The thread of DOOM: Haggis must DIE! (Contest entries)

Here they come!

Read them all and decide on your choice for 1st, 2nd, and 3rd favorite.

PM all choices to HAGGIS (before he dies).

Please use the post number for each vote:

1st = #xx Title 1
2nd = #xx Title 2
3rd = #xx Title 3

Voting begins at 12:01 EST Monday November 19, 2007 and closes at 12:00 EST on December 3, 2007.

ETA: A discussion thread for the entries is also here.

Haggis Must Die - Reigningcatsndogs

Daytime at midnight, the yard light refracted through heavy fog, leaving long shadows behind each of the many upright stones. Calm and silent, the wisp lifted from the soil, wakening from centuries of deep, disturbed sleep. He could smell it; the bane of his existence was near. He had waited long for this one moment, this fleeting opportunity for final solace.

Waistcoat mildewed, sporran askew, his kilt hung in tatters from his waist. He sniffed the air. Yes, it was there. Fate had brought this nemesis to his cemetery this January night for one purpose alone. There was a faint scratching, a mutt attempting to evict fleas, hiding in the shadows. His ghoulish form floated among the stones, led by the intensifying stench. His mouth watered. This would be HIS moment. He could taste victory.

Robbed of life at an early age, he knew his one vital mistake. His red, red roses and tim’rous mousies had been overlooked for too long.

He peeked over the cold headstone. Yes, tonight entrails would indeed gush bright. There it was, curled up in a ball, shivering in the cold, the damp Scottish air eating through its flesh and into the bone. ‘It might well be served on a silver platter’, he said. Crows piped the moment, as he slipped the Sgian Dubh from his hose and raised it high above his head with both hands. Slamming the short blade into Haggis, he screamed in relief, “I should have written about porridge instead.”

Life Imitates Cartoons-Callalilly

“Haggis… oh, Haggis…”

I stopped scratching my right ear.

“Anyone there?”

No answer. Good; more time to scratch. That one spot just feels so good when my claws reach the inner flap.

“Haggis… oh, Haggis…”

Crap. Sounds like Rllgthunder. Probably wants to show me his new “Sniff my butt—I’m a Moderator” bandana. Fine.

I picked up my favorite infected-syringe chew toy and headed into the kitchen. He wasn’t by the kibble.

“Haggis… oh, Haggis…”

The basement? Man, it’s dark down here. “Why didn’t you turn on the lights?” Where’d he go? “Lights coming on. Where are you?”

“Haggis… oh, Haggis…”

“Give it a rest, man. What do you want?”

“I’m not a man, you silly Chihuahua.” A skeletal female stepped into the light cast by the naked 60-watt bulb.

“You look familiar, lady. Nice fur coat. What are you doing in my cellar?”

“I’m expanding my horizons, Haggis.” Her spotted white coat swished around her legs. “White and black are so 1960s. You and are going to be on the cutting edge of fur design. And I do mean cutting.”

Her thin, serrated knife glinted in the circle of light, reflecting off her pointy cheekbones and gleaming teeth. This was a seriously weird dog lover.

“We’re going to make full-length Chihuahua coats the must-have fashion item next fall. I’ll stroke your sweet fur every time I model you for the designers. Come to Cruella.”

Now I remembered why I hate Disney movies.

Too Much is Never Enough-Callalilly

“Trick or Treat!”

Haggis dropped candy into bags and plastic pumpkins.

“Nice Michael Myers costume. Good fake knife.” The tall, silent adult stepped onto the porch, raised the knife, and stabbed, slashed, and sliced Haggis into bloody, quivering shards. He’d been too surprised to scream.

“Eww, good costume, mister. You almost look, like, really dead and stuff.”

Haggis blinked at the trio of Disney princesses. What he could see of his body still looked julienned.

“Uh… thanks, girls. Go ahead and take some candy.”

If this was death, he felt no pain. Unexpected, but no complaints.

A footstep. He looked up. Jason Voorhees stood over him, raised a chainsaw and sliced Haggis’ pieces into pieces.

This was getting old. How many times can one Chihuahua die?

