#Lovecraftian Micro Fiction Contest

[rj-drive-in]

Lovecraftian Slime Department:

Inspired by true events! Winner of the 2017 Arkham Bazaar Micro-Fiction Contest! Have fun!

BY WAY OF THE STORM SURF © 2022 by Rick Hutchins

The class began at eleven oclock and the students started to drift in at about ten minutes before, chatting and laughing, and glancing at Professor Scott, who was huddled over his papers at the desk at the front of the room. As the class began to fill up, the professor put down his pen and stood up, coming around the desk.

“Oh, my god!” exclaimed Simone, who always sat front and center. “Professor, what happened to your head?”

A murmur of dismay rippled through the students as they looked up from their desks or stopped halfway down a row to look at the large purple bruise on their teacher’s forehead. It seemed to rise up at least half an inch and occupy almost half the available space. Smiling sheepishly, the professor reached up and touched it gingerly.

“Yes, that,” he said. “There’s quite a story there, actually.”

“You okay, professor?” asked Surinder from his usual place at the back of the room. “That looks like a concussion.”

“No, no concussion. I’m good. Class will go on as scheduled.”

There was some relieved laughter at that, and the students in transit took their seats. All of them, though, stared expectantly at Professor Scott, waiting for an explanation.

“And you haven’t shaved,” Simone observed. “I’ve never seen you with stubble before.”

“It’s a good look for you, professor,” said George in the second row. “The ladies will go for it big time.”

There was more laughter and the professor sat on the corner of his desk, nodding good naturedly at the teasing. “I would expect so,” he said.

“Well, are you going to tell us what happened?” prodded Simone.

Scott checked his watch and glanced at the door. “As I said, it’s quite a story.” He reached up again to gingerly touch the bruise. “Quite a story.”

His eyes traveled over the faces of his students as he paused for effect.

“It all started when my wife and I traveled down to Virginia Beach for the weekend,” he told them. “The weather wasn’t very good because of the remnants of the hurricane in the Gulf, but we had paid for reservations. We went walking on the beach early in the morning. It was deserted. We were the only ones out there. The tide was high and the surf was heavy, crashing halfway up to the sea wall.

“Suddenly, we weren’t alone. There were three of them and they came out of the ocean dripping with slime, some sort of primeval horrors dredged up from the hidden depths by the hurricane. Run, I shouted to my wife. I’ll hold them off. I’m not much of a fighter, so I knew that my only chance was to head butt them.” He pointed at the large ugly bruise on his forehead by way of punctuation.

There was general laughter and head shaking. “Oh, professor,” said Simone. “Like the Creature from the Black Lagoon.”

“Something like that,” said Scott. “Except green and slimy and, uh, anatomically correct.”

There were giggles and eye rolls at that. The professor checked his watch again and walked over to the classroom door.

“No offense, professor,” said Simone, “but I find it hard to believe, no matter how hard your head, that you could singlehandedly win a fight with three humanoids from the deep.”

“What makes you think I won?” he asked, closing the door.

“Because you’re not dead!” she laughed.

“What makes you think,” he asked, locking the door, “that they wanted to kill me?”

#lovecraft #microfiction #micro fiction #short story #horror #eldritch #Rick Hutchins #RJDiogenes

[rj-drive-in]

Special Announcement Department:

You see before you, metaphorically speaking, a happy camper. Once again I have been paid the sublime compliment of winning a spot in the annual Arkham Bazaar Lovecraftian Micro-Fiction Contest, with my story "Ambergris Morning." The book should be available for sale in the next couple of weeks. Not familiar with Arkham Bazaar? Take a deep dive. Man, oh, man!

I submitted three stories, so this week and next week I'll share with you the remaining two, starting with....

Lovecraftian Slime Department:

If math is the language of the universe, it must include obscenities.

THE UNNAMEABLE FUNCTION © 2023 by Rick Hutchins

“So we might as well break it up,” said Sally. “We can reschedule whenever Beverly decides to show up.” She was sitting at her desk in her office, while Thom, Kath, and Rhonda sat in the chairs they had wheeled in.

“It’s so strange,” said Rhonda as they got up to leave. “Beverly has never been late before like this.”

“Maybe some trouble at home,” said Thom. “We’ve all been there.”

“Tell me about it,” said Kath, rolling her eyes. Thom and Rhonda chuckled.

“Whatever,” said Sally, trying not to sound irritated and failing. She had scheduled this meeting for the first thing in the morning because she wanted to get it out of the way. “We’ll figure it out.”

As the others wheeled their chairs back to their offices, Sally opened her laptop and brought up her email. And, wouldn’t you know it, right there at the top was an email from Beverly, with the subject line “for the meeting” and time-stamped just after midnight. Sally opened it up. There was no message, just an attached Excel spreadsheet named “Untitled 1.”

She downloaded it and opened it.

At first she thought that the spreadsheet was empty too, but then noticed the dreaded little “#NAME?” displayed in Cell A1. She clicked on it and up came the weirdest and most complex Excel formula she had ever seen. She pressed F2 to show the whole thing and it scrolled halfway down the screen. There were logical operators and array operators and symbols she didn’t even recognize. What were that upside-down triangle and trident supposed to be? It looked like something Einstein would cook up.

But it seemed to be doing something. At least a half dozen random cells were showing numbers, constantly changing, too fast for the eye to follow.

She decided to watch for a bit.

Conversation from the other offices drifted in, but she was barely paying attention as she stared, fixated, at the cells.

“Maybe one of us should call her, just to be sure she’s okay.”

“Good idea. You do it.”

Cell E7 stopped calculating and returned Pi.

“I am. Okay, now I’m really worried. Number not in service.”

“Okay, that’s too weird. I’m going to look in her office. Maybe she bailed on us.”

“God, I hope she’s not dead in there.”

“Don’t even think that!”

Cell K27 stopped calculating and returned 2.718.

“Oh, my god,” exclaimed Rhonda.

“What’s going on?” asked Thom.

“Sally, you better come see this,” said Rhonda. “Beverly’s cactus exploded and there’s green shit all over her desk.”

Cell D17 stopped calculating and returned 33i.

And now somebody was screaming. Why the hell was somebody screaming?

Sally looked up and Rhonda was standing in her doorway, staring at her, hands on the door jams, her face an almost comical rictus of terror as she screamed and screamed.

It was only then that Sally noticed the thin oily black tendrils that snaked out of the sides of her laptop and the back of the screen, coiling toward her like vines, sliding up her sleeves, under her blouse….

Entangling her braids….

Into her ears and nose and throat….

#microfiction #micro fiction #short story #short fiction #flash fiction #lovecraft #rick hutchins #rjdiogenes