In my last post, I mentioned a game Ro Smith introduced us to at Eastercon – “Creative Consequences”. It’s a variation on the blind story: each player writes a line, having read only the line which immediately precedes theirs… which makes for some interesting results.
The other three players (Adam Christopher, Anne Lyle and – of course – Ro) have already posted the stories they took home, so now it’s my turn. And I’ll take the secret of who-wrote-what to my grave, thankyouverymuch.
There is a house in the woods, long-lost to the bracken and the dark.
In the house lives a charcoal burner and his three sons: Tom, Dick and Harry.
Harry was a professional blackjack dealer, who dreamed of large women from Oregon.
The large women were always wearing orange hats–it worried him.
He didn’t know why he was afraid of the colour–it might have something to do with his great-aunt Mildred.
She had been inordinately fond of kissing him with her sticky, blubbery lips.
Her tentacles, however, he wasn’t so keen on, however much she tried to show them off.
He’d always had a phobia of suckers–he didn’t know how to tell her politely.
Instead, he sat awkwardly on the edge of the chair, toying with the anti-macassar.
“Deidre,” he whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m leaving you to start a yak farm in Uzbekistan.”
Alright. So that one’s not the best of the bunch. But I’m drawn to the Lovecraftian mystery going on in the background: who were the large women from Oregon? Why did they wear orange hats? Was Aunt Mildred one of them? Was Aunt Mildred, in fact, Dagon, and the large citrus-attired ladies actually her cult? And where the hell did the yak farm come into it?
I like to think of the second one as a steampunk romance. A very, very silly steampunk romance….
“Roger!” she shouted, loudly. “What?” he replied manfully. “Push it!” she said, and he did, neither of them really sure.
“One should never push a big red button,” Charlton admonished, “Everybody knows that.”
He shrugged, “You’ll find that the blue button gets things going much quicker.”
She ignored him and pulled on the ivory-handled lever above the aetherscope.
“That lever doesn’t do what you think it does,” he said, covering his hands in industrial lubricant.
“Things are going to get sticky from here on out,” he continued, smiling with a little too much glee.
“I don’t care, Captain, as long as we’re together!”
He folded her in his arms and kissed her, as the first stars appeared in the sky.
She didn’t like being folded, despite his qualification in human origami.
So, one night when he least expected it, she plucked a piano wire from the grand and garrotted him.
Yeah. About the romance bit…. didn’t end well for poor old Roger-slash-Charlton, however manful he was. But yay for girl power. And for a possible dirigible with a grand piano on board.
Honestly, these kept us entertained for ages in the bar (and with only a couple of beers between us, I swear). It was impossible to keep a straight face reading them out afterwards – so if you were in the bar at Eastercon and saw the four of us weeping with laughter, that’ll be why. Sorry about that.
But it was worth it. Really, it was.