renald.

"That's a neat trick!," admitted Renald. "So you can take someone along with you when you teleport?," he asked Felis.

"If they're not too big, yeah," agreed the cat. "And no more than one or two at a time," he added.

"But what is this mental dominant thing?," inquired the fox.

In response, the ferret looked at Felis, staring him fully in the eyes. "Bark like a dog!," he commanded. The cat's eyes glazed over, and he began yipping and woofing as if a canine. "OK, knock it off," countered the ferret. The cat shook his head and looked confused.

"What just went on?," asked Felis, honestly clueless.

"Nothing to worry about," assured the ferret. "Let's just say you're adept in a foreign language!"

Renald was about to ask another question when a researcher entered the room and saw the ferret outside of his cage. "Holy shit!," he cried.

The ferret locked eyes with the scientist. "Go to sleep!," he said. Instantly the man slumped to the floor and began snoring. A woman rushed in, and was equally distressed. Freddy caught her gaze, and remarked, "You're just a big baby!" The woman wet herself, dropped to her knees, and began drooling and making gurgling sounds.

"That's pretty awesome," commended Renald. An alarm cut his further remarks short.

"They're on to us!," exclaimed Felis. "We'd better get out of here!"

The trio hurried into a hallway only to be met by a group of armed guards toting rifles. "The experimentals have escaped!," sounded their commander. "We can't take chances!--Shoot them dead!" The guard leveled their rifles.

"Nooo!," screamed Renald. Some kind of aura projected out of the fox at the instant that several rifles cracked sharply. The bullets hit the aura, converting from solid to liquid to harmless puffs of gas that rose to the ceiling. "Fight fire with fire, I say!," declared the fox, pushing his power outward with the full force of his will.

The power came spiraling wildly out of the fox, a fireball which expanded to fill the width of the corridor, sweeping down the length of the hallway and utterly incinerating the firing guards where they stood. Small patches of smouldering ash marked where the men had moments before stood.

"Jesus Christ, what did they make out of you?," muttered Freddy quietly.

"Fire cleanses," remarked Renald, appearing drained from the tremendous energy he had just expended.

"We'd better get out of here now," admonished Felis. "The pursuit of the government will be relentless. I guess we're all in this now," he said soberly. Grabbing his two new friends, the cat made a series of jumps with them, arriving finally in southern New Jersey.

"New Jersey, huh?--It just gets better and better!," remarked the ferret sarcatically.

"We're in a remote part of the state called the Pine Barrens," advised Felis. "It's vast...they'll never find us here!" The three reposed in the wilderness as nightfall approached, the cat nuzzling the fox, who enjoyed the feeling of another male's flesh against his own.

"Get a room!," advised Freddy, who didn't swing that way.

Felis stood up, his feline senses perceiving something out there in the night. A pair of red eyes announced the approach of some kind of creature. Freddy also sprang to attention, seeking to lock eyes with the intruder and neutralize any threat. "Look at me!," he challenged the unknown beast. Renald assumed a defensive posture, points of red, yellow, and white-hot heat pulsing over his coat like embers in a campfire as he prepared to use his remaining energy, dying if necessary for his friends.

A pair of large, leathery wings fluttered before them, the red eyes revealing that they were attached to a long, horse-like head and a body that had a serpentine tail. The imposing cryptid looked at the trio and smiled.

"Ain't you three a sight!," he declared, extending a hoof in friendship. "I'm the thirteenth son of Mother Leeds, a kind of bipedal hippogriff," explained the creature, "sort of like the offspring of a griffin and a mare. I'm better known, though, as the Jersey Devil...

The three nodded in understanding. "I've heard of your work," mentioned Felis.

"You three blokes must have escaped from the Plum Island facility!," ventured the cryptid. "Hell of a place, isn't it?--Well, there's room for all of you here, and you're more than welcome!--Care for some food I raided from the humans in Smithville?," the Jersey Devil asked.

"Gee, thanks, Mr. Devil!," said Renald, relieved.

"Hell, just call me JD!, laughed the unlikely creature heartily, embracing his new friends...

...and New Jersey, the Garden State, would never even notice the arrival of three more oddballs...

[firefox451]

Hotel Paradise
by ff_b

The Hotel Paradise perched majestically in the Colorado mountains, all but deserted now in the dead of winter save for Festus, the off-season raccoon caretaker. He trudged thorugh the long hallways, thinking how glad he'd be when his watch was over. The job had seemed an easy one at the onset; just keep the building safe from vagrants and
attend to any unexpected maintenance needs. Festus hadn't anticipated, however, how spooky a big, empty building could be, nor had he realized that some guests of the venerable hotel were planning an eternal occupancy.


There were, for example, the two chipmunk twins. They appeared with considerable frequency as Festus was making his rounds, paw in paw and with dark circles around their tiny eyes. Clearly these two girls did not walk among the living; they wore adorable little outfits from the Victorian era, and were actually transparent at times. It's not
that Festus was really afraid of them; chipmunks did not tend to inspire fear and dread. Rather, they were damned annoying, informing Festus recurrently that he was entering a dead zone until he brandished his cell phone at them and summoned a legion of nerdy tech support people who assured him that he was good. Nodding triumphantly at the
chipmunk twins, Festus watched as they shrugged and dematerialized.


Passing by Room 666, Festus shivered as the temperature in the hallway dropped and he could see his breath; it was always like that by this particular room. Trembling slightly, Festus fished a key from his pocket and inserted it in the room's keyhole, pushing the door inwards and standing back slightly as it slowly creaked open. Cautiously entering the room, Festus beheld the usual artifacts; a bed, televison set, a dresser, a mirror. Seated on the bed was the ghost of Stephen Foster, looking suitably cadaverous.--'Oh great!,' thought Festus. -'Now I'm gonna have that stupid song of his, 'Camptown Races,' playing in my head all day long!-- That's just peachy!' Festus marched indignantly over to the dead songwriter and gazed into his eyes. "Camptown ladies never sang all the doo-dah day!," shouted Festus at the ghost, turning then to storm indignantly out of the room.


Ghosts and wandering spirits could be a real pain in the tuckus sometimes, thought Festus. He turned the corner of the hallway to behold the spirit of Nearly Headless Nick drift out of the ceiling and hover in midair before him. "Get back to your Harry Potter universe where you belong!," yelled the raccoon at the almost decapitated ghost. The
nearly headless apparition beat a hasty retreat back into the rafters as Festus continued his building tour.


The German Shepherd in the Grand Ballroom had been dead for some time. "Hey sailor...wanna have some fun?," he entreated, holding up his game of Twister. "No thanks!," declined Festus. The last time he had joined in such fun, his back had gone out, and chiropractors were hard to come by in the Colorado Rockies in the winter.


Festus passed through the hotel lobby, nodding at the ghost of Bambi's mother who happened to be passing through at the same time. The poor doe had met an untimely demise at the hands of a hunter, and she looked awfully lonely. "I'd do anything for a buck!," she said forlornly to Festus. He shrugged and replied, "I'd walk a mile for a camel!"


In the game room, Festus beheld a spectral buffalo, dodo, and passenger pigeon who were playing poker, and looking for someone to join them. Agreeing to play a few hands, Festus pulled up a chair and sat down; it was hard to say no to endangered and extinct animals. Festus nodded off as the game wore on, however, awakening the following morning to find himself alone sprawled over the table. It was March 20th, Festus realized, the first day of spring! Sing and be gay, spring was coming!


Festus rubbed his face and regarded himself in the mirror; he must have been really tired, still having dark circles around his eyes! But this was the first day of spring, meaning that his duties as winter caretaker of the Hotel Paradise were at last over. Festus hurried back to his caretaker's apartment and packed his bags, not wanting to be late in his departure...


...after all, Flight 19 was returning from the Bermuda Triangle, and the raccoon wanted to bum a ride!

[firefox451]

Unknown Forces
by ff_b

There are some things that it is better not to read, such as the Republican Party Platform or the forbidden Necronomicon of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred. The old wolf, however, had been known to have been a great student of magic in his day, better even than David Copperfield or Cris Angel. Legend had it that the wolf could raise or quell storms at sea according to his whim. The wolf could gaze at another fur and give them a distinct feeling of exchanged personality, as if the subject were placed momentarily in the wolf's body and able to stare across the room at their real body, whose eyes blazed with a lupine expression. The wolf made claims about the nature of consciousness and its independence from the physical frame...or at least the life-processes of the physical frame. Indeed, the wolf was able with his dark powers to crowd someone out of their body and leave the other soul marooned in his own failing shell while he temporarily used their body for his own purposes. Such journeys were not enough, however, for the wolf wanted to live forever. With the formulas in the Necronomicon, he appeared ready to be able to do just that..

And so it was when Little Red Riding Hood went calling at her Grandmother's house, the old wolf had already dispatched Grandma, and assumed her garments when the young naive girl appeared by what she thought was her grandmother's bedside. It was then that the telepathic wave of the wolf's mental force swept over Red Riding Hood, twisting her face almost unrecognizably for a moment. A shivering motion passed through Red Riding Hood's body, as if all of the bones, organs, muscles, and glands were adjusting themselves to a radically different configuration and personality. The eyes of Red Riding Hood blazed forth, a pleased wolfish expression on her countenance. In the body of the wolf, the feeble consciousness of Red Riding Hood struggled, dispossessed and panic-stricken. It was then that the stalwart woodsman burst through the door of Grandmother's cabin, and gasped at the sight of the wolf in the bed. He raised the gleaming head of the heavy ax that he carried, and struck with it at the wolf with all of his might. Once, twice, three times did hard blows of the ax fall upon the body of the wolf, which was decapitated by the force of the impacts.

"I'm enormously grateful, brave Sir, for your most timely assistance," enthused the physical embodiment of Little Red Riding Hood to the woodsman, appreciative indeed for the new lease on life that had been given him. The parents of Red Riding Hood didn't know what to make, however, of their daughter's newly-acquired habit of eating meat raw, and apparently snarling at times as she dismembered rabbits with her teeth. In school, she would frighten her classmates with leers and winks of an inexplicable kind. It would be remarked by others that she had the glaring eyes of the devil himself. This life would be different, thought the wolf in the girl's body, but every bit as good as his previous one...he found that he could extract an obscenely zestful irony from his present situation while looking forward to others yet to come...


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

(With thanks to H.P. Lovecraft, who knew that "there are horrors beyond life's edge that we do not suspect.")

[firefox451]

The Screaming Steak
by ff_b

She was cold...so terribly cold. And what was she doing shivering in the darkness, lying on a white foam plastic tray covered with plastic cling wrap? Why couldn't she see...then all at once, it came back to her, a sudden overwhelming flood of bad memories. The herding into the cattle truck, the long, bouncing ride to the slaughterhouse, the terrible place smelling of fear, blood, and death...electric jolts from a cattle prod forcing her and her sisters forward, and then the bolt through her brain which ended her life. Then blissfully, Elsie knew nothing...until she awoke here.--Why couldn't she feel her body, just this one clump of muscle? Then somehow she knew...those BASTARDS!--They had killed and flayed her, decapitated and dismembered her! "I must scream," thought the muscle mass that remained of Elsie, "but I have no mouth!"

