December 6, 2016
“Come on, come on, come on!”
Sean writhed on the couch as his character on the screen attempted to make a jump over a yawning chasm.
It failed; the character screamed as he fell to his death.
“Aw, man.” Sean shuddered, and felt fresh wrinkles spread out from his eyes as the requisite year of his life was drained away.
December 5, 2016
“I’d like to take Annie to the lodge, but Uncle Bob has cats up there and she’s allergic.”
“Man, when are you going to get rid of her? Your girlfriend is such a cougar!”
“Only during a full moon. You try being allergic to yourself ans see where it leads you.”
December 4, 2016
When Gristoe arrived at the lab he found it locked up with yellow hazard tape everywhere.
“What happened?” he said. “Let me guess: that fool Mariana Brinson thought so much her brain fell out.”
“Yup,” said one of the responding officers.
“I knew it,” said Gristoe.”The problems of a zombie physicist.”
December 3, 2016
Dear Inspector,
It’s always a murdering psychopath, isn’t it? Really, if serial killers were as prevalent in real life as they are on the TV, we’d all be dead by now. And, honestly, who would need to do it in this day and age? The sort of twisted psychopaths who one slashed their way through the 70s can now satisfy their every urge growing fat on a sofa with an internet connection. Add to that the investigative tools now at peoples’ disposal and…well, I won’t say it’s impossible, but psychopathy certainly seems to lose its appeal.
The challenge then becomes what outlet is there for a violent and amoral person such as myself to cultivate a smug sense of superiority, especially when matching wits with investigators who, lacking the wits of Holmes, nevertheless have the university of Moriarty behind them. Ten, twenty years ago, I would have been a serial killer. Now, I’m a freelance web developer (more or less). It’s not enough to run rings around police with cars that barely have wi-fi.
No, I have laid in a much more cunning game for you and yours. And I’ve even designed it to get easier for you as things go on, in case I am too subtle. But the motivator here isn’t just death, though there will be plenty of that to go around if you bide your time.
Oh, and don’t try to cheat by using the internet. I’ve seen to that.
Sincerely yours,
Serpentarius
December 2, 2016
1848 was not long after the official inception of Southern Michigan University and the incorporation of Hopewell as the country seat of Muskogee County. Mayor Jacob Rayman was embroiled in scandal and eventually hung for the death of his wife, who disappeared during a picnic that spring. Rayman insisted that the last he’d seen of his wife was when she followed a black butterfly into an old farmhouse.
In 1888, Gerald Compton, a philosophy student at Southern Michigan University, didn’t return from an outing. A thorough search by the Hopewell Police Department and the Muskogee County Sheriff only uncovered Compton’s sketchbook. It was found in a disused silo and was full of nature sketches, apparently from life, of a black butterfly.
1938 saw a new society club appeared in the pages of the Hopewell High School yearbook. There were several photographs of the four young women in the club, frolicking and smiling. The yearbook was published in May; none of the participants were seen again after June of that year. The name of the organization was the Black Butterfly Club.
The 1978 underground musical scene in and around Southern Michigan University included a duo that lit up crowds at small venues. They has just pressed their debut LP when they vanished after a concert near the edge of town. A thorough search turned up only a pre-release copy of the album, signed by both members of Black Butterfly.
December 1, 2016
Dear Sir or Madam,
We are pleased to inform you that your skills and pedantry in spelling, grammar, usage, and diction have led to your selection as a student in Roget’s School of Wordcraft and Spelling. You will find a list of neccessary books and equipment below.
Period begins on September 1st. Please indicate your acceptance no later than July 31, in writing.
Yours sincerely,
J. Interrobang Guillemet IV
Order of Mirriam-Webster, First Class
Grand Scriblerian
Solidus, Oxford Association of Punctuation
Head, American Vowel Association
REQUIRED EQUIPMENT
One (1) set, period attire.
Five (5) boxes, 12ga. No. 2 commas.
One (1) box, Obelus’s Signature Punctuation Mix.
One (1) box, Fleuron Brand General Typography Symbols.
McGuffey’s Eclectic Primer (1st ed.) by William Holmes McGuffey.
American Dictionary of the English Language (1828 ed.) by Noah Webster.
Roget’s Thesaurus (1st ed.) by Peter Mark Roget.
The Elements of Style (Harcourt ed., 1920) by William Strunk, Jr.
The Oxford English Dictionary (1928 ed.) edited by James Murray, Henry Bradley, et al.
November 30, 2016
“Name your superpower and I will bestow it upon thee as a reward for thy services.”
“I want to be able to predict the exact time that service people will come. Internet installers, repairmen, plumbers, all of them. I’ll sell the information as a guru.”
“Ye gods. No one should have that much power!”
“No take-backsies.”
November 29, 2016
“Relax. This isn’t my first rodeo.”
Annaclaire sounded confident, but the checklist she rattle off next was anything but reassuring. “Look at the test pattern. We need to make sure your light amplification is working or you might trip and fall into orbit.”
Samson shuddered at the thought. “Can’t I just let the computer do the walking?” he said. “Or send a probe?”
“Do you have the 1.2 billion dollars it would take to replace a probe if you lose it?” Annaclaire said.
“Well…”
“Do you have the ability to reprogram your suit’s motors on the fly to deal with variations in terrain and to correct problems that, if untreated, could make you trip and fall into orbit?”
“Uh…”
“Yeah,” Annaclaire said. “I thought so. Test pattern.”
Looking at the pattern, Samson followed the directions on his HUD, which gradually brightened what he saw from near-total blackness to a reasonable approximation of the amount of light on an inner solar system body like the Moon.
“Now, I’m going to open the door,” said Annaclaire. “It’s gonna be pretty dizzying. Try not to look too far up.”
“Okay,” Samson said, sounding anything but.
“Now we’re going to be tethered together, and the boots should do most of the work, but if it looks like you’re going to take off and drag me with you, I’ll cut the line. Rescue from orbit is extra, and it’ll be a straight abort if it comes to that. We clear?”
“We’re clear,” wheezed Samson.
“Good.” Annaclaire slapped a well-worn button. “We’re off.”
The door opened, revealing the great lazy ellipsoid of Haumea above the horizon, its great red impact smear like the iris of a bloodshot eye. The icy, tortured terrain of its moon Namaka lay ahead, stained reddish-brown.
“I hope whatever you’re after is worth it,” she added, elbowing me. “Time to go.”
November 28, 2016
November 27, 2016
Despite my clear Yankee affectations, I have been received cordially. The mail carriage I rode with refused to stay in Calhoun a moment longer than was necessary, but I was welcomed by the locals and given lodgings in the local inn. The town is remarkably clean for a place so far on the margins of civilization, as are the people; I had expected ramshackle buildings and barefoot youths but instead am looking out this very moment on a well-kept and grassy courthouse square with well-dressed if plain citizenry on plank sidewalks below.
My mother is still well-known to the locals, and the innkeeper has promised that I will be allowed to see my mother’s home and speak to her relations as soon as the arrangements can be made. They have also said that I may have access to the courthouse records, though my entreaty to look at them immediately was firmly denied. It seems that the town is still in such a rural mindset that all activity stops at sundown, and I have been strongly cautioned against going out at night, not only for lack of illumination but also for fear of mosquitoes carrying fevers.
Excerpts From Nonexistent Books 