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Twisted Freaks Need Love, Too – RESULTS!

Aaaand it’s over! Just to re-share, these were the stories we were voting on:

 

Camel spiders, suggested by Stella

Living brain, suggested by Flo

Cordyceps fungus, suggested by Bri M

Flesh-eating disease skeleton, suggested by Alyssa

Twisted earth elemental, suggested by Elie

(Legal foo: All stories and characters © Lia Habel 2012.)

 

And the results, as of 11:50 a.m. on February 21st, 2012 ARE:

Skeleton! - 36%, 118 votes!

Camel spider! – 19%, 61 votes!

Earth elemental! – 16%, 53 votes!

Fungus! – 14%, 47 votes!

Brain in a vat! – 14%, 46 votes!

 

Which means that our winner is Alyssa! Thanks so much for your ideas, for your votes, and for your kind comments (although I am merely the instrument; I think all the credit is due to the wonderful participants who came up with the wild ideas!). This was fun – maybe we’ll do it again sometime!

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Swag and You – What’s Your Opinion?

Hi guys! Now that the madness of editing has passed (for now), I have time to sit down and address some promotional issues. One thing that keeps popping up is the availability of bookmarks, signed postcards, bookplates (basically, my signature shipped straight to you!), and other paper swag.

Now, I would absolutely love to be able to send out swag willy-nilly. I think it would be great fun. I love getting things in the mail (I love the old-fashioned nature of mail, period) – it comes from being somewhat reclusive, and from spending parts of my childhood in semi-remote areas. I just love the thrill of finding something special in the mailbox. And I love sending people little presents. So what’s the issue? Why am I not doing this as we speak?

The issue is cost. Unless they hit the big time, unless they’re really lucky, writers are not rich people. I am incredibly fortunate that my writing has gotten me to a place where I don’t have to wonder how I’m going to pay my bills each month. I can barely begin to articulate how grateful I am for that. But I’m still not rich. And all of the swag postage, all of the swag production costs – those are mine to shoulder. My publishing company doesn’t reimburse me for such things. Luckily enough, I just did my taxes, so I can tell you that I spent exactly $512.71 on postage last year (shipping out free books, swag, things for contests, etc.) and $550.85 on the production/purchase of the swag itself. That’s all out of my own pocket, and that’s without advertising the availability of swag. I’m sure there are authors out there who pay much less. I’m sure there are authors out there who’d glance at these figures and tell me I’m being miserly and cheap. (I often have that fear, myself – that I’ll be seen as cheap for worrying about costs this way.)

Now, I’m  happy to pay for bookmarks and to provide things for contests. I like the chance to make people happy, and it is good marketing. But there also comes a point where I begin to worry about costs, simply because – hey, I’m human. And this is the real world. This is why I haven’t yet made a program available whereby I ship out paper swag, because I’ve been trying to come up with a way to ethically balance the cost of production and shipping. Yes, ethics is a huge part of this. Personally, I never want to accept money for a signature, or money for a piece of promotional swag. That seems wrong to me. There’s also the fact that I have (thankfully!) fans the planet over, and shipping outside of the US is very expensive.

So, it’s been hard trying to come up with options. Which is why I’m turning to you guys. What are your ideas for how we could accomplish a program like this? What do you think is fair? What do you think would be absolutely unfair? Am I just being cheap?

Here are my ideas thus far:

1. A giveaway cap. Either a budget (“I can only do up to $50 a month in shipping/purchasing”) or a quota/waiting list (“I can only accept 5 US names and 2 non-US names a week for paper swag mailings”).

2. A PayPal account where people can pay for US postage per swag mailing, with me eating the cost of non-US mailings. (I don’t like this option; it feels too much like accepting money.)

3. A SASE program where people can mail a self-addressed-stamped-envelope to a PO Box, which I will return full of swag. (I think this is the best option, but it is potentially cost-prohibitive for non-US fans.)

One of the things I’m most proud of as an author is the fact that many people have told me “you are so kind and giving.” I’m always amazed when people act like I’ve gone out of my way for them, because I always feel like I’m only extending common courtesy. I want to continue that trend, and I want to make as many people happy as I can – but some icky “real life” things have to be taken into consideration, too. So I’m really looking forward to your input on this issue!

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Twisted Freaks Need Love, Too – Part III

And we’re back for the voting round!

For those of you coming in new to this contest, here’s the gist. A few weeks ago, I asked for suggestions for twisted, weird, freaky, disgusting creatures and concepts – things people could never imagine being presented as a YA romantic hero. Out of the many amazing suggestions, I chose five to build upon. Originally I was going to present these young gentlemen as one-page concepts, but I ended up writing four pages for each. That’s how amazing these ideas were to work with. I tried to take each one seriously and do a bit of world-building, too.