Another footstep. He rolled one eyeball upwards. Freddy Krueger stood in Jason’s place.

Uh-oh.

Afterwards, Haggis’ arms and legs lay at opposite ends of the porch. His head balanced on top of a big jack o’lantern. The October breeze tickled his brain. He wondered who had the light touch with the weapon to manage that.

What he really needed was a visit from Dr. Frankenstein. The man had a way with needle and thread.

A rustle in the mums, and the Wolf Man, already in wolf mode, poked his snout into Haggis’ face.

“Wrong movie, Fido. Go find a cat to chase.”

Three gulps later, Haggis had a close personal encounter with canine digestive juices.

He knew his next destination. “Oh, crap.”

Bingo.

Untitled - DL Hegel

I waited. The wind brushed my face, reluctant branches yielded to her kiss. I wanted him and I waited. The red September sunset surrendered to the cool Fall evening. My heart pulsed just a little faster. My dry soul anxious and impatient stuck in my throat. “He would be hear soon.” I said, the yapping of a distant dog, the only reply. I paced rubbing my hands together, warming against the subtle fall chill. All my deeds and thoughts brought me to this moment. His face burned into my mind and faithfully didn’t stray. Did he deserve such devotion? Of course, surely all his deeds lead him here to me. My body came alive, I shuddered. I heard it was him from the space between his steps. As he came closer, I strained to keep from moving. My right hand sweaty holding my gift for him. The bushes rustled, almost there.
I jumped out and screamed, “I have something for you.”
His eyes widen and his mouth cracked. I buried my blade into his belly. He gurgled and whined and blood ebbed from his slit of a mouth. His released a soft gasp as I pulled the knife up. It opened his belly wide and bits fell to the ground like gory discarded toys.
I ruined my favorite pink pumps with the sanguine mess. ‘Oh well’ I thought, ‘it was worth it.’
I stood over his limp body decorated with intestines and bile. ‘you won’t be standing me up again!’

Hubris - Thump

He’d done it! He was there! He was da man (well, da dawg anyhow)! Haggis spat out his syringe on the king-sized, pillow-encumbered, silk-becovered, velour-becurtained, hard-wood bed. He grabbed a pen in his mouth and crossed out the last item on his “things to do before I kick the bucket” list. He tossed the pen out of the bed and cuddled with his syringe. Now, he could spend the rest of his life in luxury and decadence. He barked once and rolled on his back to watch the replay of the award ceremony on the brand-new ceiling-mounted giant plasma TV he’d had installed just that afternoon.

There he was, looking really sharp about to start his speech. He had just accepted the Big One. He barked enthusiastically at the image of himself on the screen. The door to the bedroom opened then closed discreetly, half a building away. Perfect, the maid must be bringing him his steak, pork ribs and afternoon rawhide strip. His sensitive nose twitched at the scent of roasted meat. There was an unpleasant whiff of sulfur. He would order the maid to change perfume. The lights flickered and his ears perked up in alert. There was a creaking sound. He looked up. The TV was moving.

No one ever knew if it was the syringe needle to the eye or the falling giant-screen TV that did him in. But one thing was for certain, the Grim Reaper had had enough of letting that dog taunt it.

Haggis - Neurofizz

He fell back against the wall of the cavern and felt the frigid, oozing wetness. The concavity wasn’t deep enough to give him a sense of security, and the walls not steep enough to form stalactite and stalagmite sentries. The sulfurous smell of the cave’s secretions soaked into his sweater, adding to the smell of his sweat and the woolen dampness absorbed from the surrounding mist.

A shadow of black-on-black movement filled the cavern and the stale air withdrew, then flooded, like the see-saw water surge from the bow wave of an ocean liner. A twinge of light-headedness fired starbursts in his peripheral vision.

A familiar odor brought him back as a huge mass moved forward, filling his sanctuary. The odor’s dominance over his senses gave way as the moving shape blurred into a hazy focus. The bloated body, the coat of curled hair, reminded him of his father’s ranch and its primary, four-legged inhabitants.

But this giant didn’t move right. It rolled like the surrounding fog, enveloping everything in its path. Again, the overwhelming scent of wet wool put a hitch of recognition in the congealing tension.

