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Verbwhores' Halloween Story 2009 (x10)

Started by Jemble Fred, September 07, 2009, 07:04:11 PM

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Jemble Fred

I know that Baron Zigmund is yet to be wed, but I just realised that we'd best get a new Ghost Story started if there's to be a second VW-written Ghost Story for CaB Radio this year (which is of course extremely important). I've got a hell of an October ahead, so best to start early and wrap up after a few pages to provide some spooky Halloween entertainment...

Here's last year's anyway: http://www.sendspace.com/file/7bvhbu

I'm a bit tired of having to do 21 words every time, so I'm thinking TEN WORDS at a time, but you can have up to TEN LINES at a time too, if you're bored enough or think you're going somewhere with it...


THE WHORES OF DEATH AND HORROR.
A terrifying seasonal ghost story for CaB Radio, written by [sundry Verbwhores].


October 1st, 1889.

I, Professor Portumenture, am fine, thank you. No longer may
it be said of me in hushed tones and whispered

Ginyard

#1
shouting that I am an insensate bowl head, as I elected to have my silky grey locks chewed off by

Cerys

the latest addition to London Zoo's widely renowned collection of

Jemble Fred

hair-eating zookeepers. So, as you see, it is safe for
me to be abroad, in the sexy streets of Soho,
this dark Autumnal evening.

And wither am I bound, you
demand to know, you withering brats that you are? Because

Ginyard

bound I am, tightly, to a notice board that says

Jemble Fred

'The End Of The World Is Unlikely, But Spooky Nasty
Things Are On The Cards, Believe You Me.' I wander

Blue Jam

lonely as a cloud, seeking a lady of the night to relieve my loneliness. One such creature steps from the shadows, and as the lamplight reveals her face I notice

Neville Chamberlain

that she has obviously recently indulged in that awful new Japanese fad, bukkake. Nonetheless, I

the midnight watch baboon

furnish her with a "hallo", a "how are you?", and a withering glance as I continue my way through these seedy, seeded streets, paying no mind to the chamber music orchestra, busking and stoking up an appropriate atmos.

Jemble Fred

Okay, okay, it was only a thought. Anything goes you fuckers.

Cunt werewolves

Jemble Fred


Neville Chamberlain

report, on the seedy back streets of Soho. No, if it's cunt werewolves you want, Yorkshire's the place to be. Or at least that's what my good friend, Sir Perceival Montesquieu told me.

Cerys

I was therefore greatly dumbfounded when a lycanthrope of more

than average girth launched itself from the shadows and clamped

its yellow, fetid, glistening teeth around my ankle, dragging me

to a fate I could only assume would make me

late for dinner with my good friend and compatriot, Sir

Ginyard


Jemble Fred

. Sir Smith was famed throughout all Scotland Yard (not to mention Wales Garage and Northern Ireland Utility Garden) for his fat

Ginyard

Gnomes of Hades, the entire collection of which were worth more than

Cerys

mine, a fact for which I nurtured a dark, festering

Neville Chamberlain

collection of old Hawkwind records that was infinitely more valuable than any number of so-called "Gnomes of Hades" so-called collections. Apart from anything else, Sir Smith was a noted poltergeist

Ginyard


Neville Chamberlain

phantom vial of rohypnol, ingredients he deployed with

the midnight watch baboon

a 21 guage butterfly needle straight into the cephalic,

despite it not really being that kind of drug. The weather

Ginyard

was most clement, unlike the weather, which was fucking awful and

Jemble Fred

, even worse, changeable. But luckily I had arriven at my intended destination:

Cerys

Scunthorpe - noted for being an anagram of 'posher cunt'.  I

Little Hoover

was meeting an old friend for lunch in Scunthorpes oldest pub. The friend in question was the famous Hollywood actor

Jemble Fred

Trevor Langtree. As he was the principle actor of the Hollywood Theatre in Bromwich, I was in awe of him, and wished him a very happy October 1889.

Jemble Fred

He commented on the impressiveness of my iPod.

Cerys

I smacked him in the face for his impertinence and

the midnight watch baboon

ordered a pint of "Darkened Beast" bitter from the big-titted barman

Cerys

who stood fellating his pipe of rough shag and shaking

out the ashes over the heads of his tiny minions

as they scuttled about, recycling spit from the floor.  Suddenly