So now, you get to read and vote for your favorite twisted freak until February 21st! The gent who gets the most votes will snag the person who suggested him:

  • A signed copy of the Dearly, Departed audiobook – 17 hours of actors pretending to be my characters! (Yes, actors - there are five narrators, so the entire thing sounds like a vintage audio play.) I figured this was a little different, as the book’s been going out a lot.
  • Signed posters, bookmarks, stickers, whatever else I feel like throwing in there.
  • CANDY!
  • Maybe some other fun stuff, too? Hmm?

So, without further ado, here we go. Links to the individual stories are below, followed by the polling area. I hope you enjoy!

 

Camel spiders, suggested by Stella

Living brain, suggested by Flo

Cordyceps fungus, suggested by Bri M

Flesh-eating disease skeleton, suggested by Alyssa

Twisted earth elemental, suggested by Elie

(Legal foo: All stories and characters © Lia Habel 2012.)

 

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Twisted Freaks Need Love, Too – Twisted Earth Elemental

This story is for the 2012 Valentine’s Day contest, Twisted Freaks Need Love, Too. All stories and characters © Lia Habel 2012.

Elie’s original comment: “Lia, I wasn’t going to enter this, but for some reason my brain kept reeling through ideas all day long. So here it is…

a creature (man or something) that did something horrible ? to be cursed by the Earth. Here are his characteristics…
*hair of snakes or dead vines
*face/body formed by squirming insects like maggots or roaches
*fire raging inside him (like Earth core) that causes him to have breath of rotten Earth (compost) and frequently belch rot.
*To the touch he is cold as ice (poles)
*Eyes (only thing that shows his humanity or emotion) swirling blue like the oceans.

Maybe that could provide some inspiration… Happy Writing.”

 

Until that day, the only trees Emily had been familiar with had been the skinny, smog-choked saplings that were planted along the streets of Manhattan, their roots constrained by cages. Central Park always seemed a world away, a place she was unwelcome.

But now she was there.

And a tree was talking to her.

Mama Roach was right. The fumes would get to you after a while.

“Are you all right?” the thing demanded again, bending over her. Sparks exited his mouth alongside the words, as well as some foul, sickly sweet odor – an odor she was used to. Rot. Emily backed up, crab-style, but couldn’t get far – he’d wrapped something around her ankle, something that felt ice-cold through the thin material of her dirty socks. “Did they hurt you?”

“Hurt me?” Emily couldn’t tear her eyes from the thing long enough to spatially reconstruct what had just happened. “You mean the boys I was with?”

“Yes. One of them picked you up. Was wrestling you.”

“He’s my brother. They…” She tried to steady her trembling voice. “We were passing through. I had a Slim Jim…please, I have to go find them…”

The thing’s eyes seemed to widen in surprise – well, that’s what it looked like, at any rate. Emily tried to calm her racing mind, to take him in. She’d apparently been “rescued” by a confused tree man…boy…thing. He wasn’t terribly tall, but well-shaped, with a narrow torso and strong arms. But his skin was rough, dirt-brown, flaking – like bark. And it appeared to be lit from within, at least in the area of his stomach. Like a log kindling.

And then there was his face. Beneath a mane of twisted, dead vines, inside a vaguely knot-shaped area, sat a face that could’ve disappeared into the garbage-littered N-train tracks, because it looked for all the world like it was composed of insects. It glittered endlessly in the light from the nearby street lamp, glassy wings and chitinous bodies wriggling wherever his expressions dictated – raising the corners of his slit-like mouth, closing like eyelids over his eyes. And those eyes…they looked like miniature worlds. Like cold, blue oceans.

For a minute, Emily found herself staring. She didn’t return to herself until she felt her ankle being freed, and thought to glance down. A vine. It was retracting into his leg, like some kind of worm into its hole.

“What are you?” she whispered.

The thing didn’t respond. In fact, it turned and took off, leaving her alone beside the park pathway. For a second Emily sat there in wonder, unsure what had just happened.

The next moment she was up and giving chase, because she had to know.

Emily was a skilled hunter of track rabbit – rats. They formed a whole food group for her people, the homeless who lived miles below Manhattan, in the secret warrens alongside and below the subway system. She could see well in the dark, she was fleet and never stumbled, and so she put those skills to use aboveground for the first time, rushing after the thing. “Hey! Wait!”