But the rods, those flying invisible fourth dimensional creatures, heard Elsie's silent screams, and flocked to her. As numerous as fish in the sea yet invisible to the pinkies, the naked apes, the rods took pity on Elsie, and decided to make things right. As rods travel in time as readily and as easily as men do in three-dimensional space, the rods formed a living net around the muscle mass that remained of Elsie, and phased backwards in time with her, making her once again a living, intact bovine. They restored her to the farm that she had been taken from, just shortly before the time of her deportation and execution. Elsie bowed in solemn gratitude to the rods. "I am forever in your debt," she lowed at the hovering rods.

"Stop, you're embarrassing us!," communicated the rods telepathically, the membranes at their edges undulating. "So go and avenge yourself," they added. "Make us proud!" With a glowing pulsation, the assembly of rods phased themselves into another time and another place, leaving Elsie standing alone in the field.

It just so happened that the farmer was hard at work that day in the milking barn, so he didn't notice when Elsie climbed up on the big John Deere tractor and fired the sucker up. It gave Elsie considerable pleasure to chase the farmer with the tractor over the lower 40 acres before he tired and she caught up with him, running the big machine over his body. The first pass broke a few ribs and smashed the farmer into the soil, but one of the next several passes dispatched the farmer to the land of his ancestors. It may have been excessive, but Elsie made sure that he was dead.

Leaving the crushed and broken body of the farmer oozing into the field, Elsie shifted the John Deere tractor into a lower gear and drove off into the sunset, feeling that maybe a little blood of the aurochs, the extinct bison of Europe, still flowed within her veins...

[firefox451]

The Dig
by ff_b

Dr. Chan the paleontologist furrowed his brow and mopped beads of sweat from his forehead. The newly-excavated Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton was highly unusual, with several remarkable features that couldn't readily be explained. The T-Rex appeared to have died violently, but that was hardly unusual for his species, a carnivore who often defeated large prey for his meals when he couldn't scavenge. What was unusual was the fact that the specimen had apparently suffered several severe blows to the head, resulting in puncture-type damage to the cranial bone structure. The angle of the damage indicated also that the blows had come from above, as if something had descended upon the fearsome predator from the skies. Even more strangely, the large skull of the T-Rex, even in its fossilized state, showed indicators that the creature had additionally suffered burns sufficient to cause charring to the bone surface. Collectively, the injuries still discernible upon the skeleton of the predacious dinosaur had almost certainly resulted in its death.

Now the area in which the remains were discovered was not known to have experienced volcanic activity, nor was it believed to have been forested during the time when the T-Rex roamed the plains so that he hadn't blundered into an eruption or a fire sufficient to cause charring to the bone. There was simply nothing known to have existed in the area at the time which could have caused the damage. Dr. Chan, however, had a theory as to what might have caused the insults to the remains of the dinosaur. It was an explanation that presently could not be proven, but one which he nonetheless strongly believed because of his cultural heritage. He could not offer this explanation because of fear that he would be ridiculed and professionally discredited, even though his explanation was supported by the mythologies of many cultures around the world and throughout time.

Dr. Chan, you see, believed that the formidable T-Rex had long ago engaged in battle with a dragon, and lost. An earlier, more naive generation had regarded dinosaur bones as the remains of dragons...perhaps someday, the bones of the dragon would truly be found...Dr. Chan smiled, and held onto his faith...it is said that faith is the "evidence of things hoped for, the substance of things not seen..."

[MidniteLady]

Scream

My love it shouts!
It roars!
It cries!
As I look past myself to see you in another's eyes
It burns to breath
My breathe is hitched
My eyes are unsteady
And clouded with mist
My feet dont go fast enough
My heart cannot cry loud enough
Your voice it dwindles in my ears
'Im sorry Im sorry. Come Back! Come Here'
Your words are useless
As empty as your love
The streets are dark, and comforting
Unlike the blackness of your heart
As I look to the sky
And the rain it falls
I cannot hold back
I cannot think
All I can
All I can dream
Is to glare at the Heavens
And
SCREAM!!

[Night Firepaw]

The Lover's.

Stight

Female, The thrill of the expectation of the sexual desire burning like a fire inside of me, my body cold but hot at the same time, a chill running down my spine looking toward's standing naked in front of you, my breast firm my nipple hard, Murrrrrring or purrrrrring, my eye's shining brighter then star's in the sapphire sky at night, my sex slightly open glisting with my juice's, lying down on the the soft grass, my elbow's resting againest the grass, as I lay there in expectation wanting you, waiting for you, needing you to take take me, come my lover, come here and take me, make me your, take away my virginite, make me feel special, make me feel wanted or needed, and above all please make hot passionite love to me.

Male, watching your laying on the grass seeing your naked body laying there in front of me, my body full of tention standing there my body dripping with sweat of sexual desire, my cock hard , long and thick, my eye's also full of lust and need, not knowing the pleasure to expect as I walk toward's you my muscle's ripple with each step I take, my heart pounding like I run a marathon, my nipple's hard my body ready, lying down on top of you I move along your body pressing my skin againest your skin feeling our naked bodies pressed together, slideing up on top of you as I feel your breast's pressing agaienst your chest, moaning softly as I feel my cock press againest your sex as I slide it inside moaning loudly in pleasure as I push my thick cock inside of your tight sex feeling your cilt queeze my cock as I push my cock fully inside of you, no longer singel but joined together like lover's, wating for your special word's, ohhhhhh please take me make me your I want to take me as your lover and make you mine and me you, as I wait silently for your word's.

Female, feeling your body pressing agianest mine as I feel my breast's agaiest my chest, screaming in pain at first as I feel your cock split open my cilt as I feel it penetrating it, my hymen burst blood dripping out of my sex over your cock as I moan, reasuring you that every thing is ok and what happened was natural, and that you have nothing to worry about you, giving you a reasuring kiss on your cheeck, saying 8 simple word's, please take me my love make me your's.

Male, Hearing your scream of pain I look down in shock as I were'nt expecting any thing like that to happen seeing the blood panic set's in my mind, with fear, wanting to pull out, when suddenly I hear your soft voice call out to me hearing your word's as I look down seeing there is no blood, my mind clearing with your word's of comfort, as I feel no more pain only pleasure hearing your word's I smile, as I return the kiss on your cheeck, as I thrust my cock slowly and gently slide my cock in and out of your sex.

[firefox451]

Lamprey
by ff_b

She wasn't pretty, but when a guy's seeking a girl who's gonna hang on and be there when you need her all the time, you just can't beat a lamprey lass! They were always together and seemed inseparable, so when she clung to his side he hoped she might head further south and encouraged it. Over time, however, the guy felt his strength gradually being eroded, and decided to end their relationship. He asked the lamprey to leave...but breaking up is hard to do.

"Sorry, but no can do," the lamprey said matter-of-factly. "You see, I'm living parasitically off you," she added. "You've been a good host, but I'm not through with you yet."

"And just when might THAT be?," he questioned.

"When I've drained you completely, and you're dead," replied the lamprey, like it was the most natural thing in the world. She moved her rasping teeth in his flesh, as if driving home that point.

"Blood sucker!," accused the guy, doubled over in pain.

"Well, technically yes," said the lamprey. "But there's no reason to get so personal about it!," she huffed.

Deciding to take matters into his own hands, the guy seized the eel-like body of the lamprey and pulled hard, trying to remove it from his side. But the circular suctorial mouth and rasping teeth held firm, and the guy simply wound up adding to his own pain.

The lamprey grinned, at least to the extent that she was capable of it. "I'll be with you 'till the end," she said, "of you, that is!," she qualified. "Actually, I hope that you live for some time yet," she mused. "Locating a new host is such a bother, but one is the loneliest number, at least for a parasitic jawless fish."

The guy sank to his knees, convinced that the philosopher was right who observed that you always hurt the one you love...but Paul Simon had said that there must be 50 ways to leave your lover! "What if," he proposed to the lamprey, "you could be linked up with someone who would last longer than any one single host, who you could drain of blood indefinitely?"

The lamprey considered. "I'd be interested, of course," she said, not loosening her grip. "But where might I find such a sugar daddy to keep me satisfied?"

Sensing victory, the guy introduced the lamprey to the American taxpayer, who was so used to having his blood sucked that one more hungry mouth to feed made no difference...

[Rosenfan]

Ha. I figured I would copy this poem down on here because I had found it in my locker senior year. I never did find out who it was :/ Here, check it out!

You are friendly, kind and caring
Sensitive, loyal and understanding
Humorous, fun, secure and true
Always there... yes that's you.

Special, accepting, exciting and wise
Truthful and helpful, with honest blue eyes
Confiding, forgiving, cheerful and bright
Yes that's you... not one bit of spite.

You're one of a kind, different from others
Generous, charming, but not one that smothers
Optimistic, thoughtful, happy and game
But not just another... in the long chain.

Appreciative, warm and precious like gold
Our friendship won't tarnish or ever grow old
You'll always be there, I know that is true
I'll always be here... always for you.

[firefox451]

Evil Blooms
by ff_b

The plain brown box was delivered to the door by a tired and apathetic driver, who forced a slight smile as he left the package in Olivia's hands and departed to his next destination. Olivia brought the box into her apartment, and regarded the packaging. This certainly hadn't come from Teleflora or any of the recognized brand name florists, who sent flowers in tasteful vases...nope, someone wanted to send her flowers on the cheap.--Ah well!, thought Olivia, any flowers are better than no flowers at all!

Olivia removed some tape which held the box lid closed, and lifted it to reveal a small, sparse bouquet of flowers, loosely held together by ribbon at their base. She practically dropped the box, however, when one of the blooms, a colorful tulip, reared up from the box to regard her.

"Hello, my Precious!," said the tulip in a deep male voice, its pedals moving as it somehow articulated. "How's about 'ya put us in water, being that we're cut off at the stems and all?" The other flowers in the box muttered their agreement.

"Err, sure!," agreed Olivia as she hurried to ready a vase, having had no previous experience with vocal floral company. She quickly added water to the vase and gathered the flowers up from the box, plunging them stem first into the water, where they made relieved sounds. Olivia's cat, Maxwell, strolled into the room, and regarded the flowers with curiosity.

"Gee, toots, guess that no one cared much about 'ya to send you us!, commented the tulip. "Maybe you should get back to your romance novels and your fat, smelly cat!" The other flowers chortled at this and threw their blooms about. Offended by the unkind references to his weight and hygiene, Maxwell mewed indignantly and padded out of the room.

