I’ve talked before about how dumb I was as a young man (spoiler alert: real dumb). A prime example would be the following story:
In my first semester in college, I took a Biology class. It occurred right after my World History survey course and right before my Country and Line Dancing class (don’t ask). The class was pretty non-offensive, and it was taught by a lovely man named Dr. Doug Jeffries. He was short, bearded, and long-suffering, if only because he had morons like me in his classes. See, back then, I was pretty solidly Republican, with all the weird hang-ups that includes.
Including a revulsion to the Theory of Evolution.
So, Dr. Jeffries brings up evolution in class, and I immediately call him out on it. I am angry. I am feeling righteous. I’m all, “That ain’t in the Bible, yo, so it ain’t true.”
I don’t remember Dr. Jeffries’s exact words. I do remember his tone: weary and a little disappointed. He had more patience with me than I would have.
By the end of that semester, I was a very different person. I don’t think I ever got the chance to apologize for that outburst. I don’t think he would have expected or even necessarily wanted one. I do hope he didn’t spend the next few months hanging out with the other professors saying, “God, that Cottrell idiot. I have to teach him again on Monday.”
He passed over the weekend, I found out this morning. He was a good man, committed to teaching and the environment and his students. I hadn’t thought of that day in his class in years, but I remembered it this morning and cringed a bit.
God speed, Dr. Jeffries. Sorry I was an idiot.
Here at the school where I teach, the Slam Poetry/Literary Magazine Club has signs up asking the students to write three-sentence horror stories. I thought I’d try my hand at it.
Clarice folded her hands primly. Everything was ready. All that remained was for James to take a bite.
I mean, it kind of works, right? There’s a sense of dread there, a sense of anticipation. I think I can do better.
“There’s no such thing as monsters under the bed,” father said as he turned off the light.
“He must be right,” little Johnny said to himself.
“Yes, he must,” replied something.
Let’s try another one:
Charlene cackled. It was time. She lit the fire under the cauldron and waited.
She’d lived in fear for eleven years. Always looking over her shoulder. She should have done that today, too.
James’s hands shook, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. His victim already hung from the rack. It was just a matter now of turning the screws.
What do you think? Have a three-sentence horror story of your own? Share them in the comments or tweet them at me @XEYeti with the hashtag #3sentencehorrorstory.
The match was going fine until the demon luchadores showed up.
Big whoop. Who among us doesn’t have cloven hooves, hmm?
It’s the Kid versus Alyssa for all the marbles!
Another doodle of the Kid.
Carlos felt pretty confident in his beach volleyball skills, until the Devil rose up to block his spike.
Breaking things down is not always easy, nor is it always advisable. Dismantling an atomic accelerator was rash, but that didn’t stop the alien from taking it apart with his mind to find out how it worked.
Another character from the secret project. She’s a flint napper and a devil with her spear.
Wood Kid isn’t great with mornings. He needs a big cuppa to get going.
It’s October, which means it’s Inktober time! Every day this month, I’ll be posting an inked image for fun. Below is Day 1, an image of the Kid from my new secret project.
I have a new book out!
Well, not really. There is a new book out with my work in it, but you’ll have to read Danish to make heads or tails of it.
See, a few months back, I took on a series of commissions drawing comics about children in Denmark living with dyslexia. It took me a few months to complete all 20 comics, but it was a fun and unique experience. I’m glad I got to participate in it, though I wish there was an English version of the book available.