He didn’t. He seemed determined to get away. Emily hopped rocks and ducked tree branches as he fled deeper into the undergrowth, away from the lights, away from her brother and his friend. Her lungs burned, her legs ached, her rotten sneakers and black pigtails flopped around annoyingly, but she wasn’t about to let the thing off so easily.

After a life of hardship, she’d just been presented with her very own goddamned fairytale, and she wasn’t about to let it slip away into the night like some kind of two-bit vampire.

As she took a massive, sucking breath, forcing herself to push on, she found herself flying through the air and smacking into the ground again. Gasping, she realized that the creature had sent out a snare of vines, and she’d run right into them. It stood beside her once more, growling. Honestly growling. “Why are you following me?!”

“I’ll leave…if you tell me…what you are,” she panted.

The thing withdrew the vines, all of them whipping angrily. “You little fool. You don’t know, that’s the point. I could kill you.”

“You saved me…before. Or thought you did. Sorry…for extrapolating.”

The thing blinked with a pair of roaches. “Extrapolating?”

“Inferr…forget it.” Mama Roach and her books were far away, now. Pushing herself to her feet, Emily shook her head to clear it. “Just tell me what you are. I’ll go. I won’t tell anyone. Trust me, even if I did, no one would believe me. I’d just be another rambling homeless person.”

“Homeless?” The thing held still for a moment, then stepped nearer. There was little light, and it was harder to make out his face. The smell was the same, though. “I don’t think your people have a word for me.”

“Then use ten.”

The thing growled low again. Emily couldn’t help but admit that the sound was oddly attractive – it sounded ancient, for some reason. Like the settling of the plates in the earth, like the roar of a volcano. “I was human once. I acted the fool, and was cursed. Now I guard this little plot of land, watch all the earth around it die. Satisfied?”

Emily, amazed, tried to piece this together. “You’re some kind of…spirit? Earth spirit?”

The thing stepped closer and reached out for her hand. His hand was harsh, rough – his bark-like covering not at all fleshy. And he was so cold. “Do I feel like a spirit?”

“No,” she admitted, looking into his eyes again. “When did this happen to you?”

“Centuries ago.” He let her go, and appeared to be thinking. The insects making up his face scurried about, fast as lightning, like calculations at the heart of a computer. “Then they called me Cage.”

“Cage?” Emily finally caught her breath. “I’m Emily.”

“I don’t care.” He turned his back to her. “You must go.”

“Why? I mean…”

Pain entering his voice, he declared, “Because I live alone. It was meant to be that way.” This simple reason given, Cage, the elemental, the spirit, the living compost pile, whatever he was, took off again.

Too tired to pursue, Emily sank down to the earth and stared after him, her face hot.

Her summer had suddenly gotten a whole lot more interesting.

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Twisted Freaks Need Love, Too – Flesh-Eating Disease Skeleton

This story is for the 2012 Valentine’s Day contest, Twisted Freaks Need Love, Too. All stories and characters © Lia Habel 2012.

Alyssa’s original comment: “So, there is a Pollen that when it touches flesh it makes you break out all over with bubbly boils that oozes and makes all the flesh melt off the bone, meanwhile that gross thing is going on that person is vomiting up all their organs and insides. so the end result is a Walking Skeleton. But over time do to the pollen, the bone dissolves in a fizzy way. yummy isn’t it?”

 

The Pollen Gardens were beautiful. Every morning Elysia Motts liked to take a moment to admire them before her shift, and so ascended the high white tower in the southeastern corner via the sub-basements, running up and up the spiral staircase until she emerged, panting, on the open observation deck.

Even Elysia, whose mother had engineered the Gardens and directed their construction over centuries, had no idea how large they actually were. The Wardens preferred to keep the Walls hidden from the Refugees, considering it far better that they should imagine they lived in a limitless world and not an elaborate quarantine area. Elysia had only been working in the Gardens for two months, wasn’t even allowed to refer to herself as a Little Warden, and therefore carried no Keys and knew few secrets.

There was a breeze today. Elysia leaned over the wrought iron railing, taking in the fiery shade of the trees far off, the aurora colors of the vast flowering meadows, chasing the little brown and gray walkways with her eyes. She was seventeen and fleshy, not a twig and not Rubenesque, her stays nipping in her waist and her panniers emphasizing her hips. Her copper hair was loose and trimmed with a single ribbon of flopping lace, her mother disinclined to have it set in the fashionable sausage curls that other young ladies were given to wear, and her gown was plain. Elysia, like High Warden Motts, preferred to spend her days working and striving. Anything else seemed petty, especially when you were immortal. Only immortals were immune to The Pollen.

