Most Unusual Short Story Thread?

Never Bet on the Bird

Bernard pondered the outcome of the chess match between his beagle, Corndog, and his cockatoo, Chirp-Chirp.

Corndog had his queen cleverly positioned as to put Chirp-Chirp in checkmate in one move by taking his bishop. Chirp-Chirp no doubt saw this but didn't do anything but bob up and down and say "Chirp-chirp." This was either a ploy to make Corndog overconfident and forget about the move, or Chirp-Chirp really didn't see this. Either way, it annoyed Bernard.

"He's going to put you in Checkmate in one move, you stupid bird!!!" Bernard shouted over his Cheerios.

Corndog jumped up knocking over the chess board scattering pieces everywhere. Chirp-Chirp chirped and flew to a higher perch. Bernard chuckled at the mess.

Monty appeared from the washroom all flustered. Newspaper in his hand.

"It happened again!" He said, "I'm not going to the bathroom again."

Bernard shrugged, "Double or nothing?"

Monty sat down and put in his hearing aid. "Say again."

"Double or nothing?"

"You still want the bird."

"Yeah," Bernard smiled, "I feel today's his lucky day."

Bernard got up to set up the board again.

Here's a really old short story I wrote which ended up a little more gruesome than I intended when I began it. Consider this:when I wrote this, I was 15. Anyway, it is one the more wierd stories I have come up with, so enjoy.


The red and blue lights flashed on top of the police car, as it hurtled towards one of the many hotels on that particular street. A young woman leaned precariously out the window and screamed something at the police officer before disappearing towards the floor rather quickly.
Officer Smith was personally surprised that she hadn't fallen out towards the street instead..
He pondered this as he rang the bell. It sounded like it was playing a funeral dirge just for him. He shivered; you never knew quite what to expect in situations like this.
The mail-flap opened and a rather muffled voice wafted out, "Don't bother, we're not selling until after Halloween."
Smith tapped the flap with his boot, "Open up in the name of the law."
There was a thud and the door opened to reveal a little man rubbing his head, "Can I help you?"
"I have reason to believe," Smith said. "That a guest of yours has been murdered in the most hideous way."
The little man shrugged, "Oh, is that what all that ruckus was about then? It'll be that fellow in room fifteen, I'll wager. You go on up the stairs and I'll tell my wife to get a cup of tea brewing."
Smith walked up the stairs, and followed the numbered doors to room fifteen. He knocked on the door, there was no answer.
Smith pushed the door open. It was very dark, almost like a coffin. Smith had never been inside a coffin, and he was very eager to keep things that way.
He switched on the light, and saw the corpse on the bed and the one on the floor beside it.

Mr. Deven, the hotel manager, handed the teapot to Smith.
Smith took it and tried to direct the tea into his cup, "I'll have to call in a doctor, if you don't mind me using the phone."
Mr. Deven shrugged, "Far as I know, a doctor won't be very much use."
"We need him to conduct a Post Mortem," Smith said. "So that he can tell us how they died."
"They?" Mr. Deven threw up his hands. "I thought there was only one of them."
Smith stirred his tea, "Actually, there was a second body beside the bed." He took a sip of the rather bitter liquid, and made a face. "Strong stuff, this."
Mr. Deven called to his wife in the kitchen, "Hear that Margaret? Another one's snuffed it. That's two more lots of fertiliser for our Christmas trees." Mr. Deven turned in time to see Smith topple into his mug of tea. "Better make that three, Margaret," Mr. Deven said.
The End

Like a boxer

Sully was sick of looking like he had no ears. His stupid roommate Mickey had bitten him and now his ear cartalige was messed up. It looked like he had holes in his head.

He looked for a way to get even. A cat has his dignity you know. The girls in the barn thought he was cute, like a boxer, but Sully hated his new look.

Sully stuck his head around the corner carefully, looking for Mickey. "At least I don't have to flatten my ears," he thought bitterly. There Mickey was, on the ottoman, licking his feet. Sully felt a rush of hate wash over him and he growled softly.

Backing up quietly, Sully headed for the litterpan. He knew that fussy, no-good siamese stood on the side of the pan to use it. Sully nudged the pan a little to the left where the floor dropped off. Now to wait.

An indignant yowl filled the house as Mickey rushed from the litterpan area covered with litter and various other indignities. Sully smiled from under his whiskers. The pan had upended all over the nasty little booger when he balanced on the edge.

"Heh-wait until you try to eat." Sully thought, fully satisfied now. Well the litter pan had been dumped, you know, there really wasn't anywhere else to pee but on Mickey's dish.

Last Call

The old woman lies dying in bed, shivering from more than cold. On the walls are pictures of cats, with failing sight she studies each in turn: Whispers, grey with a white face and tummy who always spoke with a quiet meow and Inky Toes the black cat with white feet. Little Miss Nibbles, the calico who was such a finicky eater as round as she was tall, and Twitchers the orange tabby with the restless whiskers.

She closed her eyes, all of them gone, taken care of, loved. One by one the cats in the pictures vanished, leaving empty baskets, vacant pillows, lonely toys, forlorn catnip mice. A grey cat with a white face sits on the pillow by the white haired head. A black cat with white toes kneads the quilt at the foot of the bed, a calico lounges by a pair of scuffed slippers. A Siamese is perched on a card table, a tabby sits in the rocker. In moments the room is filled with silent waiting cats. Two hundred pairs of eliptical eyes blink twice in unison, a throbbing purr from a hundred throats fills the small studio apartment.

