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May 19, 2005

Volume 1, Issue 7

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From the NYPL Digital Gallery, which is a great place for literary inspiration.

Note to those who participate in the story telling: We have added a word count script to the comments. We'll be highlighting reader stories that we like, so plug your word count in before you post. Stories that are not 100 words exactly won't be considered for special treatment!

UPDATE - Have replaced above lame, wrong-arsed counter mentioned above with new, cool and froodily accurate counter.

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Michele: Who You Gonna Call?

The frightful noises that came from that house could rattle one’s brain. Always the screams and wails and then the dead animals on the porch in the morning.

They held a town meeting and decided to burn the place down.

I told them to just leave it be, stay away. But nobody listens to a 98 year old man. Nobody.

They went in, all torches and pitchforks, like a gang of hillbilly Ghostbusters. Not a one came out. And now the only things left breathing in this town are that house and myself.

Me, I ain’t afraid of no ghosts.

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The Eschatologist: A Walk In The Air

I can still see her body tumbling from the tallest gables, pitching slowly to the ground, plummeting at the pace of a romantic park stroll. I watched in wonder and horror.

I don't know what interrupted her rapturous fall. Her posture, with arms extended from her body, gossamer nightgown fluttering in the breeze, she appeared angelic, lighting to the earth through the nightly mists.

At last, passing the dimmed porch, the earth rolled and the tall grasses reached out to her, pulling her down and swallowing her whole, with no trace of her left.

I know, because I saw it.

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Stacy - Entrepreneurs

"Three hundred thousand for that?" she squeaked.

He sighed, sweaty from the afternoon sun, tired of trying to convince her. Did she want to be stuck in an office job her entire life, punching a clock, working towards someone else's dream?

This was their chance for something different, to be the masters of their own destiny. To create something lovely and memorable...and charge others exorbitant amounts of money for the privelege of enjoying it.

She turned to face him, breathed deeply, pushed her hair back. "Ok. We'll do it. But there's no way in hell we're calling it Skinoonie Ranch."

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Ted: Priorities

"This place is great. Secluded. I can really get some work done here."

"You would be seven miles from town, is that ok?"

"Yes ma'am. I can set up a generator, have the groceries delivered (the ones I don't grow), and look down the canyon for inspiration. Watch the sun set over that hill. I could even knock down walls on the top floor to make a big studio with lots of light."

"That sounds like a great lifestyle. I wish I could get away from the phone and the television and the computer for while."

"WHAT...no broadband!! Fuck that!"

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From the Comments - By David

"But, it's so... big."

"Yeah, isn't it great?"

"And spooky."

"Well, that's kind of the point, right? We can put the fog machine in that crawlspace area, and all the windows will let us point the projector in any direction."

“Oh, honey, do you really think this will work?”

“Money in the bank. These yokels already think the place is haunted. A little phosphorescent paint, some rubber masks, and a kicking sound system hidden in the walls, and this place will be the perfect hideout.”

“As long as those meddling kids don’t catch wind of it.”

“And that damned dog.”

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