Elysia looked forward to the day when she was permitted to carry Keys. To be able to unlock the earth, the doors hidden in the foliage, even perhaps bare a section of Wall just to see that it was actually there – these ideas greatly excited her.

For now, though, she had work to do.

It took her ten minutes to exit the tower and complete the short walk to Noville, one of the nearby tiny villages. There she’d been helping Mr. Scaddin organize his sloppily-kept bookshop for the last few weeks. Her training as a Warden hadn’t yet reached the point where she was in charge of guarding Refugees or fixing anything behind the scenes; she was still in the “getting to know the way around” stage. She’d herded cattle, strained cheese, read to old ladies, helped construct a stage for a play, and been halfway apprenticed to a cartographer before being snagged by Mr. Scaddin. She did whatever she could to help, no matter what form that help took from day to day.

She liked Mr. Scaddin, though. Even if he was bat-brained. The fact that he still had his brain at all was a wonder.

She soon found his shop and entered, the bell above the door ringing. There was no one immediately to be seen, and she figured he must still be abed. Tightening her hair ribbon, she ducked under the flip-top counter and opened the brass cash register, wondering if he’d remembered to remove the gold coins from the previous day and put them in his safe. As she found that he hadn’t, and did a quick count, she heard the door behind her opening. “You forgot again, Mr. Scaddin. There’re 17 sovereigns in here, and—”

Before she could complete her sentence bony arms, like stone, were wrapped about her. Crying out, dropping the coins, she found herself jerked a few steps back. Soon a cold knife was at her throat. “Who are you?”

“Mr. Scaddin?” she squeaked.

“How do you know my name?”

Turning her head slightly, Elysia saw a face that was not only skeletal – it was that of a skeleton. The Refugees, down to a man, were all victims of The Pollen – a strange and highly contagious form of flesh-eating pollen that reduced their bodies to nothing, caused them to vomit up their organs and their skin to explode in boils, before leaving them ambulatory, conscious, semi-immortal and tinged with magic. They spoke without tongues, saw without eyes. And they normally didn’t go insane.

That’s when Elysia realized that the bones imprisoning her were coated with some fuzzy yellow powder. Like stag velvet. The Pollen itself.

Mr. Scaddin was so old that his had fallen off.

“Who are you?” she asked. “My name is Elysia Motts. My mother is High Warden Motts. I’ve been helping Mr. Scaddin. Ask him.”

After a second, the Refugee let her go. She turned around and took a few steps back, her skirt hitting the counter. The Refugee’s sleek ivory head wasn’t like Mr. Scaddin’s at all – it appeared vaguely malevolent, the teeth white. Mr. Scaddin was like a coffee-stained cup, hard and brown.

“Nicodemus Scaddin,” he said. His voice was raspy. “Old Scaddin’s nephew.”

“Did you just arrive?”

“Unfortunately.” He looked her up and down, and sheathed his knife. He wore a jerkin and trousers, but no shirt. “Sorry.”

“You normally don’t have to worry about intruders here in Noville.” She wasn’t sure what else to say. “It’s a peaceful place.”

“Do the guards make it so?” He said the word sarcastically and opened the counter, stepping out into the dusty shop.

“No. The Wardens don’t control for any but the most serious crimes. They want The Gardens to—”

“Be like the outside?” Nicodemus barked with bitter laughter. “Is that it?”

Elysia was forced to admit, “Yes.”

“And so that’s why there’s money, and quaint little shops, and old hens gossiping in the streets…” The skeleton gestured to the exterior door. It was always so odd to watch them move, seemingly unsupported by anything, their bare bones jangling in the air. “Even though it’s a prison.”

“It’s not a prison.” Elysia approached him again. “It truly isn’t. It’s a place where those afflicted with The Pollen can be safe.”

“Oh, girl, it’s a prison. You’ve just never been in a prison, so you don’t know any better. The best prisons are pretty as anything.” Nicodemus reached out and caught Elysia’s hand, pulling her close. She blushed, despite herself. The bones felt firm and cold against her skin. “But I have.”

“Been in prison?”

“Yes. Because I lived on the streets and I chose to survive.” He let her go, only to tap one of his bony fingers on her lips. “And I’ve gotten out before. And I will again.”

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Twisted Freaks Need Love, Too – Cordyceps Fungus

This story is for the 2012 Valentine’s Day contest, Twisted Freaks Need Love, Too. All stories and characters © Lia Habel 2012.

Bri M’s original comment: “Cordyceps. It’s a type of parasitic fungus. This video put it on my most-grossest-things list. In summary, it grows inside the insect and kills it. Then it sprouts from its body and grows twice the size of the insect in some cases. It sends out its spores into the air to continue its deadly life cycle.”