"Just what kinda flowers are you?," asked Olivia of the offensive blossoms.

"Well, little darlin', we're hybrids, thank 'ya for askin'," responded one of the tulips, pausing to entend rather sturdy-looking roots from its severed stem. "For example, we're part Venus Flytrap, and they's unique, don't 'ya know?"

Damned if this thing doesn't appear to be grinning, thought Olivia.

"Oh, and Sweet Cheeks, 'ya know what else we are?," added the tulip. "Carnivorous!," he declared, jumping refreshed from the vase on those newly-sprouted roots, scampering on them like tentacles and advancing with his fellows on the girl. Olivia swatted several of the blooms away, but they rebounded swiftly from the floor and pounced with their cohorts on the girl where they attached by their pedals with surprising strength and tenacity, boring swiftly through skin and rasping away at the flesh beneath. Olivia passed into blissful unconsciousness within minutes, and soon only wet sucking sounds were heard.

Some time later, the blooms arose from the skeletonized remains, appearing quite satiated and revitalized as they stretched and extended their invigorated folliage.

"Too bad she's dead," mused the tulip, "I know a fern who would have been rather frond of that girl!" Scurrying on their roots, the bouquet from Hell went forth to brighten other gardens in the neighborhood.

I'm going to stick to my kitty greens!, thought Maxwell the cat as he watched from a safe place of concealment in the adjoining room, knowing well that discretion was the greater part of valor...

[firefox451]

The Amulet
by ff_b

They sat together at a table in the wagon in the dim light, the gypsy and the youth. The amulet swung gently in the paw of the chihuahua Sylvia, who looked over it at her client with dark, unspeakably wise eyes. "This amulet was brought from the heart of the Carpathian mountains," she proclaimed sagely. "It exists both before and outside of time, and within it resides indescribable power, the ability to realize simultaneously the depth of your fears and the summit of your dreams!--Do you wish to possess the secrets of the ages, entrusted to but a few? " The amulet twisted by its chain in the gypsy's diminutive paw as the trace of a foreboding smile passed briefly over her features.

With trembling hands, the teenaged human, Glenn, grasped the chain of the amulet with fear and reverence. "I know that there are things beyond understanding, and infinite worlds existing alongside our own!," spoke Glenn, his voice barely a whisper.

"Then you are halfway there!,' assured Sylvia with a flick of her paw. "So put the amulet on already!--Do you want to be furry or not?--What, do you think I've got all night for you?" She regarded the youth skeptically, wondering if her judgement in his faith, desire, and maturity may have been incorrect. Sylvia drummed her small clawed digits on the table surface before them impatiently.

Glenn nervously eased the chain of the amulet over his neck, the heavy pendant coming to rest on his chest. He felt a curious warmth emanating from the amulet, which seemed to settle further on his chest as if attaching itself.

"Look at the Cat's Eye stone in the center of the amulet!," directed Sylvia. "Does it speak to you?"

The boy regarded the stone, then jumped slightly as if startled. "Something moved in there!." he declared.

"Uh huh," acknowledged Sylvia, wishing that she could boot events into fast forward. Novices could be such a drag...

"Oww!," cried Glenn. "A pain just shot through my face!"

"And so it begins," droned Sylvia.

The youth grabbed at his face as soft, audible snaps were heard as the skull beneath the skin began to reconfigure itself. "It hurts, gypsy, it hurts!," he screamed.

"Birth is painful, child," counseled Sylvia patiently. "Pain passes, but beauty endures!"

Agonized screams emanated from the youth, who clenched his head and fell to the floor, where he continued to writhe and contort. As Glenn thrashed and kicked, the cries which tore from his throat altered as well, becoming more throaty and guttural. Objects began to fall from the walls as the boy's flailing limbs impacted with them.

"Watch the furnishings!," advised Sylvia. "If you break it, you buy it!"

The boy's seizures reached a crescendo and then mercifully abated as his breathing stabilized and slowed. Sylvia looked down upon the prone figure, allowing him to rest for a few minutes. After a time, she hoisted her saxophone and played a few bluesy licks on it. "I serenade the new creation," she declared. "Arise, and behold yourself!," she ordered, handing the boy a small mirror and gently removing the amulet from his neck as she did so.

Slowly, as if awakening from a dream, Glenn reached to grasp the mirror, gasping slightly as he observed that his hand was clawed and covered with gray fur. Hurriedly, he held the mirror to his face to behold the visage of a wolf, his eyes bright with life and vitality.

"And to think," remarked Glenn with wonder, "I hesitated!"

"Out of the slime itself, spotless the lotus grows!," commented Sylvia.

"Say what?," asked Glenn.

"That's from a Japanese folk song," explained Sylvia. "The philosophy will come later.- -What are you waiting for?- Take that new body for a spin!- -Work the kinks out!"

The young wolf needed no further encouragement. He bounded from the door of the gypsy's wagon, and was carried by swift, muscular legs into the welcoming night, howling with delight as he went.

"In wilderness is the preservation of the world," mused Sylvia as she envied her young charge the life that he had begun that evening...

[firefox451]

Servitor
by ff_b

It wasn't easy being furry at Warren G. Harding school; harder in fact than being gay. Actually, more people knew of Jay's sexual orientation than of his furry nature, both of which Jay did his best to keep under wraps. He tended to sketch anthropomorphic animals during boring lectures, of which there seemed to be many; his anatomically correct renderings had once landed him an appointment with his guidance counselor. Jay also owned a few pieces of jewelry commemorating the fact that he was furry inside, mostly those representing his own feline species. He possessed one of the fairly common lion's head rings, even while he regarded himself as a domestic feline...but perhaps the most unusual jewelry item was Jay's animal spirit servitor housed in a leopard agate pendant.

It looked like a thousand other gemstone pendant necklaces, but what distinguished it was what was supposed to reside inside the stone, a kind of energy golem created by white witches who swore that it had protective qualities.- -Now magic hadn't a big following anymore, but didn't Arthur C. Clarke declare that the highest level of technology was indistinguishable from magic?- -Didn't magic and religion share apparent commonalities?- -Besides, the spirit housed within the stone was reputed to be intelligent, and he had bought the pendant for 30% off its usual selling price, these apparently being hard times for white witches as well as the rank and file.

Jay absent-mindedly fingered the pendant during math class like a worry stone, seeming to draw something from it...God knew that he could use all the help he could get during Algebra II, and if protection came as part of that, so much the better! Algebra was followed by Phys Ed, which he always hated with a passion. Baseball in the spring was the best part of that, Jay knowing that he he could just stand in the outfield, meditate on nature, and hope that no one hit the ball to him. Today he wasn't so lucky, though...it was raining, and they had to stay inside and climb that endless heavy rope suspended in the gym, supposedly all the way to the gym ceiling...yeah, like anyone could ever do that! The freaky thing was that today, Jay could...his hands and feet just seemed to work differently, and he moved up and down the thick rope all the way without sweating or suffering a rope burn.

The Phys. Ed teacher eyed Jay strangely. "Been eating your Wheaties or something?," he remarked as Jay's success was duly noted on a clipboard. After gym class was over, there was the usual communal shower...homoerotic fun for everyone! Jay delayed entering the shower until most had passed through and then tried to stand in the corner, keep discretely turned to the wall, and will his half-erection to subside. He tried to fill his mind with thoughts of very old nuns, and wrapped a towel around his mid-section as soon as he could.

The usual gang of jocks was in Jay's locker row, snapping towels at one another and showing the IQ's of turnips. While Jay tried desperately not to be noticed by them, one of the jocks, a behemoth called Oz, couldn't resist telling Jay that he had climbed the rope pretty well for a furry fag. Jay tried to laugh the remark off, quickly finished dressing, threw his pendant on over his neck, and grabbing books under his arm began squeezing past the three athletes remaining in the row of lockers. It was then that one of them accidentally on purpose extended an arm into Jay's books, knocking them out from under his arm and sending them spinning out onto the floor. Jay's effort to retrieve the books brought a towel cracked against his butt, while another jock stepped into position to bar his further exit.

"Guys, I need to get to class!," protested Jay, his heartbeat pounding like a drum.

"Did you say please, sneered Oz, spraying spittle on Jay's face from inches away.

The flight response must have tipped over into the fight response at that point, or at least Jay's animal servitor felt his owner threatened enough to engage in a defensive action, emerging from Jay's chest in the form of a glowing winged jungle cat and hovering between Jay and Oz. The entity placed a clawed hand around the jock's beefy neck, lifted him as though he were weightless, and then flung the massive body sideways like a rag doll, where it crashed into a bank of lockers. Wings unfurled to either side of the unearthly feline body and sparks of light ran within the translucent form as otherworldly energies coursed within it. The feline's eyes glowed red and his mouth gaped as he gave vent to a deafening roar.

All vestige of composure lost, Jay's remaining tormentors screamed and tried to escape but were met with teeth and claws that seemed to be everywhere at once. Arterial bloody sprayed against locker surfaces, and there was the cracking of bone as screams were abruptly cut short. Jay backpedaled from the aisle, unprepared for the awesome forces that had been unleashed from the small vessel around his neck. The feline avenger gave a final resounding roar, furled his wings, and slowly dematerialized to a fine mist which filtered back into the leopard agate pendant stone around Jay's neck.

There were investigations into the carnage, of course, but logical explanations were not to be had, so some kind of crazed killer was eventually fabricated, and Jay was ultimately sent to another school for the good of everyone concerned, growing there in feline grace and skills under the able instruction of his animal spirit. Invisible, the animal spirit of a fox had unobserved the entire event undetected from a short distance away, but he was hardly about to say anything either, having other business to conduct...

[firefox451]

Deadliest Warrior
by ff_b

"Catch me if you can!," cried Julien to his tormentors. Everyone wanted to catch a fox, but Julien knew he was better on his worst day than the humans were on their best day. The chase could almost be exhilarating...but something about this chase was different, something was terribly wrong...

The plodding Bozo after him seemed to be bearing a gladiatorial short sword and wearing a helmet; what was this, Roman Holiday week at the fraternity? Foxes are nothing if not adaptable, however, and Julien led his pursuer through a thickening thicket of brush over uneven terrain before inducing him to cross a rotted log bridge, which collapsed under his weight and sent the would-be Spartacus tumbling to unconsciousness many feet below.

Julien couldn't reflect upon his victory, however, as an arrow impacted with a tree scant inches away from his head. The fox turned to regard an Apache brave a few dozen yards away, who uttered a war whoop and fitted another arrow to a bow. The shaft whizzed through the air in Julien's direction as he bolted through the underbrush, hearing the
thwack! of the arrow as it embedded itself in another tree trunk while the fox made good his escape.

Julien scaled a tree several hundred yards away, watching the Apache approach from a safe elevation. ' Hail to thee, oh mighy hunter!,' thought Julien as he dropped a large rock on the Apache's head. Meditating on the significance of his strange pursuers, Julien descended the tree, barely reaching the ground before a musket ball splintered a branch nearby. The fox wheeled about to behold a pirate raising an antique single-shot pistol in his direction.

