Eerie, Indiana fanfiction: Inherent
The camera lay in pieces on the kitchen floor. The fractured lens was a glittering cobweb of cracks, lying amidst limp coils of unspooled film. The matt black casing had come apart in three large sections, tiny fragments of plastic scattered around the bigger chunks of debris like an archipelago encircling some greater land mass.
“I knew this would happen,” Marshall exclaimed in dismay, sinking to his knees beside the fallen instrument of truth, justice, and undeniable proof of Eerie’s weirdness that everyone nonetheless continued to deny. He laid his jacket gently over the exposed film, but it was a rote gesture rather than any real hope that the negatives could be salvaged.
“Did somebody break in?” asked Simon, already crossing to the large sash windows with their soft rotten frames. “Maybe we should skip talking to the landlord and just fit the cold-iron security grills ourselves.”
Marshall nodded.
“The powers that be must be getting nervous about what we’ve uncovered,” he said. “You know Chisel will stoop to almost anything to keep his dirty laundry firmly in City Hall’s fetid hamper of secrecy.”
Simon paused in the act of reaching for a tape measure and a canister of aerosolised cold iron Pixie-Away.
“Mars,” he said carefully. “What exactly have we uncovered lately?”
“Um,” said Marshall.
There was a crash from the living room. Marshall sprung to his feet and, silent in his nearly-new Bubble Sole Sky Monsters Deluxe (with Stealth-Sneak technology), crossed to the doorway that lead straight from the small kitchen into the even-smaller den. As he passed the refrigerator he lifted down a baseball bat unevenly coated in silver-leaf and gripped it tight in both hands.
Behind him Simon dropped the tape measure back into the cluttered junk drawer and eased open the small wooden half-door to the alcove where they kept the vacuum, the ironing-board, and a broom which they had once used to shoo a miniature Cthulhu-like creature out of the apartment when it crawled through a hole in reality and got stuck behind the tumble-dryer. This last one he retrieved from the dark tangle in the depths of the cupboard, and he clutched it in sweaty palms as he joined Marshall on the threshold to the rest of the flat.
Two threadbare thrift-store sofas lay on their backs, their cushions scattered across the mangy carpet of indeterminate colour that had been in place when they moved in. The makeshift coffee table, two milk crates with a more-or-less even layer of duct tape wrapped around them to create a solid surface, had been smashed to sharp-edged plastic shards.
In the middle of the carnage lay the manticore, a length of rangy sand-brown muscle stretched out upon an off-white bed of shredded paper, contentedly kneading at tumbled stack of black and white composition books with obsidian claws nearly seven inches long. It glanced up at Marshall’s outraged inhalation, its narrow pupils a thin slash of darkness in glowing yellow eyes.
“You!” hissed Marshall. “You ungrateful, lice-ridden, evidence-destroying monster!”
The manticore yawned hugely, licking its lips and stretching its front legs in a display of supreme unconcern.
Simon abandoned the broom and darted into the room, dragging a raggedy-edged photo album out from beneath the manticore’s dinner-plate-sized paws. The manticore huffed in displeasure, but allowed one of its toys to be stolen.
“Aww no,” he said, flicking through the soggy and chewed-up pages. “It’s all the security camera stills from last summer.” He pointed to a glossy fragment showing the thick green coils of a snake resting on a pale freckled shoulder. “Remember the Gorgon that kept stopping by to steal our egg rolls every time we got Chinese?”
“What is this?” Marshall demanded of the manticore. “Some kind of cryptid conspiracy cover-up? You’re protecting all your monster friends from the hell dimension you come from, is that it?”
The manticore’s tail thrashed, the long pointed stinger catching a commemorative Giants mug that had miraculously escaped the carnage ’til now. It flew across the room and shattered against the far wall. The manticore’s satisfied purr reverberated through the small apartment, shaking the drafty windows in their ill-fitted casings.
“I don’t think it’s a monster thing, Mars,” said Simon, levering one of the sofas upright and arranging the cushions so that only their least-ragged edges showed. “I think it’s a cat thing.”
Marshall eyed the manticore with baleful regard.
“Evil,” he whispered.
The manticore sneezed, coughed, and horked up an enormous furball directly onto his new shoes.
Microwave-verse
Bonfire by froodle, in which Pinocchio is ruined forever
Gingerbread by froodle, in which there is a witch in the Eerie Woods
Leaves by froodle, in which plantlife finds Marshall entirely too enticing
Offspring by froodle, in which there are dragons
Based on Your Previous Purchases by froodle, in which Mars should really pay attention to Amazon's reccomendations
Housework by froodle, in which a rota cannot be agreed upon
Breakfast by froodle, in which Dash's attempts at cookery do not go well
Ghost in the Machine by froodle, in which a new laptop opens an old wound
Consequences by froodle, in which an encounter with leprechauns leaves the boys very tired indeed
The Microwave by froodle, in which Andrea Fantucci returns to Eerie after a considerable absense
The Eldritch Abomination in the Room by froodle, in which the microwave is most definitely not discussed
Basic Household Maintenance by froodle, in which manticores are inconsiderate houseguests
Torrential by froodle, in which there is a storm, and the boys eat ice-cream
Linens by froodle, in which Dash X makes a bed
Night Music by froodle, in which Simon is woken by a nocturnal visitor
In For The Night by froodle, in which Dash refuses to leave the house
Hound by froodle, in which Simon makes a friend
Errands by froodle, in which Simon has a to-do list
Waterlogged by froodle, in which Eerie experiences heavy rainfall
Wildlife by froodle, in which Simon and Marshall go to the beach
Rainbow by froodle, in which Dash fails to properly appreciate Michael Flatley
Jackolantern by froodle, in which the local pumpkin patch has a problem