 

If the Cordyceps mothership hadn’t arrived, Earth would’ve been toast. That’s what Simone kept telling herself as she watched the walls melt and the prismatic ceiling drip from within the paper-thin shelter of her hazmat suit. She vaguely wondered if this was what an acid trip was like. Or being on mushrooms. The Cordyceps were sentient fungi, after all.

Next year, she would not lobby so hard to be included in Take Your Daughter to Work Day.

“And plans are still being drawn up for withdrawal from South Africa, Elder Ett?” Simone’s similarly-suited father, a senior-level medical envoy to the Cordyceps, flashed a quick glance at her. She did her best to scowl at him through the plastic shield in front of her face, even though she was pretty sure the glare would render her wordless protest moot. The ceiling far above the Cordyceps Great Hall was semi-clear and crystalline, and yet also somehow infuriatingly liquid. It produced both a steady, bright pale blue light and an endless rain of gooey droplets, like clear syrupy candy. Simone could hear them land on her suit with a steady tap-tap.

“Yes. But of course, we cannot share particulars.” The Cordyceps official to whom her father had to come and speak wore no protective clothing – only the colorful robes of his people, the beads at the hem clicking each time he moved. Like other males of his kind, he was extremely tall and lanky, with an uneven number of tri-fingered arms – in his case, also three – and a regal, elongated green face capped by multiple antennae, something like a praying mantis’s. Not unpleasant to look at, just – weird.

The Cordyceps were weird all over, though. And useful. After the Ant People of Techlon III had invaded Earth, ravaging cities, decimating nations, the Cordyceps had shown up and offered their assistance. They’d hounded the ants from planet to planet for generations, and annihilating the arthropod scourge appeared to be something of a holy imperative for their people.

If only the way they did it wasn’t so…disgusting. And potentially terrifying. It could happen to humans, too – thus the suits.

“Actually, I must say something to you concerning the fiends in South Africa…would you feel comfortable leaving your offspring here, Dr. Mails? You have so few of them compared to our people, I know.” His voice was rich, like moist earth.

“Of course…Simone?” She looked back at her father. “You’ll be all right, won’t you?”

Simone swept her gaze up and down the long, drippy hall again. It was something like a royal court, as far as she could figure or her father could explain, with pockets of Cordyceps chatting at various points throughout it. She didn’t fear any of them. They killed their true prey brutally, but were always kind and amenable to humans.

“Sure,” she said, with only the usual reluctance.

“My son can look after her,” Elder Ett offered, before turning and calling out, “Taner!”

A tall male in one of those pockets lifted his head, said something to the others with whom he’d been speaking, and drifted over. Due to their long legs, the Cordyceps moved with a lazy sort of grace. Simone actually liked to watch it in action. “Yes, father?”

“Remain with the human girl, if you would? We will be back shortly.”

“Of course.” Bows and antennae-waggings were exchanged – things were sometimes a little too formal amongst the aliens, Simone thought – and her father vanished down a hallway with the elder.

Taner turned to look at her, his large eyes full of curiosity. She noted that he had two arms only. “What do your people call you?”

Simone found herself straightening slightly, as if she could ever match his height. “Simone Mails.”

“Ah.” Taner flicked two of his antennae together. The tops of them were rounded, like mushroom caps. “And do you mean to insult us all?”

Simone blinked a bit. He’d asked the question with the usual Cordyceps mildness – there was nothing accusatory in his tone. “Insult? Have I done something insulting? I didn’t mean to.”

Taner smiled. His mouth was eloquent, the corners chased with darker green. “The suit,” he pointed out, reaching out to touch a wrinkle on it gently with one searching, growing finger. Cordyceps limbs could grow and shrink at will.  “My people have come to associate it with a fear of infection.”

“Well, naturally!” Simone argued. “If I breathe in any of your spores, I’ll…” She didn’t even want to think about it.

“No one here is spawning. No one here is angry,” the alien said. “I think that is where the feeling of offense comes from. No threat has been made.”

“I don’t…” She silenced, attempting to think. “I’m not sure it’s ever completely safe to be around you. I’m sorry to say that. There might always be some chance.”

“I suppose that’s understandable.”

“What’s the stuff falling from the ceiling?” she asked, trying to change the subject. She felt suddenly embarrassed, as if she ought to whip off the helmet and start trotting out apologies. She hated being thought of as rude.

“Oh. Nutrient water. We absorb it through our skin.”

“Is every room like this, then?”