Startled by a quick flash of luminous teeth, he felt a sharp tearing as his right arm and shoulder jerked to a scissoring shear. It sent a lightning bolt of pain through his body, and jogged a horrific realization of his fate, of his final resting place--packed in the stomach of this giant, mutant sheep.

Second Chance - Rane

The smell in the room was like rotten eggs. Someone was puking behind me.
Haggis' body was strapped in the chair, hands tied behind his back. He screamed about a second chance.
“It’s too late!” Johnny yelled, not looking at him.
No one would go near him.
His bloody head was on the floor. His eyes were opened wide, darting around to each one of us.
He licked his cracked bleeding lips, not sure what was going on.
“Help me!” Blood poured out of his mouth.
I walked toward him, put my boot on his head, and stepped down hard.

Untitled - Davids

Withered, the man was drawn up into himself, a mere gesture of human kind. If thirst would make me partake of this slight repast then surely there must be something that can save me for I am lost at the sight of the thing that lay beneath, but I must drink.As passion’s early light dawned on the dark soul of my father so it had on mine. Age not relevant spiraled through my life, eternity cried the envious dolt, to this I laugh for eternity is my plague. I bent to the thing, my tongue reaching, touching, starting at shriveled stinking mass. Eyes it has eyes, opened, sudden knowing frolic for peace those eyes did drink, for death this putrid wreck did pray, take me Lord, drink my blood for this I might live once more. My lips so white did touch his skin, such morbid pus did wet my thirst that Hell had made this wretched beast to give me breath, Father’s curse, his blood, black cold yet sweet. Quicken my heart you filthy stream, molded guts upon my face, adorn this visage of wasted grace that envy is my only dream. Yet I must drink.He lives in me this withered mass of haggard misery. As Haggis eaten on New Years Eve green guts bequeath eternal thirst.

Haggis Must Die! - Kerr

Yappy little Chihuahuas have irritating ways of getting underfoot, but those with teeth like something out of "Trilogy Of Terror" need to be exterminated like the mutant rat-dogs they are. Haggis must die! I would stamp him out myself with a pair of steel-toed work boots, but he's notorious for high jumps and I could not get his chain any shorter than three foot. Three feet puts him level with....

I've a second, more devious plan of attack. Tonight, I've booked flight to New Guinea, where I intend to bottle a sample from an infested watering hole. Haggis can never refuse a cool drink, his thirst unquenchable after so much yipping and yapping.

New Guinea worms are slow, but insidious. They begin their life cycle as larva, with that simple drink of water. This water will team with the critters. All should be fine, indeed, until the larva reach Haggis' intestine, where the worms are born. There, they grow to reach some three-foot, that's three times Haggis' length. Matured, they work themselves into the space beneath the skin, crawling down extremities until reaching points of departure known only to the worms. Large pustules develop, each with a worm at center, eating its way out. This excruciating business is eased by soaking, but Haggis will never see water again.

Untitled - DL Hegel

The woman in the red dress paced back and forth, just in front of the turnstiles. She flicked her cigarette, absently mashed it with her black pointy toe shoe. She compared her watch to clock on the wall. Her raven eyes focused on the tracks. A large man came out of the turnstiles. She ran to meet him. “Haggis, I’ve been waiting.”
The man cool and stoic nodded. He whispered something inaudible to the woman. He stepped past her toward the platform. She buried her face in her hands; sobs soft and low ebbed out of her. The man stooped at the edge of the plat form and didn‘t look back. The 7:15 train hummed in the distance.
The woman glared at the man, ran full force, and shoved the big man off the platform. As he stood up the 7:15 arrived. Wedged between the wall and the train, his screams echoed. The train stopped.
“I’m a paramedic.” The security guys and I jumped down onto the tracks. The still conscious man’s lower half was twisted and facing backward. The security guard looked at me. I shook my head.
“I am dead, you pull out the train and my insides fall out.,” the man said.
I nodded.
“Just do it.,” he said.
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me too.” He smiled, showing his bloody teeth. Everyone clear of the tracks, the train pulled out. The man’s body, a warped mess festooned with intestines and organs, lay still. The woman smiled in handcuffs.