'This is getting old fast!, thought Julien as he again bolted into the woods, pausing only to snatch a large pointed stick from the forest floor. Easily outdistancing the pirate, Julien put some space between the man and himself, observing his adversary undetected from a hollow log. Smelling the pirate's foul stench before he could see him, Julien thrust upward with his makeshift spear at just the right instant to catch him in the chest, and
ensure that his booty didn't become the pirate's.

The faint thud of hoofbeats alerted Julien to the approach of a mounted knight in full armor. "Wait a minute!," shouted Julien in a moment of epiphany, "I get this now!" Julien stood directly in front of the now-galloping knight as the armored menace spurred his mount into a charge. With a lance targeting his chest, Julien stood his ground and resolutely shouted at his attacker, "You're...not...REAL!"

With the lance mere feet away from his chest, the knight dissolved to glowing sparks, behind which giggled Morpheus, the kitsune! "You old trickster!," shouted Julien at his friend. "You've been watching entirely too much of The Deadliest Warrior on 'Spike TV!"

"Guilty as charged!," grinned Morpheus. "Only a fox can outfox another fox! What do 'ya say we grab a burger and fries?"

"Sounds unhealthy to me," agreed Julien. "And after we eat, maybe we can make this forest glade ring," he winked at the kitsune as they walked away arm in arm...

[firefox451]

Things Yet To Come...
by ff_b

Uncle Thad was nearing the end of his long fight with cancer, and his latest news from the oncologist had been grim indeed. "They tell me I'd better get my affairs in order," he advised his sister and young nephew, Robby. The boy averted his face and tried to hold back the tears.

"Hey Champ, I'm sorry!," Thad assured the boy. "But I'm really a spirit lugging around a corpse, and I'm just gonna go through a transformational thing! I'll be in touch with you even when I'm gone, you'll see!"

Thad's sister Jazz shot daggers at him. "Don't mess up his head any more than it already is!," she snapped, her voice rising. Jazz didn't cater to her brother's idiosyncrasies, like his New Age beliefs and the fact that he was a "furry." People were supposed to outgrow such crap, for God's sake!

"Don't have a cow, Sis!," placated Uncle Thad, holding his hands aloft in mock appeasement. Jazz tossed her head and stormed off, not wishing to stage a confrontation in front of her sensitive son.

"There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in your philosophy, Horatio," muttered Uncle Thad.

"Who's Horatio?," Robby asked his uncle, confused.

"Just a dude from Shakespeare, Robby," answered Thad, playfully tousling the boy's hair. "That's not important right now," he reassured his nephew.

As doctors often are, Thad's physician proved to be correct, and in a few weeks he was dying in his bed. His sister ordered Robby from the bedroom, wishing to spare him a vision of his uncle dying. "See 'ya later, Champ!," Thad waved weakly at his nephew as the boy departed. "Come closer!," he asked his remaining sister.

Jazz drew nearer to her brother's side. "What is it?," she said softly, drawing to within inches of her brother's face.

"Last tag!," declared Thad, landing his hand on his sister's forehead and expiring.

Muttering, Jazz removed her brother's now lifeless hand from her face. 'So much for dignity!,' she thought, a strange mixture of emotions filling her.

Poor Robby barely made it through his uncle's viewing and funeral, in the days ahead spending much time alone in his bedroom in a depressed state. It was on one such night as Robby buried his head in his pillow that a stuffed animal of a fox on his desk turned his head towards the boy, and spoke in a familiar voice:

"Jeez, Dude, lighten up a little!--You take this death thing much too seriously!"

Robby lifted his head to make eye contact with the stuffed fox, and the figure winked a glass eye at him. "Uncle Thad?," he asked, incredulous.

"In the fur," responded the small stuffed fox, stretching his limbs as if awakening from a long nap.

And in the many years to follow, Robby would draw snickers and occasional disbelief from others, but would never be far separated from his much-loved fox plushie, drawing much comfort and wisdom from it in his long journey through life...

[firefox451]

Twilight
by ff_b

(At the Centre for Great Apes in Florida, Bubbles the Chimp and his best friend, Sam, sit up in a tree watching the sunset...)

Sam:--Ah me...well I'm sorry, Bubbles, to hear about your old man dying...

Bubbles:--Thanks, but he really didn't have a lot to do with me in recent years.

Sam:--Well, you know how humans are...

Bubbles:--I just felt so...betrayed!--I mean, in the 1980's we did everything together. I was part of Michael Jackson's entourage!--Hell, we even had matching outfits!

Sam:--He was one strange dude, man...

Bubbles:--Yeah, but gifted at the same time!--And then they said I had gotten too hard to control, and I was sent to a trainer for care, and then I wind up here!

Sam:--Welcome to reality, friend!--Life sucks, and then you go to Florida.

Bubbles:--And let's face it...some of the "Great Apes" here ain't so great!

Sam:--Tell me about it!--You're preachin' to the choir, Babe!

Bubbles:--I just feel...used!--Is that all there is?--A little fame, and then life's brief dance is over?!--What's it all about?!

Sam:--You gettin' philosophical on me, man?--Look at it this way...you outlived your owner, and you had a taste of the limelight. You could live to be 60, so you might be around for some time yet!--Plus, there are worse places to be than here...

Bubbles:--You mean, like New Jersey? (shudders)

Sam:--Exactly!--You're in Florida, after all...and what am I, chopped liver? (puts hairy arm around Bubbles)

Bubbles:--You're right...it's better to have loved Michael and lost, than never to have known Michael at all!

Sam:--Well put!--So what do you say we watch the sun go down, and then maybe we can blow Bubbles...(winks)

Bubbles:--Ooh!--I like the way you're thinking! (puts head on the shoulder of the older chimp, and sighs)

(scene reveals two simian figures silhouetted in the twilight as Michael Jackson music plays in the background...fade to black)

[firefox451]

The Hounds of Hell
by ff_b

Nodding off while watching MonsterQuest re-runs late one night, I found myself in a strange dream with the dancing undead of Michael Jackson's Thriller, probably prompted by watching one too many tributes to the late King of Pop. I must have been possessed by the spirit of Michael himself, as I even had his red zippered leather
jacket on, and felt a craving for Xanax! This wasn't all bad, though, as I transformed into a werewolf as Jackson had in Thriller, one which had Jackson's dazzling dancing agility as well as furry reflexes. The undead seemed to be coming after me, but I easily led them on a merry chase through rugged terrain during which time they dropped off like flies, losing limbs and assorted body parts and falling down into things.

After some time, the zombies had dwindled to three really persistent ones, an unholy trinity, if you will. One on the side, the False Prophet, came at me first.

"Evolution is a fib!, he declared. "It's just a theory, after all!--I demand that Scientific Creationism be taught in the public schools!"

I held him at bay with a copy of Darwin's The Origin of Species that I conveniently found in one of the zippered pockets of the red jacket. "Wait a minute, Bucko!," I countered. "So-called 'Scientific Creationism' is unscientific, and is religious dogma masquerading as science!--There are no supported alternatives to evolutionary
theory. The consensus is that evolution occurred by descent through modification, mainly by natural selection, and this is what should be taught in our science classes!"

Beams of light shot forth from the copy of Darwin's work, causing the False Prophet to burst into flames when they touched him. He screamed and disintegrated into ashes. It was then that the second ghoul, the Antifur, came towards me."Furries are despicable beings who have sex with others of their kind while dressed in animal suits!," he stated
with a leer.

"Not so fast, Sherlock!," I replied. "That's a vicious stereotype!-- Furries are a diverse group! Even if that were true, what business would it be of yours?--Don't criticize things you don't know about!" The Antifur dematerialized and vanished, not really having any substance to him. Like all lies, he was essentially a ghost.

The remaining zombie advanced on me, none other than Satan himself. He chose to take the shape of Sarah Palin, and winked at me as she halted. "I represent the views of a significant portion of America," declared the resigning Alaskan governor. "I may run for President in 2012.--What do you think about that?," she challenged.

"That you may, but it's lipstick on a pig!," I shot back. "Run in 2012 if you will, but I'll wager that we can kick your pert little tail again!--So take your mid-life crisis, and get lost!"

With that, a hellmouth opened under her, and Sarah Palin tumbled down into it. "I can see Russia from here!," she declared as she descended into the outer darkness, transforming back into Satan. In the fiery furnace, imps demanded to know why the Unholy Trinity had failed. "He blinded me with science," shrugged Lucifer.

Free of my tormentors, I lifted my shaggy werewolf head and howled in victory long and hard at the moon. I then went crawling in search of blood, and terrorized your neighborhood. Just as I was starting to get really into this, I woke up on my couch, re-runs of MonsterQuest still on. "What a wild dream!," I thought as I staggered into
the bathroom to splash cold water onto my face...

...it was then that I noted that my pupils were still lupine and feral...Vincent Price's voice laughed long and hard in my head as I looked forward to tomorrow...

[firefox451]

Out of the Shell
by ff_b

"Jimmy, you're going to summer camp!," declared his mother with finality. "It will help you get out of your shell!"

Jimmy really didn't want to go to summer camp, however. Why should he abandon his private room, air conditioning, and computer for the questionable company of a bunch of early adolescent guys in a bug-infested quagmire? They should pay him to go to such a place, not his parents the camp! Jimmy thought that you were supposed to enjoy yourself over summer vacation, not suffer deprivation and hardship.

"But Mom!," protested Jimmy in vain.

"No buts!," snapped his mother. "You should be grateful that we're sending you to Camp El-Wa-Ho. You'll get to do neat crafts and ride horses. Plus you need to get away from home and toughen up a bit. It will do you good to learn how to get along with others!"

Jeez, coudn't she just pull my fingernails out with pliers?, thought Jimmy. He didn't really play well with others, and had a gut feeling that summer camp would be two weeks of unrelenting hell. Time would prove Jimmy all too right. Camp El-Wa-Ho demonstrated itself to be hot, primitive, and staffed by sadistic counselors who hated kids. His fellow campers were no better, tormenting Jimmy as the weakest and most different kid in his cabin. The toilets were primitive outhouses, and the food could barely be stomached.

"Can I come home, please?," pleaded Jimmy during parental visitation day.

His mother shot daggers at Jimmy in reply. "You know the answer to that one!," she shot back roughly. "There are lots of boys and girls your age that would be thrilled for the opportunity to be out in nature like you are!" In reality, Jimmy's mother was glad to be rid of the little wimp for 14 blessed days.