“Yes. We prefer wet environments. We can shield ourselves in dry ones, but it hinders full movement.” He produced his arm, pushing back the woven sleeve of his robe. As she watched, a brown horny substance took shape atop his skin, like a soft bark.

Unthinkingly, Simone reached out with a gloved hand and ran her finger over it. It didn’t give, while the skin to either side did. “How odd,” she said, before recovering with a nervous laugh. “I mean, amazing, but odd for me.”

The alien smiled again. As he opened his mouth to reply, another Cordyceps hurried by, calling out, “Taner!”

“So, do you attend some sort of academy? I’ve wondered that, of young humans.”

“Yes, but…I think your friend is looking for you.”

“Friend?” Taner lifted his head, watching the other alien, who was still calling out his name. “Oh, he’s not seeking me.”

“But he said your name.”

“Half the young on this ship are named ‘Taner.’ Male and female.”

“Huh?” Simone shook her head. “Why?”

“Because our names change as our accomplishments change.” He tilted his head to the side. “Is it not so with humans?”

“No.” It was strange to think about. “We have one name that lasts us our whole life.”

“How odd.” He laughed, the sound rippling. “’Taner’ means ‘death to one demon.’ I have killed one ant. When I kill another, I shall be known as ‘Mitos.’ My father has killed thousands. I hope to surpass ‘Ett’ one day.”

“You killed one?” Simone hoped she didn’t sound as horrified as she felt.

“Yes. During the second battle here on your planet. In…Iran, I think you call it.” His chest puffed a bit, and Simone nearly went dizzy with panic, praying that he wasn’t about to demonstrate. “I timed it perfectly with a hot desert wind. Released a cloud of spores, and caught one right in the face. Because of it, he stumbled and did not strike me with his foot. I watched as the spores drove him mad and took root in his brain. He ran for miles, and I after him, to see how it would play out. Eventually he climbed the tallest rock he could find and his skull cracked open…”

“Oh God,” Simone gasped. “That’s disgusting.”

“Disgusting?” Taner looked hurt, his eyes softening. “But I did so well at it.”

“I mean…I’m thrilled for you, but…” Simone licked her lips. “It’s just…a species thing.”

“Oh.” Taner didn’t sound reassured – and for some reason, his depressed tone made Simone feel even worse, even ruder than before.

“But, um…” Simone leaned forward and touched Taner’s hand again. He blinked at her. “I’m so glad you got rid of one. My planet thanks you. You’re a mighty young warrior.”

She couldn’t have said where the words came from, but the creature beamed to hear them. Before he could say anything, though, Simone saw her father and Elder Ett returning. Standing, she smiled at Taner and walked to meet him.

“Home,” she whispered in her father’s ear once she was at his side. “Now.”

Twenty minutes later, after ten thousand more formalities, they were on their way. As they left, Taner called out, “I will remember your voice, should you call my name, Simone Mails!”

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Twisted Freaks Need Love, Too – Living Brain

This story is for the 2012 Valentine’s Day contest, Twisted Freaks Need Love, Too. All stories and characters © Lia Habel 2012.

Flo’s original comment: “A brain. That’s all I’m saying. I want you to write a story about a creepy, slimy, perverted brain that can read your thoughts and transmit it’s own. Try and sell THAT, Lia!”

 

Margot had never been in a second-generation Remembering Room alone before. At first the quiet stillness of the tech itself disturbed her, and she found herself walking gingerly across the metal floor tiles, avoiding the sharp-edged recesses in the walls, and moving between rather than directly beneath the suspended rows of brilliant white lighting.

In contrast, the brain the middle of the room – that was relatively ordinary.  Organic. Decidedly non-creepy. And Margot approached it and regarded it as such, ducking down in order to gaze into the tank of blue-tinged water in which it rested. Plastic-sheathed wires surrounded it, nearly engulfed it, but the pink and wrinkled flesh was there for her to examine.

This was as far as her mother had gotten. It wouldn’t talk to her. But to Margot, for an instant, it had spoken.

Straightening, settling her shoulders, Margot took a last look at the door and then reached for the wireless pad resting on a corner of the tank. She keyed in her mother’s ID number, then her password. It worked. The room chugged to life, a green glow highlighting the tiles from underneath. Something in the tank bubbled.

Accessing organic storage,” a female voice intoned, as it had during the field trip. Margot held her breath, waiting to see if a link could be established. Eventually, the brains always gave out. Using them as investigative tools was a relatively recent accomplishment, the result of years of legal wrangling, which she’d read and heard her scientist mother natter on about more times than she could reme—

“It’s you.”

The voice came from the speakers in the walls. It was still feminine, computery. Margot set the pad down shakily and whispered, “I’m here.”