Le Mort du Haggis - Jaycinth

Haggis could get lost tracing the details in her tattoos as they paused between exertions. Priapic demons caressed her leg, above garter line flames. At the thigh, demons and tortured souls alike twisted.
“Beautiful art.”
“Sold my soul for it.”
Ravaged sylphs peered from under her breast.
“That much, huh?”
She smiled, swinging her legs to the floor. Standing, she walked to the sideboard and poured two glasses of an amber liquid.
Cold eyed snakes embraced her spine, one devouring a screaming man who clutched at a vine festooned with bloody red roses. She returned to the bed, handing Haggis a glass and downing the other.
Haggis sipped, the liquid had a flavor he couldn’t place. It warmed him. He felt good. He slapped her rear on the only spot not covered with art.
“Missed a spot.”
“No.” She straddled him, hands on his chest. “I don’t think so.”
Nails, like surgical knives drove into his chest, flaying him as he was ridden. He started to scream, but she forced her tongue down his throat like a lizard digging for a tender morsel. Vicelike legs closed on him, rhythmically pulling him into her as his skin was stripped from his body.
She stood, tucking a stray bit of skin into her mouth. What little remained, resembled nothing human. As she retrieved her robe, she stopped to admire herself in the mirror. The new tattoo glistened, the flayed man in a silent scream as his skin was ripped from his body.

Dead Haggises Tell No "Tails" - Rhymegirl

It was a dark and stormy night. Haggis was sitting in his window seat, staring up at the full moon. The sky was black and menacing. Even so, a smile played on his lips as he fantasized about some cute, but devilish doggy trotting up to his doorstep for a little midnight romp. The telephone suddenly jangled.

Haggis jumped. Who the hell could that be?

“Hello,” he snapped at the caller.

“Hag-----gissssssssssss.”

“Yeah? That’s my name.” Haggis sighed heavily. “And your point is?”

Again came the low, guttural voice. “Hag-gisssssssssss.”

“Is that all you can say?” barked Haggis. “Who IS this? Thunder, is that you?”

At that moment Thunder Storm, Haggis’s houseboy, emerged from the kitchen.

“What is it, boss? Did you call?”

Haggis turned in Thunder’s direction. “If you’re right here, then who…”

Suddenly the lights went out. The doorbell rang.

“Wanna get that, Thunder?”

A reluctant and fearful Thunder felt his way through the darkness, reached the front door, his hand fumbling for the doorknob.

When the door creaked open, by the light of the moon Thunder saw--

“Haskins? My God, you look just like your avatar!”

“Out of the way, Thunder. Where’s that mutt? He owes me money.”

Haskins scooped up Haggis and held him by the back of the neck. “Gimme a kiss, poochie." Smooch!

Haggis died on the spot.

Tossing Haggis to the floor, “Haskins” peeled off her mask.

“Unique?”

“That’s right, Thunder. Now that Doggy's dead, let’s go raid his piggybank.”

What's for Dinner? - Pike

Roland grilled the last of the liver in onions. The aroma was sharp yet sweet. Something nipped at the cuffs of his pants. Three bug-eyed Chihuahuas pawed at his feet.

“Piss off. You’ll get dinner soon enough.” He walked up to the dog’s owner, Haggis, and smiled. “Wanna bite? You are what you eat.”

Haggis hung from a rope looped through a pulley and tied to a cleat. His arms and legs were stumps, crudely sown shut with fishing line. More held his chest and back together, all where cuts of meat were ripped clean.

Roland shoved some liver into his lipless mouth. Haggis gagged as it rolled across his half-eaten tongue then fell down to the greasy floor. The rest of his babies, twelve Mexican Hairless in total, ran from out of nowhere to fight over the discarded scrap.

“Ungrateful bastard.”

He plopped down at the table and ate. Roland’s swollen belly groaned but he refused to waste a single morsel. He’d waited years to indulge in some Scottish cuisine. Rubbing his gut, he looked back and belched. It was worth every bite

Dabbing up the last of the onions with a stale piece of sourdough, Roland said, “Haven’t dined this fine in months.” He stood and waddled to the kitchen door. The dogs whimpered and whined.