Jimmy glumly continued to lace up a leather bookmark that he was required to make, not that he would ever use it. He resigned himself to endure the primitive conditions and horrendous company for the remainder of the two weeks. His cabin mates short-sheeted his bed, put bugs in his ears as he slept, called him faggot and fairy, and tripped him whenever opportunity presented itself. All of this Jimmy endured with the patience of Job, figuring that his sufferings would in time end. His cabin mates went a bit too far, however, when they pulled his pants down during a visitation by the girls from a sister camp across the late.

It only took Jimmy a few seconds to pull his pants back up, but the damage had been done. His face red with shame and humiliation, Jimmy realized that everyone...the boys, the girls, and even the counselors...were laughing at him! The scene seemed to spin around strangely in Jimmy's head as his eyes passed from one laughing face to another. Even the cute little blonde-haired girl who Jimmy had hoped would talk to him was laughing!

There was a strange, wet tearing sound as Jimmy began a terrible metamorphasis and began to emerge from his shell...his human shell, that is. Skin stretched tight and then split along the length of Jimmy's back, revealing the shiny reddish-black irridescence of a reptilian hide. His mouth gaped wide and cracked open as a lengthy, lizard tongue flicked forth from the ruins of what scarce moments ago had been a boy's face. He thrashed his head violently from side to side, the human face peeling off like a rubber Halloween mask. A strange howling sound emerged from Jimmy's throat as he regarded claws emerging from the tips of his fingers, the flesh of the human appendages rending and parting aside in favor of the emerging new creation.

None of his mockers were laughing now; they had transitioned from stunned disbelief to utter horror at the sight of the transformation occurring before their eyes, one which caused reason to flee as the campers took panicked flight in dozens of different directions. Shedding the remnants of his tattered human skin as a snake does, Jimmy stood on four powerful limbs and leaped on first one and then another of his human tormentors, knocking them down with his weight, claws finding purchase on human flesh as reptilian jaws closed on vulnerable necks and silenced screams. Jimmy was a most efficient predator, targeting only his camp counselor and those of his cabin who had tormented him. Within minutes the carnage was complete, blood mixing with mud as flies buzzed above in the sweltering August heat.

Returning home in his reptilian form, Jimmy was greeted at the door by his father, who far from being surprised at the transformation smiled broadly. "Looks like my little boy has grown up!," he declared.

His mother beckoned him to the dinner table, shoving a jar full of meal worms in his direction. "See, Jimmy, I told you it would be good for you to get out of your shell a bit!," she admonished.

Jimmy scooped up a large mass of the writhing meal worms in his clawed hand and dumped them in his mouth, crunching down happily. He guessed that Mom and Dad weren't really as bad as he had thought after all...

[firefox451]

Barbecue
by ff_b

Roger Link had somehow never sent down roots. He hadn't married, and worked a meaningless middle management job in an eastern state, his existence brightened only by a rich fantasy life. Roger loved the lore of the old west, so much in fact that he visited Texas in search of it. In his secret soul, he fancied himself a cowboy, a destroyer of evil at one with the land. Once he visited the Alamo and discovered that people really did wear cowboy hats and bolo ties in the west, however, Roger felt strangely unfulfilled. Towards the end of his vacation, he voiced his frustrations to a sympathetic Texan he met by chance in a bar.

"Son," declared the Texan, "what you need is to come to an authentic Texan barbecue! I reckon that you'll find what you're after there." Somewhat reluctantly, Roger decided to accept the genial man's invitation, and went to the man's ranch the following night.

Flames chased the shadows of night from the roaring barbecue pit as Roger joined his host, accepting the first of many beers that followed. When he had a pleasant buzz on, Roger only distantly heard his new acquaintance order meat brought to the fire from the freezer. A whole animal carcass was roasted, something that was unlike anything which Roger had ever seen. The meat sputtered in the flames, and a thick slice was presented to Roger, generously embellished with Texas-style barbecue sauce. When Roger tasted the meat, it was not as tasty as he had expected; rather, it seemed tough and leathery. Not wishing to offend his host, however, Roger choked down several more bites before setting the plate aside. He was beginning to sweat.

"Don't you care much for that meat, Son?," the Texan asked Roger with a peculiar grin. Dark motes were starting to dance before Roger's eyes, and his raised his hand to his face in an effort to clear his vision.

"What have you fed me?!," Roger demanded to know.

"Well, Son," his host replied, "we've got more than just beef cattle here in Texas, 'ya know. Some things are here that aren't even known much outside of these parts.- - Have you ever heard of the 'Chupacabra?'"

Shaking badly, Roger staggered to his feet as his host continued. "I caught this...thing in my barn some time ago, and it put up quite a fight.- - It's been in my freezer since that time, and I just now served you some!"

"Damn you!," cursed Roger, struggling to remain conscious.

"As you prissy boys in the east might say, you are what you eat," declared the Texan as he lit a cigarette, the smoke circling his head demonically.

Unable to retain his footing, Roger fell to the earth where he writhed in the throes of a terrible transformation, his flesh reconfiguring itself into a gargoyle- like creature with claws, large canine teeth, and hairless, leathery skin. Bones in his face cracked as his skull extended itself into a muzzle. Gradually his ragged breathing steadied as the reborn creature regarded the Texan with newly-constituted red eyes.

"Ain't you a sight?," enthused the Texan. It was the last comment that he would ever make, as the Chupacabra which had been Roger jumped upon the man, easily puncturing his jugular with vicious incisors and feasting upon the pumping blood. The man's heart slowed and then stopped as the Chupacabra fed his voracious appetite, a hungry newborn.

His muzzle slick with blood, the human consciousness which remained within Roger considered that he had at last found his destiny.- - How though, he pondered, would he fight evil while living within the belly of the beast, and not be devoured by it?

[Dunnuck]

That's Life
by Dunnuck

That's Life
Read between the lines
The success will be only mine
Everybody say 'Yeah!' (Yeah!)
Don't stop, don't stop, no
Hit the lights
Linger in the dark
Give thought and give your life a spark
Everybody say 'Yeah!' (Yeah!)
Don't stop, don't stop, no...

Making it around
Is as easy as it sounds
With a kiss on lips
And live life without the bounds
Everybody say 'yeah!' (Yeah!)
Now we shall unwind
It's the wind, waking up your sight
Turning on the lights, followed by the sighs
Hit 'em with the bass...
Don't stop, don't stop, no

It's all in the song
It isn't right or wrong
The song doesn't need to be long
Hit 'em with the bass...
Don't stop, don't stop, no...
It was all in the struggle, it only takes one
To make the mistake that can tear a life apart
Just keep an open mind, surprised by what you find
Don't be a fool just read between the lines
Living fine art, don't you depart from this world
Everyone is an image of some kind
A picture some way
A masterpiece somehow
This art works screaming at the world to bow down
After all, you deserve it, right?
Everyone does at some point...
So hit 'em with the bass
Don't stop, don't stop, no

That's Life
Read between the lines
The success will be only mine
Everybody say 'Yeah!' (Yeah!)
Don't stop, don't stop, no
Hit the lights
Linger in the dark
Give thought and give your life a spark
Everybody say 'Yeah!' (Yeah!)
Don't stop, don't stop, no...


Ok, the song is basically about not making mistakes and how there are multiple outlets of art (such as song, film, writing, ect) that can provide experience of mistakes made by others and, with an open mind, the knowledge can be passed onto you. Don't need to make the mistake yourself, someone else already did it for you. The theme is heavily reliant on expression of music, and allowing it to sooth you. Hit 'em with the bass refers to the fact that the singer wants you to turn your attention to every aspect of the music, not just the lyrics (though not effective without a full song, lol). Well this is my two cents...wait...I need that for tax! *takes two cents* (yes I used that joke before)

Brothers...Until the Woman
by Dunnuck

I can't believe it...after all this time. All our lives of being together. He is gone. Boiling in anger, I strangled him. I didn't mean to kill him. But he betrayed my trust, I lost control over my body. I was transfixed on envy and hatred, as well as disblief. Love is an odd thing. It can drive you to bliss, but it can also drive you to murder. We were brothers...until the woman. That will always be our weakness.

(Just wanted to write a short real quick. Basically about a man who killed his brother because his wife cheated on the man with his brother. Pretty simple. I promise better pieces of work will come, I just want to watch this episode of Case Closed right now, lol)

[Dunnuck]

disregard the song and story. i didnt realize until closer inspection that this thread is reserved for your material. im sorry, dude, im a noob.

[firefox451]

disregard the song and story. i didnt realize until closer inspection that this thread is reserved for your material. im sorry, dude, im a noob.

Dunnuck, that's fine...nothing to apologize for! I'm not reserved (although I've been called shy)! Others have published on this thread, and you or others are welcome to do the same!--Welcome to Furry to Furry, BTW! :)

[firefox451]

Cusp of the Age
by ff_b

In Norway in the year 2012, the Furry Doomsday Vault rested untouched by the nuclear holocaust, precisely as had been intended. The sleepers within the vault continued their long slumbers unperturbed as the radiation settled and gradually abated, and the earth again became hospitable to life. It was then that one of the guardians came to awaken them, one of the legendary Knights Tempfur who had kept a long lonely vigil while the human race destroyed itself at last. The Fourth Age had ended, and the human race had once again screwed things up royally, making it time for a good cosmic dusting and cleaning; creation now stood on the cusp of a new Fifth Age, and this time things would be a bit different!

The Knight Tempfur, a lion called Reynaud, inserted a quartz crystal into the vault door which momentarily glowed brightly upon its insertion. Reynaud then turned a heavy titanium handle on the vault door, and pulled on the massive piece of metal with all his might, putting his shoulder into it as the heavy door slowly pivoted open. Reynaud stared into the darkness within, his eyes adjusting in the dim light to behold a myriad of elevated slabs upon which slept two representatives of each animal species.

"'ello, what's this?," questioned a voice observing the operation from a short distance outside. Reynaud immediately withdrew a massive sword from his scabboard and raised it to defend against the potential challenger; Knights Tempfur loved a good fight, and were among the best of warriors. "Stand, and identify yourself!," demanded the lion. In response, a hairy, hulking figure emerged from behind a hill, the mysterious and evasive cryptid humans had called the Abominable Snowman or Bigfoot among other things.

Reynaud maintained his guard as he spotted the living legend. "I am Reynaud, of the Knight Tempfurs!," he declared, with perhaps a tinge of pride. "I am here to liberate the inheritors of tomorrow!--Do not, I implore you, interfere!"

Bigfoot regarded the lion with a bemused expression. "Hey, chill, dude!," he said casually. "Whadya think, I'm gonna throw a rock at you or something?--I just wanna hang a bit, won't be no trouble at all!"

The lion lowered his weapon; this appeared to be an amiable snowman, not an abominable one. Nodding his assent to the Bigfoot, Reynaud passed among the sleepers in the Doomsday Vault, rousing each of them individually. Yawning and stretching as they gradually stirred, some of the awakened furs exchanged high fives with Bigfoot, who followed behind the Knight Tempfur.