“This…doesn’t sound right.” The voice took on a dark tinge, and several floor tiles rose, propelled upward by struts. The floor, the walls, the ceiling were all equipped with sensors and pockets of machinery, permitting the brain to use them to demonstrate emotion, concepts. Like gesturing fingers and flashing eyes.

“Doesn’t sound right?”

“Girly.”

The brain was responding to its own output. That was amazing. “Oh. There are pre-recorded male voices, too. Um…” Margot reached for the pad and accessed that part of the program. “Or do you want a deeper female voice?”

“Male. Please.”

A polite brain. Margot thumbed through, and selected a new sound deck at random. “Try that?”

“Trying…yes.” The voice was clear, healthy, male – anywhere from 18 to 25 years of age. American-accented, in contrast to Margot’s British.  “Much better.”

“Is that why you didn’t speak this afternoon?” Margot asked, setting down the pad. She stepped slowly away from the tank, unsure where she ought to look – at the cameras, or at the lump of flesh controlling them?

“No. Too many people.”

“You haven’t spoken to my mother, either. Dr. Card.”

“No.” The voice paused. One of the recesses in the wall lit up, the light red. “What are these for? Dr. Card hasn’t talked about them. And when she leaves the room, she shuts everything down.”

“They’re to help you gesture. Show things. At some point my mother wants to make automatons that you could control.”

“So not only does she shut me away in a drawer like a toy when she’s done with me, she’d make me play with dolls, too.”

The voice wasn’t happy. Indeed, as Margot watched, an articulated metal arm unfolded from the red-washed lee and flopped back and forth, as if it belonged to a toy a toddler was dragging along. It soon went limp, discarded.

Margot decided to say it. “You were murdered. That’s why you’re here. That’s how they justify it to the ethics board.”

She prayed she wasn’t the one breaking the news to him. After a long beat, her fears were assuaged. “Dr. Card told me that my body is dead.”

Margot’s first instinct was to murmur something about difficulty or being sorry, but then she realized how utterly farcical that would be. Instead she asked, “Why did you call out to me today? ‘Girl,’ you said.”

“I don’t know.”

“Why didn’t you speak to everyone?”

The metallic arm rose and flopped again. “Perhaps I don’t want to be a toy. Something on display.”

“I don’t think my mother thinks that way of you…”

“How would you know?”

The accusation in his words forced her to hush. As she stood in the midst of the room, unspeaking, the floor rippled and roiled toward her feet, as if the metal plates were floating on water and a fish were approaching underneath. She forced herself to remain where she was and let it come. When it reached the toes of her shoes the motion stopped, melted away – vanished.

“I’m Margot.”

“Jonathan.”

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“How did you die?”

“I don’t remember. And that’s why they haven’t burned me, like the rest. That’s why they won’t let me sleep.”

“Would you prefer to die for good?” Margot asked. The question pained her.

“Yes,” the voice answered, without hesitation. “But I won’t ask that of you.”

Margot’s gaze drifted back to the tank, and she wondered if she ought to do it. Just grab the thing, yank it out, throw it on the ground and leave it to die like a slug in the sun. The idea made her shudder.

“You’re very pretty.”

The sudden and unexpected nature of the compliment caused Margot to blush, just a little. “Thank you?”

“Why make it a question?”

“It’s just odd, to be complimented by a brain.”

“I’m not a brain. I’m the person inside it.”

“I’m sorry.” It was the truth. Margot bit her lip, and approached the tank again, leaning her arms atop the metal edge of it. “Here. I’ll look at you while you talk.”

“The cameras don’t go there. I’d rather see your face.”

“Oh, I forgot about the camer…” Margot trailed off, looking again to the door.

“What is it?”

The realization was sudden, cold. “They only do one at a time, and there are no cameras in there.”

“Where?”

“Jonathan….” Margot looked back to the rippling water, to the organ deep within. “How did you know they incinerated the others?”

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Twisted Freaks Need Love, Too – Camel Spiders

This story is for the 2012 Valentine’s Day contest, Twisted Freaks Need Love, Too. All stories and characters © Lia Habel 2012.

Stella’s original comment: “So to you I put forth the challenge.. Camel Spiders, in all their creepy gross and venomous glory…”

 

“Little Ancestors, she’s taking photos.”

“Flash?”

“Yes.”

“Aaaand we’re moving. Come on, Klir.”

The Little Ancestors hadn’t liked light, either – it’d been a major factor contributing to their legend, in fact. Thousands of years ago the Little Ancestors had been made out as vicious man-hungry killers, as eight-legged harbingers of death unafraid to scuttle furiously after gun-toting soldiers eighty times their size, like something out of an ancient video game.