“All right.” He unwound the rope from its cleat. Haggis hit the floor. The Chihuahuas wasted no time diving in.

“Enjoy. And Pepe, stop humping your brothers. That’s disgusting.”

Haggis Lives! - Bmwhtly

People don’t change. The world ended just like we expected; after centuries of creating greater and more terrible weapons, the nations of earth allowed the wrong weapon to reach the wrong people.
The ensuing war raged for a week. That’s all the time it took to wipe out the human race.
The old writers were wrong: there was no plucky band of survivors, no bunkers. The species was dead.

If there had been anyone left, they’d have been surprised that the sole animal survivor was a small, flea-bitten, domestic Chihuahua. The tag on his collar read ‘Haggis’, but no-one would ever read it.
He awoke one morning to silence. Haggis’ limited brain found no connection between his missing Master and the spatter of ash on his bed, so he left.
With no animals, plants were flourishing and these fed Haggis as he traveled. Domesticity almost forgotten, he walked, slept and ate as he liked.

He was in a field north of Houston when something hit the ground in front of him. He did what his instincts told him to; he went for a sniff. He found it wasn’t food and moved on.
He attached no significance to the symbols on the sheet of metal.
If he wasn’t occupied uprooting a tasty-smelling tuber, he’d have heard the rest of the sattelite hurtling down towards him.
His splattered remains fed the grass which, within a month, had engulfed his mangled steel coffin.
That is how Earth was given back to the plants.

Untitled - C. Bronco

"Over there" Brian whispered from behind the pine. Matt could see mist shift in a wave down the slope. It remained indiscernible in the forest shade. Whatever it was, it was receding.
"What is it? Will-o-the-wisps?"
"Don't know," Matt mumbled.
"It’s moving.”
The white wave glided towards Hutchen's field. He could see light filtering into the forest; the wave disappeared into the glare.
"This way" Brian whispered. They climbed up an oak. Matt heard high grunting voices, and one shrill voice, but wasn’t sure if it was human. One pull on a branch gave him the full view of the field which swayed in white concentric circles.
"They're friggin sheep!" Matt said. "What the hell are they doing?"
"What?" Brian pulled up next to him. The sound and the sight together made sense now, and they listened to the sheep baah. "What’s in the middle? They got something."
The sheep moved and the clearing in the center came into better view. A Chihuahua squealed; its entire head fit into one of the sheep's mouths.
The body of a man lay face up; he had been sliced from neck to gullet. Another sheep grabbed the Chihuahua’s hind legs and they forced it into the corpse’s stomach. Matt knew that Chihuahua; he lived by the junkyard. More sheep retreated to reveal a vat steaming over coals. They dropped the corpse into the vat, and the last panicked cries of the dog died.
"My God!" Matt cried, "They've made haggis out of Haggis!"

Untitled - Foinah

“This isn’t funny.”
“Sure it is, Haggis.”
“Yeah right, RT. What are you up to? Why did you grab me, tie me up, stuff me in your trunk and blindfold me?!”
“Aw, come on my little feisty chihuahua. It’s a surprise. Ya know all those mean things I say and do are for fun, right?”
“No! My hair still hasn’t grown back from your last surprise. Now I have a fear of vapid, skinny blond girls. I can’t believe I fell for that ‘just go say hi to her...she loves little dogs’, trick.”
RT chuckled. “Yeah, that was a good one. But this one is even better. A real surprise.” He reached through the bars and lifted the latch on the gate that led to the small sliding door outside of the enclosure. “That’s why I brought you here...Trust me, I can’t wait to see the look on your face.”
“What’s that smell? Are we at the zoo?” Haggis wrinkled up his nose.
“That’s the surprise. You love your Detroit Tigers, right?”
“You didn’t? The stadium! Do I get to meet the team?”
RT grinned wickedly as he opened a can of gravy and poured it on Haggis. “Not quite...”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m just making sure you get to meet all the tigers.”
RT lifted the sliding door of the feeding window with one hand while he popped off Haggis’ blindfold with other.
“We’re in Detroit and these are tigers!” he said and shoved Haggis through.

