Vampyre Robin requires an offering

--FINAL DAY FOR ENTRIES--

Round Robins are an ancient and profoundly dubious tradition at Scribal Terror.

They are collaborative fictions, written on the fly in the comments section. ST Round Robins usually involve a character named Robin. They usually happen around Halloween. And they usually flirt with THE DARK SIDE.

We missed Robin last year, but the old bird has not died. Not strictly speaking, anyway. He is back, and he doesn't drink . . . wine.

But Vampyre Robin needs your help. For his depraved and lurid tale to be told, we need a suitably spooky opener. So place your entries here.  ("Dark and stormy nights" prohibited.)

When we have enough offerings to choose from, we'll take a vote. Then we will have at it. There will be no holds barred. We will plumb the depths. We will kill each other's characters. We will go where no collaborative fiction has gone before. And it will be immensely silly. Muahahahahaha!

Comments

[Rob B]

Scary right? Ok...

The loose streamers from Gordon's Amway party lie over the furnature of the living room. Tables and chair were strewn haphazzardly amidst the broken remnants of the various brik-a-brak he had tried to sell earlier that night. While he thought things were going smoothly during his USB coffee cup warmer presentation, he hadn't counted Sarah's nut allergies or Yvette's tendency for belly dancing.

[gail]

Rob, that bespeaks Hannah Arendt's "banality of evil."

[Jake]

Sticky this one up a couple days.. I want to participate but I'm swamped for a few hours.. I'll submit this evening..

[Rob B]

I'm not familiar with that one. I'll look it up.

[Minnesotastan]

He had been annoyed when the first house guest sprinted toward the toilet, and puzzled when the second slumped quietly in this chair, but when the third clutched his stomach and began vomiting blood, Robin realized that something had gone seriously awry with his variation on the lentil soup recipe.

[Rob B]

I read up on the concept and I can see that comparison.

[Jake]

".. Gross ! Let me try." the younger boy said, grabbing the twig from his brother's hand and poking the carcass of the lifeless bird lying in the gutter. The bird, a Robin by it's coloring, laid stiff on it's back, wings splayed.. talons curled into a knotted death grip.. A black and bloated tongue hung from the gaping beak..Lifeless eyelids sealed in a painful grimace.. As the stick sank into the rotting flesh of the bird's swollen belly a flood of red, green and black filled with wriggling white worms erupted pooling beneath the bird.. "Ewwwww.. maggots!!" the boys squealed in both delight and horror.. unable to turn away from the fascinating dead thing.. "Bobby! Stevie! Time for dinner!" , a woman's voice sounded several houses away... "Awwww, Mom.. " the boys began but were cut off by the final "Now!"

Poking the stick one last time into the writhing putrid mass the boys turn and amble back toward their home just as the weak afternoon sun begins to slip under the horizon.... Silently, as the first shadows of evening creep over the gutter, one black parchment like lid opens and a tiny blood red eye follows the boys intently... "Yesssss.. " the bird hisses in a voice hardly more than a whisper. " Yessss... It is time for dinner..."

[dorkafork]

It was an overcast and clammy night, with a low chance of precipitation, as the darkness moved in like a cold front from the north that may result in temperatures in the low 50s. My restiveness continued, the ghastly glow of the Weather Channel flickering in my poorly-lit abode increased my disquiet. The grim countenance of the weather girl stared back at me. I pondered how I had arrived at my despicable state. The memories were patchy, like the clouds that are likely moving in on Thursday...

[dorkafork]

I was going for the barometry of evil.

[gail]

I like it, Dorka.