"Hey, you got anything to eat?," asked a wolf of the lion, ravenous.

"Can we order a pizza or something?," requested a hungry hippo.

"What the?," complained a fox. "So why can't I access the internet here?- -Don't you have a WiFi hotspot around here?- -Jeez!"

Reynaud sighed, raising a massive paw to his head. These furs had evidently been corrupted by exposure to the world of men. It would take some doing to acclimate them to the Fifth Age, and life without the artifacts of man. His work was far from over, and was obviously just beginning.

"Alright then, listen up!," commanded Reynaud to the awakened furs. "We've got a lot of work to do!"

Far more work, in fact, than even Reynaud suspected, for in another Doomsday Vault half a world away, a genetic clone of Adolf Hitler was awakening legions of loyal followers eager to establish a Fourth Reich...

[firefox451]

The Shroud
by ff_b

For over two thousand years, the Shroud of Furin had been secretly passed on, guarded against destruction at the hands of the humans. Most noteably, a few hundred furry Knights Tempfur had held off a vastly superior force of several thousand pink skins using nothing but indian burns, wedgies, and bad celebrity impersonations while two furry knights ecaped with the Shroud, snickering as they went.

Now the Shroud was quite remarkable, bearing as it did the image of a poor fox who appeared to have been beaten, knocked about, yiffed severely, and ultimately put out of his blessed misery; it was said to have incredible curative powers, that anyone who touched it would be cured of prickly heat, psoriasis, jock itch, or any other terrible condition. Some said that the Shroud would ultimately herald in a new furry age, one in which men would not dominate. The Shroud was buried by the surviving furry Knights and forgotten by the Tempfurs, whose Order was outlawed and persecuted by the Church and assorted monarchies, causing them to become Freemasons, or at least Masons who were reasonably priced.

Well, it just so happened that an all-too-human archeaologist and his assistant were excavating in Mess-O'-Potamia one day when they came upon said Shroud of Furin, not realizing what it was or its true significance. Professor Poindexter snatched up the shroud, regarding it to be the burial wrapping of some underling, and cast it upon his hapless assistant, Ackmed. "Here, hold this!," he ordered. The Shroud fluttered over Ackmed and settled rather squarely upon him, causing the flunky to cough at the dust carried by the heavy linen and then convert into a hyenna, who promptly bit the professor on the ankle and then scurried for daylight. He would later make his way to America, and successsfully run a convenience store.

"Sweet Fancy Moses!," cried Professor Poindexter. "What a really cool artifact! Just wait until I show my boss this!--Why, with this rag, I can turn anyone into their inner animal!" The Professor folded the Shroud neatly, and made swiftly back to the university to show his find to his superiors. He got a cool reception from the Dean of Arts and Parties, Frank Lee Unctuous.

"You stupid twit!," exclaimed Dean huffily upon seeing the Shroud. "Couldn't you have brought back a mummy, or something made of gold that at least had some value?" The Dean continued to berate Professor Poindexter until he tired of the abuse, and cast the Shroud over his superior. The Dean coughed as the Shroud fluttered around a bit, and then the former Dean scurried out, transformed into a rat! Professor Poindexter stomped at the rat a few times before the squeaking creature ran off down a corridor.

"This is definitely cool!," said the professor to himself. "Who needs Harry Potter's cloak of invisibility when I've got an instrument of furry transformation, and just in time for October 31st!- -This is gonna be the best Howloween ever!- -Let's see what my inner self is!"

Professor Poindexter ducked under the Shroud, feeling odd as his human flesh touched the faint image of the fox on the ancient linen. Motes of sparks danced before his eyes, and for a moment his consciousness was aware of something unspeakable with tentacles, one of the Old Ones which passed by him. His bodily form seemed to melt away, dissolving into the swirling sparks of light and then re-constituting itself into his inner self. He was delighted to see that he now had a bushy tail and a most handsome burnt umber colored coat, accented nicely with black-furred extremities and paws with semi-retractable claws. Raising his forepaws to his head, the Professor discovered that his face now extended into a muzzle, and that his ears stood upright and had assumed a pointed shape. He had lost none of his intellect, and retained power of speech!

"Praise pointed ears and pitchforks!," the Professor exclaimed in wonder. "I'm a freakin' fox!" He cast off the shroud, which now fluttered to the ground. Had the Professor not been so excited, he might have noticed that the Shroud was now just a large sheet of old linen, having transferred its living but dormant image into flesh again. The essence of the long-deceased fox would now walk in the world anew, sharing life and consciousness with what had only minutes earlier been just another unfulfilled human...

...they raced into the night as one, giddy with the best of both worlds that they now possessed...

[firefox451]

A Corpse's Shell
by ff_b

Alex the fox didn't know how long he had been dead; perhaps it was for ten days, perhaps ten years. Time didn't mean a heck of a lot once you were dead, as its measurement was irrelevant once you existed beyond time. His body was no longer corporeal, and had basically floated through the earth in which his remains rested as the result of a less than favorable encounter with a truck; Alex looked at his paw and could see through it, the transparency varying with the flux and flow of his endoplasmic matrix. Alex sighed, missing his body of flesh and bone, which was not without its charms. Still, being a "shadow fox" as one could call the vulpine deceased, had its compensations as well. His spiritual body never knew hunger or disease, and never tired.- -Some of the living would kill for such a body!

Alex was meditating on these things when a warm paw touched him on the shoulder, causing him to jump. He wheeled about to behold a gray and white cat who pulled back upon realizing that the shadow fox had been startled.

"Sorry, didn't mean to cause you a fright!," apologized the cat. "But shouldn't I really be the one who's afraid, you being dead and all?- -Name's 'Roofshadow,' pleased to meet 'ya!," declared the cat as he extended a paw.

"You...you can see me?," marveled Alex as he tentatively wrapped his tranlucent paw around the feline one of flesh and fur. "How is that, since I'm just a spirit?," he asked.

"Oh, we felines really know our way around the supernatural," explained Roofshadow matter-of-factly. "Our kind have been the familiars of witches, after all, as have I--We see and know things that other species don't."

"Far out!," wondered the fox. "You really aren't concerned that I'm dead?"

"We all get there sooner or later," dismissed the cat. "Why fear the inevitable?"

"What I wanna know," complained Alex, "is if I'm dead, where are my 72 virgins?"

"That's just if you're an Islamic terrorist," explained Roofshadow. "But if it makes you feel better, there are probably some virgins reading this story."

"I'll take what I can get, then," acquiesced Alex, "and hopefully some of them are guys!--But how can I, err, enjoy things if I'm not composed of matter anymore?"

"Well, if you've ever seen Patrick Swayze in Ghost, you may remember that you can manipulate matter even as a spirit by really focusing on it, and getting all emotionally charged up!"

Alex was pondering this thought when a round passed through his spectral body and buried itself in a tree, mere inches from Roofshadow! A frustrated hunter blundering through the woods had decided to take target practice on the cat, who unlike the shadow fox was quite vulnerable to such.

"Yikes!," cried Roofshadow, taking off at a good pace while bullets cracked around him.

"Hey!-- Leave my friend alone!," shouted Alex at the hunter, who neither saw nor heard the deceased fox. The hunter took off after Roofshadow, with the shadow fox moving behind through the air in pursuit of the hunter. He swiped at the hunter repeatedly with his paws, but they passed through the human flesh undetected. After several minutes of
this, the hunter was placing shots closer to the tiring cat.

Growing furious and desperate to save his new friend, the fox spirit flung himself entirely upon the hunter, landing undetected within the human's lower body. He found himself surrounded by the revolting internal organs of the pink skin, involved as they were in the bodily processes of digestion and elimination; it was not a pretty sight! Looking upwards and out of the man's body, Alex could see that he had paused to draw a deadly bead on Roofshadow, who was running in a straight line at this point and not likely to escape the shot.

"Leave...him...the hell...alone!," screamed Alex as he flailed his body and gnashed his teeth against the innards of the hunter's body...and in the extremity of his emotions, the spectral body of the fox momentarily assumed physical substance.

The hunter's face took on a most peculiar and then agonized expression as a fox's head tore through his abdominal wall, clenching loops of steaming intestines in his jaws and shaking them from side to side. The hunter collapsed as the fox pulled free of the human body in a parody of birth, drenched in gore. Mercifully, the hunter went into shock and bled out quickly, his last thought being that he had seen a demon from hell emerging from his guts.

Exhausted, Roofshadow doubled back to the semi-eviscerated body of the hunter, seeing as well the spectral form of the shadow fox hovering in the air above it.

"Did I do that?," asked Alex.

"Yuppers," assented Roofshadow. "Death from within!"

They paused together in silence for a minute, the shadow fox and the witch's familiar cat. After a few moments, Roofshadow spoke. "And since you've saved my life, I think I owe you a little thanks!" The cat murmured a brief encantation in Celtic, and reached over to paw the fox's crotch...

...and once again, the spirit assumed flesh, rather firm flesh at that as the fox and the feline took their relationship to new heights...

[firefox451]

The Cabin
by ff_b

Larry and Darryl had been best buds since junior high school, so it was only natural that they wound up together in the hunting cabin on the evening of October 31st. After a few hours of cards and Coors, Darryl hoped that he and Larry could get into a little of the Brokeback Mountain thing. Larry had kind of lured Darryl into hunting, not that he was all that crazy about it. Still, if killing a few animals gave him time alone with Larry, that floated Darryl's boat. He found that it helped if he didn't think much about it when he pulled the trigger on whatever was in the crosshairs. Larry had even talked him into mounting a deer's head trophy on his wall back home; it seemed so alive sometimes that it creeped him out a bit.

The weather hadn't been great this hunting trip, with a lot of rain and not much game to be found. As Larry and Darryl knocked down a few wet ones, a strange mist started to arise outside of the small cabin which thickened quickly. Out of this mist shapes appeared to surround the cabin, the lumbering forms of deer that the duo had killed previously. They were in differing stages of decomposition, some with gaping bullet holes and dried blood on their fur, others with shattered limbs and clouded eyes staring lifelessly out of their sockets. Bones protruded from the hides of several of them. Standing upright, they began to pound on the timbers of the cabin with their hooves, the sounds startling inside the sparsely-furnished abode.

Larry looked out the window in response to the sounds with a mixture of fear and excitement. "Dang, we're surrounded by zombie deer!," he declared to Darryl. "Now this is what I call a target-rich environment!," he added as he shouldered his weapon and the two hunters targeted their assailants through the window. Their rifles cracked and the slugs tore into the bodies of the deer, who flinched and responded to the impacts but were not stopped by them, continuing a relentless assault upon the exterior of the cabin. Within a few minutes the door gave way under the pounding and a large antlered buck entered. The two men pumped round after round into him, but the buck continued advancing, lowering his enormous antlers and pinning Larry against the cabin wall.

