Couldn't help myself. Here's a bonus story for Spooktober; I posted it to Reddit back in late May.
Peter and I wrote it over the summer by texting back and forth and adding/embellishing the story.
It was fun!
Here you go!
Daniel and Michael were walking down the street when they accidentally got lost and walked into hell.
"Where are we?" asked Daniel.
"Hell." a distant voice answered back.
"Oh." Daniel responded.
"How do we get out?" Michael inquired of the echo.
"You don't." the voice replied.
"Ah. Okay." said Michael.
"Well, what do we do then?" Daniel queried.
"Burn, basically." the disembodied audio retorted.
"Is that any fun?" Michael questioned.
"Kind of," replied the voice, "Depends which end of the burnin' you're on. Either way, ain't nothing special, really."
"Well, what do you do for fun here?" Daniel posed.
"Oh, you know, the usual hellish things: monitor stock prices, balance our checkbooks, invest in up and coming companies, host tickle fighting tournaments..."
"What was that last one?"
Suddenly hell and the voice disappeared and Daniel was sitting in a room in a recliner wearing a wife beater, his underpants, covered in alcohol, smelling of feces, and looking down at an empty container that had held dissolvable tablets. A bit of vomit trickled down his cheek. He realized he'd never known a Michael to begin with.
"Honey, are you okay?" a soft voice, belonging to Daniel's wife spoke, as she strode into the room.
Her hair was rolled up in pink curlers, her face covered in a green, creamy mask, and she was clad in a taut, light blue nightgown that accentuated her feminine curves.
"Yeah babe, I think so," Daniel replied, groggily.
He stood from his recliner and stretched his tight, aching back and heavy, sand-filled-feeling arms. He yawned and scratched his balding scalp, followed by his buttocks. Pacing his way to the bedroom window, his considerable belly billowed over his belt and spilled downward, jiggling all about and sagging droopily towards his toes. He peered out into the darkness for a second and squinted. Then his eyes widened suddenly.
"But what is David Bowie doing up in our tree?"
"What?" his wife asked, indignantly.
Turning, Daniel saw only his wife's back, and then her reflection in their dresser mirror. The color drained from his face and he gasped when he saw the long strands of hair that uncurled themselves and were now slithering, hissing, and bearing venomous fangs.
"What is it dear?" Daniel's wife asked, turning round, her hair still in curlers.
Her shriek rattled the entire house. Several lights went on throughout the darkened house in response, as the children stirred. Daniel, her beloved husband, stood frozen before her, there in their bedroom, having been turned completely to stone.
Friends of T.D. Smith