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Problem of Houses

When their humans left, the houses were left to fend for themselves. Most sank into a state perhaps analogous to a coma, uncaring of what became of them or of what wildlife nested in their eaves.

Some houses attempted to attract or entrap more residents. These were for the most part easily avoided. Mourning dove carcasses would pile up inside the front door, and any explorer who ignored a large stack of dead birds was considered to deserve whatever happened to them.

A few, enraged at their abandonment, became frankly dangerous and had to be burned. In those cases, even the remains of foundations were believed have an unpleasant effect upon the sensitive.

This content sponsored by patrons! Who are probably questioning their life choices right now!

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How much do we have to donate before the mercurial and perverse muses of the gearworld decide to visit again?

Lord, I wish I knew! It may not even be money. I don't know what it would be, though...

It's this sort of dangerously open-ended comment that's going to one day result in you getting monthly shipments of live chickens from patrons wanting to inspire your odder muses.

...on an entirely unrelated note, do you happen to have a mailing address that livestock can be shipped to, by any chance?

I was immediately thinking live fish on an altar, but then, perhaps fresh gearage smeared in oil and WD40 would be more appropriate?

I'm also told that folks who end up with roosters rather than hens are quite anxious to find ways to get rid of them, so live chickens showing up unannounced may not be as far outside reality as it may seem...though lack of sleep would seem counterproductive to creative pursuits.

Perhaps rather than a live chicken, the skeleton of a deceased one... that apparently had a clockwork left wing?

I suspect that would mainly inspire creative writing in the restraining order, however.

I question my life choices all the time, but rarely is it because someone threw a photo and a flashfic in my general direction. I mean, sometimes it is. Usually those photos have a lot more, um, R ratings than this one.

Arrrgh, when I was a wee kidlet, lo those many moons ago, there was an old abandoned cottage on a farm that had been closed down, someone bought the farm and knocked down farm house and most of the sheds, I assume they were going to subdivide, but I guess they ran out of money and the work stopped and the only building left standing was a the cottage.

Even before the farm had gone under the cottage was empty, it wasn't even used for starage, and you know how things are on a farm, it just seemed strange, not even the dogs or feral cats would sleep in there.

Occasionally it seemed that if you caught your eye just at the right time, it seemed like the house blinked, now we all know houses dont blink, so just a trick of the light, right?

Before the farm house was knocked down and after it was emptied, some of the local lads decided that they would have a bonfire and party in the old house, do the usual stuff, apparently around 9 when it was still kinda light out in the middle of summer a whole bunch of em decided to rummage around the house and sheds, looking for stuff, so they're wandering around the farm, calling to each other, carrying on, and a few of the more brave, ie read drunk ones dared each other to go into the cottage, a few stood the doorway and just wouldn't go any further.

One braver ie drunker soul than the rest shouted they were all poofters and pansies (this was the 70's) and bloody girly wankers and that he would go inside the cottage, well he staggered into the cottage and the door which apparently hadn't been shut for decades slammed shut after him.

Everyone is standing around, yelling and banging on the door, and all of a sudden they hear a high pitched scream from inside the cottage and the bloke yelling at something to let go of his leg and stop pulling him.

At that moment the ground kind of shuddered underfoot, and the house blinked, there was no mistaking it, things like eyelids came down and went up again, the the door opened up by itself and the guy shot out, screaming like a banshee and ran all the way home, no one could get out him what had happened, all he said was that something big had grabbed his leg and was pulling him towards the fireplace and that something licked him.

we all laughed nervously and said it must have been a cow, but there were no cows on the farm in the first place, it had been a piggery and no animals would ever go inside that place.

Earthquake, wind and a cow, that's what it must have been. That's what we told ourselves. Earthquake, wind and a cow.

This patron is grateful for all content! Wheeeee!

This patron is delighted. DELIGHTED.

Its the root cellars or basements you have to be especially wary of. The damned things are like trapdoor spider burrows that open up and suck you in...beware of rotting floorboards and cellar doors.

Wow, Ursula. I JUST started working on my first Dark Fantasy novel and I was wondering what made the forest evil.

You just gave me the answer. I will give you full credit.

Houses absorb the spirit of those that lived and died within their walls. A happy house was full of life, laughter and love. The dark brooding house that glowered at the street had only known pain and sorrow. The secret goings on inside its walls taught it all it ever needed to know about inflicting terror and misery on the next hapless fool that stepped over its threshold.

Hang on, I thought all we were buying with our patronage was coffee! What is this strange creative content, and what have you done with the coffee?

"A mathematician is a device for turning coffee into theorems" -- Alfréd Rényi

Perhaps an artist is a device for turning coffee into strange creative content?

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