"You can't kill us," said the deer to the hunters. "We're already dead!--Take them outside!," ordered the large antlered buck to his compatriots, who responded by butting the two men roughly outside. To their astonishment, the neutralized hunters saw the deer beginning to assemble into some kind of formation.

"Hit it!," commanded the big buck to his companions. In response, a generator roared to life, flooding an area in front of the cabin with light as familiar music began to play. The assembled deer began to twitch in perfect synchrony with the music. It took a few seconds, but then Darryl realized what was happening.

"Oh my God!," said Darryl softly.--"They're doing the dance from 'Thriller!'"

"Son of a bitch!," responded Larry. "That's some pretty impressive choreography, though!"

"Who ever would have thought that deer could move that well?--Especially, err, dead ones!," commented Darryl.

"And where did they ever get a red leather jacket to fit that big antlered buck?," added Larry.

As the number concluded, the big antlered buck wearing a copy of Michael Jackson's trademark jacket approached Larry and Darryl, who were attempting to applaud a little despite their fear and wonder. The big buck leaned forward over Larry, causing them to think that he was about to lick or plant a kiss on him. Instead, the buck clamped onto
Larry's neck with his teeth, and tore off a ribbon of flesh. Darryl started to scream uncontrollably as the deer began to chew the tidbit.

...he was still screaming when he woke up at home in his bed drenched in sweat. "Thank God, it was only a dream!," muttered Darryl as he arose shakily to stagger to the bathroom and throw cold water on his face.

...had Darryl only looked, he would have seen the mounted head of the deer on the wall twist his neck to follow his departure, the eyes of the deer slitted and demonic, and his mouth twisted into an apparent dark smile...

[firefox451]

Counterweight
by ff_b

Paranormal agent James Takata of the Talamasca saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand, walking through the streets of Soho in the rain. As was his fashion Takata observed undetected, blending in perfectly with his surroundings and the occasional passing stranger. From a following distance of perhaps fifty feet Takata sent forth his third eye, feeling a slight tug as the non-corporeal structure detached from his forehead and floated invisibly forward to further discern the intentions of the werewolf.

Little stood out about the werewolf in his non-transformed state that would announce his true nature to the world. He was not a well-groomed individual and was larger and hairier than most, but otherwise would not have stood out at a sporting event. It was his behavior that rendered the werewolf objectionable, especially indiscretions such as the mutilation of little old ladies late at night. Such events tended to render the English populace uneasy, and demanded that prompt action be taken. It was foolish in the extreme for the werewolf to take prey so close to the Talamasca's motherhouse in London. Takata had taken the assignment, together with a warning from his superior. "Better stay away from him," warned the supervisor. "He'll rip your lungs out, Jim!" Takata had nodded in acknowledgement and taken immediately to the trail, quickly picking up the scent of his quarrry with heightened olfactory senses.

The eye hovered invisibly near the werewolf, maintaining pace with his as he walked. Takata observed through the eye's vantage point the menu that the werewolf was carrying; he was looking for a place called Lee Ho Fooks, where a reading of the beast's mind suggested that he intended to procure a big dish of beef chow mein. Takata was sympathetic to such tastes himself; had the werewolf not savaged the humans, he might have even enjoyed being a dinner companion. Aversive as he was to taking an offender in a public place, Takata knew that sometimes there was no other way. He called the eye back to him, pausing as the organ reseated itself between and slightly above his eyebrows. When a few minutes had passed, Takata meditated to center himself, steeled his resolve, and then followed the werewolf into the small establishment, knowing it likely that only one of them would leave it.

The beast was already well into his plate of beef chow mein, eating ravenously. Had he restricted his diet to Chinese cuisine, this confrontation would not have been necessary. "Excuse me, Sir," said Takata to the werewolf. "Didn't you attend Warren G. Harding High School?" Takata took advantage of the distraction to ease himself into the seat opposite the creature.

"I don't know what you're talking about about!," responded the beast roughly, shreds of chow mein hanging from one corner of his mouth. "Now get out of here!--I don't know you!--I don't like you!," he added, spitting the words out for emphasis.

"Perhaps then you might have heard something about the little old lady who was mutilated late last night?," pressed Takata. The beast's eyes glowed with sudden recognition of the fact that he had been stalked and cornered. Transforming rapidly into a snarling humanoid wolf, he raked out at Takata's face with a murderous, savagely-clawed hand.

Takata, however, was already moving, executing an impossible vertical leap into the air. The flash of his katana blade was barely perceptible to human eyes as he descended, slashing in a murderous arc across the werewolf's neck and severing the head neatly. The head thunked on the table, its eyes still open and filled with a mixture of ferocity and surprise as the massive body slumped forward, the neck stump spurting blood as the still-beating heart gradually became aware that its owner had died. It was only then that Takata flicked blood from his blade, and in a smooth, stylized gesture neatly returned the katana to its scabbard.

Patrons of the restaurant were by then screaming and running out of the establishment, but Takata took a moment to pick up the werewolf's cup of untouched tea and savor a swallow of the rich golden nectar, warming his paws on the cup and feeling the warmth of the brew fill him within. Takata gazed into the cup, pausing to reflect as he did so upon the motto of the Talamasca; "We watch...And we are always there."

His vulpine tail swayed elegantly from side to side as Takata padded quietly out of the now vacant restaurant and soon blended imperceptibly into his surroundings...

[firefox451]

Wrath of the Antlered
by ff_b

Jason the buck hadn't anticipated seeing a hunter lurking around the bend in the woods early that frosty morning; he had quite forgotten about the opening of deer season. The rifle slug tore into Jason, its impact knocking the Starbucks coffee from his hoof as he backpedaled desperately, adrenaline giving him strength despite his mortal wound. Leading the hunter, Jason was able to find a concealing thicket and evade the man even as his life leaked from the gaping hole torn into his chest. He peered from the underbrush, watching as the hunter plodded resolutely by; the bozo appeared to be a cross between Elmer Fudd and Sarah Palin, and reeked of beer, body odor, and arrogance.

Weakening rapidly, Jason rested on his side as he raked mud from the damp earth and fashioned a crude figure from the clay soil, praying as he did so that there would be time to complete his task. His breath growing raspy, Jason chanted phrases from a strange language not spoken in hundreds of years as his work was finished. He held the golem in his hooves, breathed upon it, and smeared the clay with his spittle and blood. Jason looked upon the figure with satisfaction as several blue motes of light seemed to trace its outline and fill it with an otherworldly energy. The golem, an animate creature made of inanimate material, would carry on the fight for Jason despite his death.

"Avenge me!," gasped Jason to the small figure, and he died.

The small clay figure fell from the lifeless hooves, and began to move on the ground by its dead creator, at first almost imperceptibly and then in writhing, twisting motions. It seemed to draw additional substance from the earth itself, adding mass and size as it did so. Within an hour the golem stood erect, fully the size of a regular buck, and opened his black, bottomless eyes upon the world. There was a slight sucking sound as the golem pulled free of the clay soil and began to move forward, awkwardly at first and then with increasing fluidity.

The hunter did not see the deer golem approaching from behind, and the large clay animal grabbed him roughly, breaking his neck in the commando fashion. Stooping to retrieve the slain hunter's weapon, the animated deer of earth regarded the rifle, turning it about in his clay hoof and then firing it experimentally into the air. The sharp retort of the gun seemed to please the golem; instinctively he knew that this artifact of man would make his work much easier.

There were many hunters in Pennsylvania's woods that day of buck season, but the indestructible deer golem knew that it would be a target-rich environment. He strode purposefully and powerfully forward on hooves of clay as he moved resolutely to continue the grim harvest...

[firefox451]

Dances With Meat
by ff_b

In a time long ago, a religious bovine zealot called John the Brisket was holding court, telling his listeners to straighten up and fly right because the Big Cheese was sending his Number One Son. "Straighten the path," John would preach to his audience. "Prepare a highway!"

"'Scuse me, Sir," asked a listener meekly, raising his paw. "But why do we need a highway when we don't have cars?"

"Silence!," chided John, swishing his tail in agitation. "I'll keel you!"

"Keel me, Sir?," continued the listener. "I don't even see a boat here at the moment."

At this point, John the Brisket threw himself at the listener, and scratched him up really good with the goatskin garments that he wore. Soon thereafter, John was thrown into the slammer for going rogue by King Herriots, who ran a nice hotel. Languishing in the dungeon, John was pretty much left alone, eating locusts and honey as he did, which kinda grossed people out. At least he was low maintenance...

Meanwhile, King Herriots was expanding his mind by watching the girl Salami perform her Dance of the Seven Veals, which was always a real crowd-pleaser for a number of reasons. You might say that the dance aroused a variety of appetites, with the largely furry audience both hungry and horny.

"I'm filled with conflicting emotions!," muttered one wolf. "I don't know if I want to eat the veal, or do the girl!"

"Kissing don't last, cooking do," responded a fox present. "Go for the veal first, then the girl!," he counseled.

"Sounds like a plan to me!," agreed the wolf.

Meanwhile, Salami continued to slap the veal deftly around her nubile body while the audience drooled and emitted mixed howls of lust and hunger, not necessarily in that order. She finished her dance at last and scurried off to where the King applauded while the audience hooted and howled their disappointment at both the veal and the bimbo's departure.

"Well done, my child!," enthused King Herriots. "Your dance has pleased me so much that I will grant you any wish that you desire!"

"I want the head of John the Brisket on a platter!," asked Salami, not missing a beat.

"Are you sure?," asked the King. "Do you want fries with that?"

"Nah, I'll take the onion rings," opted Salami.

"Have it your way!," shrugged the King with a dismissive gesture of his hand.

Well, in just no time at all the King's flunkies returned with the head of John the Brisket on a platter, prompting comments of "Eww!" and "Gross!" from the KIng's audience.

"Well, there goes my appetite!," complained the once-hungry wolf.

"What's the matter?," teased Salami as she held her morbid trophy aloft. "Never knew a guy to refuse head before!"

And the assembled crowd pelted the dancer with fish, feeling that she well-deserved it...

[firefox451]

The Augment
by ff_b

The lithe figure moved with athletic grace and speed almost silently through the woods, keeping comfortably ahead of his pursuers from the secret government installation called only, "the Shop." Their scent signatures were readily discernible to him, each one unique and distinctive. Although he had been running for hours, he could have easily continued to do so for an indeterminate period of time, indeed all night if he needed to. As darkness spread, his eyes adjusted readily to the gloom, for he could see well in minimal light. The humanoid sniffed the air as he ran, rejoicing in its heady aroma and the wealth of information each breath brought him. A genetically augmented human, the fugitive was well-equipped to use his heritage to escape those sought him.