A Nearly Normal Night - Delarege

It was the most unfortunate of happenstance that lead to Haggis’s demise. To hear him tell it you’d think he’d been killed twice, buried thrice and exhumed the fourth day of each month.
It was quite a normal night. Vampires were vamping. Werewolves were wering. Haggis was haggising. As was his habit, he spent a good deal of energy trying to woo weary widows into an evening of debauchery. Though he had big ideas, Haggis was short on sense. In fact he was short in every possible dimension, much to his embarrassment which accredited to his overwhelming success in failing.
As we come to the night of his plight we find haggis again rejected and ejected from a widow’s speeding limo. Haggis bounced upon his knoggin. Had it not be a particularly rainy night he might have simply skidded to a stop but in the torrent of gutter-wash he slithered down a storm-drain and drifted to the open river. A paddle wheel gambling boat was making a hasty retreat from a dingy of IRS agents when Haggis was wheeled aloft and momentarily tangled in the girding of an overpass for which there was also and under pass.
Traveling this pass was a rather robust truck which Haggis managed exceptional timing to become imbedded in the ironwork of its grill where he woefully perished. The new ornament was so favorably received that even today you can still see his likeness on many trucks that unknowingly commemorate the night that Haggis died.

Viscera Pudding - J.D. Kiggins

It was a full moon; the best time to catch and kill this beast.

Twigs and branches slammed at my face. If only I hadn’t lost my glasses, they would have kept the blood from blinding me. My eyes were a red blur. Chasing him through the brush was bad enough, but without glasses, I couldn’t see.

He was a speedy woolly runt and ugly as sin, but not quick enough. I caught a glimpse of his rotund shadow just a few feet in front of me and I lunged. He squealed and screamed as I tied his feet.

Grandpa’s knife glistened in the moonlight just before I plunged it into his gut. Blood spurted from the carcass but the screaming didn’t stop.

The beast had to suffer. If it didn’t, it ruined the kill. That’s what Grandpa used to say.

The strained squeals and guttural sound from his throat made me realize how dull Grandpa’s knife was. I plunged the knife into his belly and sliced him up to his throat. I ripped out his heart, liver, lungs, and stomach and dropped them in the baggie.

It’s been decades since I butchered a sheep and as long since I made Grandma’s ‘family’ pudding recipe. It’s so tasty when you mince the innards and mix them with oatmeal, suet, and onions, and boil it in the stomach. I couldn’t wait to share it with Haggis. Where is he anyway? I haven’t seen him since we went after that sheep.

SWORD OF BLOODY VENGEANCE IS HARSH MISTRESS - Dpaterso

Ping's first obstacle was the castle guards. They came at him in waves, heedless of their own lives, determined to protect their evil master. His katana blurred and slashed at black armor and pale flesh, until the guards lay in an unmoving circle around him, a donut of bloody death.

Realizing he had no wordcount to waste, Ping raced to the tower and ran up the steps, making no sound whatsoever. He gained the upper floor where the evil tyrant dwelt. Torches cast their Hellish glow over piles of gnawed bones. Including those of his beloved ninja master. Ping swallowed hard and advanced towards the inner sanctum.

The door creaked open before Ping reached it. A monstrous, bloated shadow spread across the floor, but Ping had already skipped behind a tapestry. The pitter-patter of tiny feet drew ever closer. Ping held his breath. A strangely pleasant warmth caressed his right foot. He looked down at the spreading puddle of steaming liquid. Enraged, Ping tore the tapestry aside. The beast looked up at him with big startled eyes, one leg still cocked, caught off-balance and ill-prepared.

Ping rammed his katana right up its arse, impaling it. The beast squealed but snapped at him, refusing to die. Ping held the howling creature over a torch. It burst into flame and burned furiously, as evil does, even when it inhabits a tiny little body. He cast the smoking corpse into the castle latrine, where it still lies to this day.

The End.

