THE SCARIEST BROTHERS GRIMM STORY

And it's their shortest, too! Only one paragraph long. In German it's called "das eigensinnige Kind." In English it's called:

THE STUBBORN CHILD
From The Brothers Grimm, translated by Maria Tatar

There once lived a stubborn child, and she never did what her mother told her to do. And so our dear Lord did not look kindly on her, and let her become ill. Doctors could not cure her, and before long she was lying on her deathbed. Her coffin was being lowered into the grave and they were about to cover it with earth when suddenly one of her little arms emerged and reached up into the air. They pushed it back in again and covered the coffin with more earth, but it was no use. The little arm kept reaching out of the grave. Finally her mother had to go to the grave and strike the little arm with a switch. After she did that, the arm withdrew, and the child finally began to rest in peace beneath the earth.

Thanks to Dr. Psycho at the Childhood Fear site for the nifty graphic:

http://childhoodfear.com/tag/undead/

A SHORT PLAY: "THE FRAME STORE"

INT. FRAME SHOP: AT THE COUNTER. A customer (BILL) talks on his cel phone while he waits for the proprietor. 


BILL (ON HIS CEL PHONE): "I'm in a frame store! You're not going to believe what happened! I found the perfect frame for that piece. It's green and looks like laminated cow skin. The only problem was the price: $300! That's more than I paid for the artwork! Anyway, the clerk orders it for me, and I put half the money down.


No, wait! There's more! I walk across the street and, lo and behold, I find another frame store that sells the exact same frame for half the price.  I couldn't believe it! Half the price! So I ran back here to the original store to get my money back, only it occurs to me that they might not want to give it to me, so I make up a story. Yeah, a story. You're going to die when you hear it! It's brilliant! It should be on a pedestal in the Museum of Excuses. Wait a minute....here comes the guy who runs the place. I gotta go!"


He pockets the phone. 


PROPRIETOR: "Hey! You just bought a frame. Don't tell me you want another one  already!"


BILL: "Well, not exactly. See, what happened is...I got a parking ticket while I was in here. It's expensive, so...I hate to say it...I won't be able to buy the frame I was going to buy. I just can't afford it now."


PROPRIETOR: "Geez, that's too bad! It was a nice frame."


BILL: "Yeah. It's turning out to be one of those days."


PROPRIETOR: "How much was it for?

BILL: "How much was what for?"

PROPRIETOR: "The parking ticket. How much was it for?"

BILL: "Oh yeah, the ticket...it was, um, er...three hundred dollars."

PROPRIETOR: "THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS!!!??" It's not supposed to be $300 here! This is Santa Monica. Two hundred and fifty is what you get for a ticket here!"

BILL: "Oh. Well, I could be mista..."

PROPRIETOR: "Let me ask my partner. DAVE,  COME OUT HERE FOR A MINUTE!"

DAVE comes out with a big roll of plastic in his arms. He puts it down. 

DAVE: "Bubble wrap. I'm making a place for it in the back. What can I do you for?"

PROPRIETOR: "It's not for me, it's for him. This guy just got a parking ticket for 300 bucks."

DAVE: "THREE HUNDRED BUCKS!!??? It's never three hundred in Santa Monica! It's 250! Everybody knows that! Do you know what that means?"

BILL: "Wait a minute, if you're trying to imply that I'm not telling the t..."

DAVE (TO THE PROPRIETOR): "That means fifty bucks for the cop!"

PROPRIETOR: "Yep, fifty bucks! If he does 10 of those in a day, that's $500 a day."

DAVE: "$2,500 a week!"

PROPRIETOR: (on a calculator) "That's $125,000 a year! That's a felony!"

BILL: "Well, I..."

DAVE: "Man, I hate to hear stuff like this! It really eats at me, ya know? It just tears my guts out! One dirty cop ruins it for everybody! Santa Monica's a good town, and it deserves better than this. I'm gonna take this up with the city council!"

BILL: "Well, there's no use bothering the city councilmen..."

DAVE: "Whaddaya mean? I AM A CITY COUNCILMAN! Lemme see the ticket."

BILL: "The ticket?"

DAVE, PROPRIETOR (TOGETHER): "The parking ticket!"

BILL: "Well...well...er...um, the cop took it away. I just gave him a check."

PROPRIETOR: "What!!?? A check???  He took a CHECK from you???""

DAVE: "Whoa! Hold on! He's not supposed to take a check from you. He's not supposed to handle any money at all! Geeeez! This is big! The police here get federal money. That means the F.B.I.'s gonna get involved!" 

PROPRIETOR: "Congress, maybe! People are gonna get sent up for this!"

He reaches for the phone. 

BILL: "What are you doing!?" 

PROPRIETOR: "I'm gonna call the feds."