As he maintained a powerful stride, the man-thing pondered his origins in the laboratory where as a human embryo his genes were spliced with those of a variety of animals and even plants, rendering him into something humanoid but quite extraordinary. They had called him "Adam" in honor of the supposed original man, but his hot blood coursed to rhythms other than those of a single species. His innate hatred of captivity had led Adam to escape the prison that had birthed him when the time was right, the scientists caught off guard and security personnel no match for his preternatural reflexes and strength. He had left them bloodied and broken in the hallways, and feeling strangely exhilarated by the combat.

So Adam ran through the night, feeling at one with it. When day broke, he effortlessly climbed a tree from which he could see for miles, exposing as he did so chloroplasts in his skin which enabled the conversion of sunlight into energy. Indeed, Adam could survive without food if in the sun for at least twelve hours a day, although he most often used solar exposure to enhance his bodily reserves. As he sunned himself, Adam's skin also assumed a protective camouflage pattern, matching that of the leaves and tree bark that surrounded him and rendering him indistinguishable from it.

The turmoil of an approaching helicopter roused Adam from his brief rest; how had it tracked him?--Of course, the microchip that they had implanted in the lab, how could he have been so negligent as to have forgotten it?!--Adam clawed open the skin on his thigh, grimacing at the pain and smashing the chip on a tree branch. The helicopter was closer now, its sound almost deafening. Hurriedly, Adam reached to his lower ribs and pried off the symbiont, a disk-shaped, mollusk-like creature. When the helicopter had closed to within a few dozen feet, Adam flung the symbiont at the small craft with strength and accuracy not humanly possible. The symbiont thunked against the helicopter's metallic skin, attaching itself and exuding a molecular acid which swiftly burned through the hull. Once inside, the symbiont scurried on crab-like legs towards the human inhabitants of the helicopter, flinging itself upon them. They instinctively clawed at the horrid creature, but received only painful burns as the acid which coated the symbiont ate into their flesh. Within moments, the chopper veered wildly off course, its pilot losing all control as he struggled to remove the symbiont from his face. Careening about, the helicopter rotors sliced into nearby upper tree branches, causing it to flip sideways, impact with a tree, and explode.

Again alone, Adam mourned the loss of the symbiont, his chameleonic skin flushing with a variety of colors to register his distress. He descended the tree, his clawed hands and feet easily finding purchase on the bark. Freed of the microchip but alarmed by how close his pursuers had come, Adam made his way to the sea, knowing that he could not as easily be followed there. The gill slits on his neck opened as he cast himself into the water, that ancient cradle of life which would now serve as his sanctuary until he and others like himself could inherit the world...

[firefox451]

Unchained
by ff_b

Reggie smirked smugly to himself on December 21st, 2012 when the day had almost passed without incident. None of the dire warnings had come true; how absurd to believe in the apocalyptic predictions of Nostradamus or the Mayans, when every godly person knew that they'd simply get caught up with Jeeezus in the air! Everyone who didn't cotton to that would find themselves toasting their tootsies in the fiery furnace, yes indeedy doo...

As Reggie went that December 21st evening to mail his latest check to Pat Robertson, he sighed lamenting the fact that Sarah Palin had not been elected president that November! Ah well, thought Reggie, proof positive that America was on the highway to hell! Reggie was so glad that he had his reservation in at the Pearly Gates, a vantage point from which he could watch the descent of the great multitude of sinners into Hell.- -Wouldn't that be a kick?!

But before Reggie could reach the post office, an earthquake shook his local downtown, huge slabs of asphalt roadway bursting skyward! From a yawning crater in the midst of the devastation, an enormous furry creature emerged, one which was easily the size of the Statue of Liberty. That Goliath pulled himself free of the underground, then gave forth a mighty howl, hundreds of windows shattering in response. Fenrir the wolf of Nordic mythology was free at last, and more than ready for the Battle of Ragnarok that would take place before the end of the world!

Reggie provided little more than a small mouthful for the great wolf, who devoured the self-righteous jerk in a single bite. Fenrir's real appetite was for Odin, however, who he sensed would provide far more resistance before being eaten.

As a tune-up for this main event, Fenrir cast his well-muscled, enormous body into the ocean, and began swimming with powerful strokes in the direction of Monster Island, where he trusted he could find some worthy competition...Bones of the Saints, this was gonna be fun!

[firefox451]

Oh, What A Feeling!
by ff_b

On a bitterly cold winter evening while the "Wolf Moon" was full in the sky, groundhogs and other kinds of roadkilled-creatures were infused with a strange dark magic, and empowered to tear their frozen fur and flesh from the black macadam where they had met their violent ends. Moving stiffly and dragging their torn and broken bodies, the furry zombies gathered slowly in an open field by the thousands.

"Alright, may I have your attention, please?," said a German Shepherd, his head hanging at an unnatural angle. "We all know why we're here, right?," he inquired of the assembled multitude.

"We're here for...brains!," cried a flattened groundhog, as comrades around him chattered in excited agreement.

"No, no, that's a stereotype!," chided the German Shepherd, dark fluid running from a ruined eye. "We've got something better to use against the naked apes, plus take revenge on their motorized vehicles that put us in this sad state!"

"Say what?," said the groundhog, a bit slow on the uptake in life and even more so in death.

"We're gonna screw with all of their vehicles," explained the Shepherd. "Make it so they accelerate unpredictably, causing the humans to go out of control, and wreck!"

The frigid night stillness was shattered with a variety of excited hoots, yaps, and chattering as the frozen zombie furs signaled their interest. When it had subsided, the Shepherd continued...

"And we're gonna strike first at one of their most reliable, most trusted cars, the Toyotas, he advised. "When they feel they can't trust even these cars, their economy will be shaken to the core! Then we'll sabotage other types of cars, so the pink skins will be afraid to drive any kind of vehicle! And when the humans take to walking, they'll be on an equal footing with US!- -And you know what will happen then, my furry fellows?"

The chanting began, softly at first, and then growing louder until it echoed against the dark hills and reached upwards to the enormous cold moon...

"Brains...Brains...BRAINS!," intoned the frozen dead as one, as those able to do so howled in delight to the Wolf Moon that hovered overhead in benediction.

"I like the way you're thinking," grinned the Shepherd, his one good eye filled with an otherworldly energy...

[firefox451]

Cellular Defense
by ff_b

Although the alien had cloaked himself with holographic normality, the illusion was transparent to paranormal agent James Takata of the Talamasca. He pursued the alien invisibly, confronting the unknown creature at last in an alley, not wishing to jeopardize innocents.

"Where are you from?," challenged Takata, "And what is your purpose here?"

The alien regarded Takata quizzically. "You are not like the others," he hissed. "An anomaly! We shall study you after you are dead."

"I don't think so," replied Takata, "but I've been dead before!" His ears flattened as he drew his katana and assumed the position of Warrior Ready.

Dropping his holographic deception, the alien presented his true form to the vulpine, that of a hideous, gelatinous creature with flailing tentacles. He advanced on Takata and was met with a powerful blow from a razor-sharp blade that cleaved the creature in half. Retreating momentarily, each of the pieces re-organized itself to assume bilateral symmetry. Both half the size of the original, the two segments advanced anew on Takata.

Again his blade flashed, lopping his two smaller assailants into several pieces, each of which reorganized into a yet smaller copy of the original to continue a relentless advance on Takata. Recognizing their capacity for reproduction, Takata began deflecting the amoeboids with the flat sides of his blade, but several flung themselves in unison against his legs and his back, tearing away fur and skin with their abrasive tentacles.

Bleeding from several wounds, Takata was weakening but not without his resources. "From hell's heart I stab at you; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at you, you damned thing!," he cried. As Takata's blood flowed, the leukocytes in it floated out of the streaming crimson fluid, growing to macrocellular size and wafting through the air to attack the loathsome tentacled aliens. Enveloping them as they would bacteria, the leukocytes began digesting the invading aliens, their high-pitched ultrasonic screams piercing the air. Once the aliens had been dissolved, the leukocytes shrank in size, wafted back through the air, and re-integrated themselves into Takata's blood.

Possessed of accelerated healing mechanisms, Takata was able to assume an upright posture within minutes. "What is evil," he mused , "but good that has been tormented by its own hunger and thirst?" And feeling a mite peckish himself following his ordeal, Takata went in search of a good Chinese restaurant, walking among the world of men but forever apart from them...

[firefox451]

Compensatory Damages
by ff_b

Sylvia ran a bit on the wild side, so it wasn't unusual for her parties to be the same. By anyone's standards, one the other night was totally out of bounds when Rat the biker dude got liquored up so badly that he couldn't remember anything afterwards. For Rat, sadly this wasn't unusual.

Now all bikers certainly aren't bad dudes, don't get me wrong...Rat was just one of the rotten apples, looking like the stereotype of the badass biker with a big hulking body and hair hanging down beyond his shoulders. He wore a battered black leather bikers jacket one suspected even to bed.- -Well, when Rat got bombed out of his mind that evening, he picked up one of Sylvia's TV sets and chucked it at the wall. Sylvia screamed at her party guest from hell, but that had the same effect on Rat as a feather duster might have. Anyhow, Rat was on a roll, so he picked up another TV set, and repeated his performance, with the exception that this time the TV landed on Pringles the cat, who died instantly.

Sylvia took Rat to court, where Judge Rudely listened distainfully to the case before assigning $1,200 in damages to Sylvia, the estimated cost of replacing the two televisions destroyed as well as the damaged drywall. I observed the whole affair from the Visitor's Gallery.

"What about the cat?," I shouted out. "What value do you assign to a life? And how can you begin to compensate the woman for the loss of her cat's companionship?" Judge Rudely was already exiting to her chambers, however, as the bailiff cleared the courtroom.

I decided to confront Rat on the issue, following him to outside a bar where he had just parked his bike. I followed Rat into the bar, passing time there until he left much later after dark. It was not until then that I walked up to the big biker as he prepared to leave.

"You killed a cat," I said quietly. "How do you intend to make amends for that?- - How for that matter can you?," I asked.

Through his drunken haze, Rat looked at me as if I was from Mars, his breath rank and offensive to my heightened senses. "Who the hell are you?," he slurred. "I just killed a f***** animal, that's all!- -I don't even remember doing it"

"Animal?," I replied. "Sir, I am one!"

Rat threw a beefy fist in my direction, but he appeared to me to be moving in slow motion. I easily sidestepped the punch, batting Rat's arm out of the way and opening up multiple parallel cuts in his flesh as my claws, now exposed, passed over the arm. I then grabbed the biker by the throat and with one arm lifted him with off the ground. Rat tore at my fingers, but my claws were quite well anchored at that point. His boots kicked in empty air, struggling in vain to find purchase.

"You see, Rat," I explained as I effortlessly held the struggling man aloft, "if there are no laws on earth which can touch you, there is always a higher law which can!" I twisted my paw slightly, reassured by the satisfying snap that a neck makes when it breaks.

Tossing the lifeless body aside as if it were weighless, the feline in human form vaulted easily to the top of a nearby roof, and was soon invisible in the embrace of the night...