Death by Vending Machine - D.L. Steele

Goddamned thing took my dollar, Haggis thought as he tapped the Pepsi button on the vending machine a second time. There came a clunk from deep within the machine, but still no can of Pepsi.

“Give me my fucking Pepsi,” He snarled and gave the machine a kick. The machine gave a quick double clunk, and was silent again. It stubbornly held on to its cache of Pepsi and the row of buttons seemed to grin at him.

“Goddammit!” He yelled and punched the glass. It shattered inwards and his hand went deep into the machine.

There were a series of clunks and clanks, then steel jaws clamped down on his hand. Blood began to flow immediately from his lacerated wrist.

Haggis screamed and frantically fought to pull his hand from the machine, but the jaws pressed down tighter and he could hear the sound of bones crunching as his hand was crushed in the jaws of the machine.

Behind the jaws, he could see two eyes glaring malevolently at him as the jaws made the final push that severed his wrist.

Haggis just had time to think about running before the machine was leaning closer to him, the jaws chomping open and closed with metallic rattling sounds. The eyes glowed brighter as the machine overbalanced and fell forward onto him.

The last thing that Haggis saw before the crushing weight of the Pepsi machine with the frantically chomping metal teeth fell on him were the glowing red eyes.

A "Rabbid" Death for Haggis - Rhymegirl

One Halloween night Haggis was sitting in his recliner completely absorbed in The Film Festival Night of Horror. Munching on his Kibbles 'n Bits, his eyes glowed with delight as he watched one poor victim after another stabbed, mauled, decapitated, or otherwise tortured on his TV screen.

His horror-fest was suddenly interrupted by a high-pitched ringing. It was the telephone.

“Shit,” said Haggis, tearing himself away. “Yeah, hello, who is this?”

“Mr. Haggis?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Henrietta Hasenpfeffer.”

“Hasenpfeffer?" Haggis’s eyes brightened. “You have my attention!”

“I’m a former editor at Modern Horror Magazine. I’m calling about your short story. The one about the torture of rabbits?”

Haggis squirmed in his chair. “Uh, yeah, I never heard back on that one. Say, isn’t it kinda late for an editor to be calling?”

“Oh, it’s not late at all where I live, Mr. Haggis.”

Haggis gulped. “Where might that be? And did you say a former editor?”

All he heard was a maniacal laugh on the other end.

“Look, Henrietta, ma’am, you’re scaring the crap out of me. I’m gonna hang up now.”

“You can hang up, but you will never be free of me.”

The phone line went dead.

Haggis’s eyes bulged, darted all around the room as he threw the phone against the wall. “What a bitch!”

As soon as he uttered those words, a filmy figure slithered through the wall. “I’m no bitch!”

A woman with rabbit-like features reached out and strangled Haggis to death.

For Haggis I Mourn - Eudaemonic

For Haggis - He was a Good man (sniff)


Haggis in the night lay sleeping
All unaware of something creeping
Silently o’er the kitchen floor
Seeping mist beneath the door.

Haggis blissful slept and dreamed
And the duvet gently steamed
As he mused upon the thrust
Of Lizzie Jones’ impressive bust

A sound it came and burst his bubble
He sat up drowsy, scratched his stubble
Wondered idly; What was that?
Decided it must be the cat.

But then a soft and lovely singing
Set his trouble itch a pinging
For Lizzie Jones, though well-endowed
Had a voice both coarse and loud.

What Haggis did not know was this
That wild Contessa Pumpelkiss
Considered him a handsome stud
And longed to drink of his red blood

She sang to him of eternal love
He was her hon, her beau, her dove
She knew he’d like the undead life
And swore she’d make a splendid wife.

She wafted through the still night air
Reaching Haggis’ bedroom where
She paused on the threshold with a grin
And waited to be invited in.

The Contessa licked her ruby lips
Batted her eyelids, wiggled her hips
She flew at him across the room
So fast she caused a sonic boom

Soon the two they were entwined
A closer pair you could not find
Before she clamped down on his neck,
Caused him to bellow; “What the heck!”

Alas poor Haggis, his end was near
As I sadly inscribe this here
Above me flits a vampire bat
Wearing Haggis’ old brown hat