From every surface, on every wall, fur begins to grow. On cabinets and counter tops, burner units and the teapot, a gardening magazine and a book on crocheting. On cabinets, in the sink and glasses on the shelves, in the bath tub and on the copper pipes, on the television and the old Philco radio with the burnt out tubes. In the tissue box and on the jar of face cream, out of the dish drain and on the telephone it grew.

Fur. Fur in all colors and patterns. Warm, soft caressing fur. Black, white, brown, red, orange, bluish grey, in tabby stripes and tortoiseshell whorls, spots expanded and linked growing to cover the shivering old woman. She feels a touch of fur on her cheek, gentle as a kiss, warm as compassion.

I love you all," she whispers with her last breath. Only her face is left uncovered, serene and still. One by one the cats disappear.

Unusual Short Story

The Disappearance of Pete



Whoaaaa…stop…whew, I’m feeling really…like I want to be scratched behind the ears…? Huh? What’s going on here? Was there something in the mushrooms on that pizza I ate—like maybe one of the mushrooms from Alice’s Wonderland?

I have the urge to…lick my behind. This is crazy. What are my friends gonna think? Those practical jokers! I’ll bet they slipped something into the pizza, or maybe my beer. Yeah, that’s it. Why, I’ve…

Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go right now. Where’s the litter box? Litter box! Wait a minute…want to be scratched behind the ears, urge to lick my behind, litter box. Oh nooooooo…I’m a…CAT???? Help! Let me out of here!!!

Hey, guys. Yeah, down here. Ummm, you’re not gonna believe this but…hey I’m talking to you. It’s me, Pete. Ya gotta do…something! Give me the antidote or take me to the emergency room—or maybe to the vet. I don’t care. Just do something!

“Whose kitty? What a sweetie. Come up here little guy.”

Careful...you’re squeezing the… Oh, yeah. That feels better. Soft, cushy…smells really good up here. Just let me snuggle my head up right here in that cleft…mrrrowww…

“Don’t bite! Stupid cat.”

Geez! Ya didn’t hafta throw me down like that. All I did was give ya a little love bite, babes. Besides, it’s me, Pete.

“Here. Put the thing outside. The thing must’ve followed somebody in. By the way, has anyone seen Pete lately?”

No, wait guys, you don’t understand. You can’t leave me out here in the cold. Let me in!!! Hey guys, it’s me. C’mon guys, enough is enough here. Joke’s gone far enough.

“Man, the poor thing’s out there shivering. It’s freezing outside. Should we let the cat back in? Maybe give it some tuna or something. It doesn’t have a collar. We can take it to the animal shelter in the morning. Whaddya say? We can fix a box for it to sleep in.”

“Ok. But in the morning the cat goes. Understood, Mike?”

“Yeah. I got it. Ok little guy, c’mon in.”

Gee, thanks guys. Almost froze my… What the heck’s this stuff? Tuna? Plain old tuna! No mayo, no pickles, no egg, no bread, nothing except tuna. How’m I ‘sposed to eat this?

“I’m worried you guys. I haven’t seen Pete in a while. He was actin’ kinda funny earlier and then he just disappeared. Let’s look around, see if we can find ‘im and meet back here in the kitchen in…say, fifteen minutes. Okay, okay cat. You can come with me. Just don’t trip me.”

No, Steve, ya don’t get it. It’s me, Pete. I’m right here. How’m I gonna convince these knuckleheads that I’m not really a cat. Well, I am right this minute, but I don’t know how it happened. Okay, back to the kitchen.

“Look. Here on the floor. The tuna is all over. Wait a min…it’s words. What’s it say? ‘I’m Pete.’ And the cat is sitting right next to it. Okay, okay, who’s the wise guy? Look, it’s getting late. Pete must’ve gone home. Maybe he wasn’t feelin’ too good. Anyway, let’s call it a night. Glad you all could make it.”

“Okay, cat. Here ya go; a nice box to sleep in with a nice soft blanket. I scooped the tuna back into the bowl in case ya get hungry. Here’s some water. G’night.”

Numbskull. I am not…I repeat…I am not just a cat! I’m Peteeeee… I gotta try again. There. Well, might as well get some rest.

“Mike, you wiseacre. Quit spreading that gunk on the floor.”

“Man, I didn’t do it, Steve.”

“It wasn’t there when we hit the rack last night, so if you didn’t do it, who did?”

“Dunno. Steve, that cat is staring holes through me. It’s creepy. You don’t think…”

“No, idiot. I don’t. Eat up so we can drop the cat off at the animal shelter on our way to work.”

Animal shelter. No way! Not that!

“Poor guy doesn’t wanna go, does he? Sorry cat, just can’t keep you. Sure hope somebody claims him or adopts him, Miss.”

“We do, too. But it’s difficult with grown cats. We’ll keep him for a while and then…”

“Yeah, I know. Curtains. Sad. Sure wish I could keep him but it’s just not possible. I’ll ask around at work. Maybe somebody’ll want a cat. And I’ll post some signs too. G’bye, cat.”

Soon a sign with a picture of the cat shared space on bulletin boards and telephone poles around town with a sign bearing a picture of Pete and asking for information on his whereabouts. After several weeks nobody had claimed the cat and nobody had seen any sign of Pete.

Pete had tried in every way he could think of to alert other humans to his condition. Aggression put people off, yet if he was passive nobody noticed him. One day he was taken from his cage and carried deeper into the building.

What’s this? Where’re you taking me? Man, nasty looking room. Hey, this table is cold and hard. Wait, don’t tie me down. I’ll be good, I promise. What’re doing? Ouch, that hurt. I’m getting sooo sleepy…things are fading…

“He’s gone. Poor guy. This part of the job really gets to me. Get rid of the body and bring me the next one.”