BILL (MORTIFIED):  "No, no, wait!...put the phone down...

DAVE: "This is no time to be kind, sir! This guy's gotta go down!" 

BILL: "PLEASE!!!! Just put the phone down!"

PROPRIETOR: "Huh...?"

BILL: "I um...well, I might as well just...spit it out.  I, uh.... I found a place across the street that sells the same frame for half the price. You charge $300 and they charge 150 for the same thing. I... just...wanted...to........to.... well...get-the-money-back-so-I-could-buy-it-from-them-instead.  There, I said it."

AN AWKWARD MOMENT as all three stare at the floor in silence, then....


DAVE: "I gotta put this bubble wrap away!"

DAVE EXITS.

PROPRIETOR: "Aw, that wasn't nice."

BILL: "Look, I'm really sorry. Tell you what. I'll still take the frame from you. I gave you half before, and I'll pay you the rest now. You don't have to wait til the order comes in. It's the least I can do. "


PROPRIETOR: "Alright. I'll write up a receipt......here." 


BILL: "Wait a minute! This for $400. That's a hundred dollars extra. It says here that you're giving me gold wire and platinum nails. I didn't ask for that!"


PROPRIETOR (LOOKS BILL IN THE EYE): "Sure you did."

DAVE (AFTER A BEAT, RESIGNED): "(sigh!) Sure I did."


BILL, broken, slowly folds the receipt and puts it in his wallet. Just as he does,  a nervous woman enters.


WOMAN (TO PROPRIETOR): "Um, I was in here a little while ago and ordered a frame. I hate to ask for this, but I need my down payment back. The doctor just said that my poor mother is sick. She's...um...throwing up constantly. We'll need the money for medicine."


PROPRIETOR: "Gee, that's a shame. What kind of sickness does she have?"


WOMAN: "What kind? Er...well, um...rheumatism."


PROPRIETOR: "Rheumatism!!!?? Nobody throws up over rheumatism! Who is this doctor? Who did he tell you he was? Maybe he's a not a real doctor! Geez, I hate to see people get cheated! Let me ask my partner about this. DAVE, CAN YOU COME OUT HERE FOR A MINUTE!!???"


FADE OUT.


THE END


The play is copyright 2010 by Eddie Fitzgerald. Anyone can use it for non-commercial purposes without asking, as long as the authorship is attached.

"FEEL MY FANGS ON YOUR SPACE HELMET!"

A Short Story by Eddie Fitzgerald
(Copyright 2010 by Eddie Fitzgerald)


It is I, Magog the hunter, daughter of Nartha the matriarch, and along with my fellow nogs I watched the metal thing emerge from the stars and, with fire roaring from its bottom, land on the surface of my cratered asteroid. None of us had ever seen anything like it, so we waited in practiced stillness to see what would happen. Who knows? Maybe there was a meal to be had here. Sure enough, after a bit, a hole appeared in its side and a creature emerged.

It walked on only two limbs, something none of us had ever seen before. How does it do that? Nogs have barely enough at twenty, twenty-two if you include the large mandibles which are for ripping and tearing, but are also useful as extra legs when running down prey.  No need for that now, though. With no prompting from us the thing was slowly advancing right into the middle of us, cautiously shining a wide beam of light into the shadows that defined our still and rock-like bodies.

I was in favor of waiting another moment or two but one of the hungriest young nogs impetuously reared up and loomed over the creature, its mandibles opening and closing; hot, steaming acid dripping from its grinding mouth parts. The startled creature made a move to run back to the metal thing but was cut off by several adolescents who spat a corrosive fixing fluid that anchored the creature to the spot.

The thing was doomed, but was apparently determined to sell its life dearly. It reached into a pouch on its side and frantically withdrew a thing which shot out beams of light which vaporized whatever they touched. A big mistake. At the sight of a struggling victim nogs go into a feeding frenzy of inconceivable ferocity. The creature shot its beams this way and that, pouring the destructive force of its energy into us; maiming, killing, destroying, and for a moment appeared to be getting the upper hand. It was time for me, the chief, to enter the fray.

With a leap I jumped onto the transparent globe on top of its body and sank my fangs into the smooth surface. The top of the disk crumbled and there was a whoosh of gas and inside I could see a soft hairy thing which I immediately bit. The flavor was indescribably delicious but the thing was still alive and was able to bring its shooter up to my abdominal segment and fire.

In the silence of space I saw my body divide into two wildly flailing parts. My entrails unwound into the ether and large quantities of blood escaped in shimmering globules. My time was up. I only had a moment of consciousness left, but that's not important. For nogs it's the species that matters, not the individual. With my last instant of wakefulness I watched as my belly disgorged hundreds of small nogs which carried the feeding frenzy into the gaping hole in the shattered dome.

Life goes on.