Lawson was walking back to the campfire with his playing cards when he realized all his friends had gone. "Where are you guys?" he asked nervously. Just then, he heard a rustle from the bushes—followed by a growl.

Hugo Kramer, royal calligrapher, toiled away at his desk til the wee hours of the morning, working by candlelight with such dedication that he didn't notice two dark figures approach.

Hudson finished carving her last gourd and wiped the pumpkin seeds and sweat from her brow. She was about to light all the votives in her display when she spotted the neighborhood curmudgeon walking briskly toward her.

A long time ago, In a land called Kentucky, There once lived a man, Who wasn't very lucky, And one day he fell, Right into a well, And his situation was very yucky.

“Mudfoot, Ogre Extraordinaire” read the business card. I raised one eyebrow, and opened my mouth to speak. But I couldn’t phrase the question politely. “I know I look like a teenage human,” Mudfoot said. “It’s a terrible curse.”

Keisha's mom always left a punny note in her lunch. "Hope your day is GRAPE!" "Have a FLANtastic day!" "You're 1 smart COOKIE!" Keisha would read the notes, smile to herself, then hide them in her pocket, hoping no one would tease her about them. One day she got a note that read

In the last 5 years, the desperado had grown to love the cat. La Palomillo had left town 5 months prior, but this was an event that she simply could not miss.

“So, young man, you consider yourself a player. You enjoy toying with ladies’ hearts, do you?” She sighed, then chuckled. “There’s one little thing you didn’t know about your last conquest, though. She’s been walking the earth for 735 years.”

The sky was overcast but the mood in the Goldberg household was bright and warm. All the traditions and rituals were being dutifully followed except for one which was being radically reimagined by the black sheep of the family.

The crab kingdom had existed for hundred of years in the bountiful bay. The water was salty, there was plenty to eat, the crabs scurried and played the days away. Until the event happened and changed everything.

When the sun rose the next morning, Susan rubbed her eyes three more times than usual. The character of the light in her bedroom wasn’t the cool gray tone she’d grown used to over the last few weeks. But it also wasn’t golden and warm. It seemed, against all odds, to be pink.

So it’s like that, I thought, letting the letter flutter to the ground as I tossed my head back in exasperation. This was not the first letter of this sort, but this one seemed urgent to the point of coming off threatening. Should I even justify it by acknowledging it?

As a family of spellcasters, the Fosters knew all too well when to lay low. Once they made it to a dingy pub on the outskirts of town, the eldest daughter shook out her umbrella, eyed the clientele, and motioned for her family to enter. Just then, a wand fell from her sleeve.

Four sagely birds convened at the tallest tree in Vogel Valley, each carrying a branch from their respective homeland. After exchanging a minimum of words they laid down their gifts, completing a magnificent nest. Before the ceremony was complete a huge shadow engulfed them all.

Margaret slowly pushed her metal tray around the winding track, smiling nervously at the kitchen staff, as she acquired dish after decadent dish. Her precarious tray was beyond capacity when suddenly the lights in the cafeteria went dark.

The Lazarus Motel had remained in the family for three generations. While its looks had faded, it was impeccably clean and often full. Sarah Lazarus, the newest full-time manager, had only just turned off the blue NO VACANCY sign when a beat up minivan drove in from the snow.

It was the night before Christmas and Santa was sitting in his study, checking the list. “What’s this!?There a name in the list that shouldn’t be there!” He said out loud! Then Collywobbles the elf came rushing into the room. “Santa! We have an emergency!”

Over time this corrupted gaggle began to resent their new forms. They organized, aired their grievances, jettisoned any last shreds of humanity and took to the skies thinking only of revenge. They all would have been more menacing but for their comically large human noses.

Contestants, welcome to the first episode of the first season of The Great British Babushka Show! You have the fabric, scissors, thread, and needles. Your goal is simple, but not at all easy. You will have to

Ask any kid in town and they’ll tell you McDougall Mansion is the spookiest house in the neighborhood. They’ll also tell you that all its original inhabitants perished mere weeks after moving in, having drowned, allegedly, in a boating accident on the pond bordering the property.

Tara walked through the door, joints aching, eyes bleary, and was greeted by a scene of pure chaos: candy wrappers everywhere, muddy footprints on the floor. Hanging from the ceiling fan were two masks tethered together by a boa.

"Did I ever tell you about my 47 children?"

I sidled up to the bar. "I'll take a Swollen Headbanger on the Beach." The bartender looked at me funny. It's not a complicated drink: in a highball glass, you mix one shot of Fireball Cinnamon Whisky,

Everyone in the trailer lurched forward as the hay ride abruptly ended. The engine went silent just as the headlights shut off. Where were they? It was too dark to tell. Then, barely visible in the moonlight, a huge form covered in vines rose up. "I am the pump king," it howled!

Rachel leapt through the pumpkin patch, gourds under each arm, nervously looking over her shoulder. The freezing air hit the back of her throat with every gasp. She had almost made it to County Road A when she tripped on a vine.

As he looked at his wife, her features became more symmetrical. Makeup appeared, and her hair took on an unnatural shine. A button appeared near her ear, reading “Upgrade now for €2.99!” He took out the contacts, put them back in the charger, and turned out the nightlight.

“GO CUBBIES,” the hefty man belted at his TV. Even as the pandemic raged on, Sean insisted on drinking an entire 12-pack during every Cubs game and storming into Sluggers. “This is the Chicago dream,” he thought one night, surveying his 6-bedroom, 10 roommate apartment on Roscoe.

Keeping his feathers motionless and breathing as quietly as possible, Marvin the turkey hid behind the garden shed. Three years in a row he had avoided the fate due most domestic turkeys.

Delaney and her mother left the groomer with a renewed sense of confidence. And with good reason: their show dog, Trudy Jenkins, had never looked better. They spent the entire walk home imagining her future fame. That is, until Trudy’s nemesis leapt out from the bushes.

Lynn was working out in her garage when the phone rang. She ran inside the house, sweaty and angry, stepped over two of her kids and clumsily picked up the receiver. “What is it?” she barked.