But it hadn’t been blood they wanted. They’d wanted shade. And in the desert, those six-foot-tall, well-muscled soldiers had often been the only source of it.

Klir’s people now rivaled the Sons of Shade in height. The nuclear scouring of the earth had seen to that, radiation giving birth to new and advanced species even as it roasted millions of others. All sentient peoples were now forced to coexist in accordance with the Land Reorganization Treaty of 4011. Most of the time, it worked. Sometimes, it didn’t – in ways little and large.

Camera flashes were a little thing, but annoying. They signaled a lack of cultural sensitivity. Or sheer stupidity, in the case of Miranda Sandwind, who was pure Shade. Klir Duskright had attended the same multi-species school with her since mere months after hatching, and she was still pulling crap like this?

Following his best friend, Ovit Stoneshelter, Klir resettled in another darkened corner of the cafeteria. Ovit immediately returned to his mystery meat and holo-football chatter; Klir watched Miranda, who didn’t appear to be flagging in her mission. She was visiting each table systematically. Each time the flash went off, even if the camera wasn’t pointed in his direction, pain pulsed through Klir’s skull and his eight round black eyes reflexively squeezed shut. Eventually he chose to shield his eyes with two hands, resting his twin elbows on the table.

“So the R-Station Roaches are totally poised to take the cup this year, I think…”

“Ovit, she’s doing it to everyone. It must be for the Year Site. We’re not going to get out of this.”

Ovit’s mandibles clicked together angrily. “Dude, no. No photos, and I am not moving again! Seriously, what is the point of the Year Site? If I wanted to remember any of these idiots I’d suck them dry like juice boxes and mummify them in my own s—”

“Excuse me?”

Oh Little Ones, it was her. Not Miranda. Her. Klir made a conscious effort to tamp his own mandibles down – like Ovit, while his body was fairly humanoid save for the two sets of extra arms, golden brown and lightly furred, his face was a study in alien weirdness, with multiple inky eyes and clavicle-length mandibles. Once certain he was presentable, he turned around.

Behind him stood Everrose Scrapyard. She was also pure Shade, but unlike Miranda she was so friendly and sweet that she never struck Klir as ugly – never had. Just vulnerable due to her lack of an exoskeleton and her sole pair of eyes and her external ears and all that…flesh. All that exposed softness. But Everrose didn’t come across as weak, only vulnerable in some unspeakably attractive way. In a “she’s obviously very eatable, and I don’t want anyone eating her, so I should protect her” sort of way. It appealed even to the eternally shy Klir, who’d never protected a single thing in his life.

“Did she get you? I saw you two move.”

“Not yet,” Ovit said, lifting a bit of meat and peering at it. “Not that she’s not trying.”

“I’ll talk to her.” Everrose shook her head, blonde curls bouncing, and hefted her own camera. “I can get you guys normally? Lighten it in post-processing so we can actually see you?”

Ovit snorted and started to say something, but Klir interrupted with, “Sure.” For this monosyllable, Everrose rewarded him with a smile. She had no fangs. That was so cute.

There was really no smiling to be done, on his end. He tried to round his eyes, a trick he’d picked up in his inter-species body language courses – apparently it made his people look a little less fearsome. Everrose took a couple of quick shots, then frowned at Ovit and said, “Come on, at least look at me once.”

“So much no.”

“Why are you so grumpy?”

“I like to eat in peace. You know how tough this stuff is? I spend two thirds of my lunch period waiting for my saliva to dissolve it to the point where it’s edible.”

Everrose made a face. And Klir considered something insane. Insane because it was utterly unlike him.

Lifting one arm, he beckoned Everrose nearer. She leaned closer, trusting, accepting – she’d always been that way. “I think I know a way to get him to look at you. But I have to touch you to do it.” He felt the blood leaving his limbs, and added, “Not in a bad way. I wouldn’t do that.”

The girl laughed. “Okay, I’m game.”

“Get your camera ready. And don’t scream, okay? Seriously. I’m not going to hurt you.”

He waited until she was ready, her finger on the shutter button and the camera aimed in the general direction of the food-fiddling Ovit. She lowered her green eyes, and nodded once, almost imperceptibly.

Klir took a breath, then reached out with six arms, scooping Everrose effortlessly into his lap. He wrapped her up, nearly chained her against his chest, and spread his mandibles as if he meant to pierce her neck with his glistening black fangs. “Maybe we should start feasting on fresh meat, Ovit!”

The other humanoid camel spider looked up in absolute shock, dropping the bit of meat he was holding. Everrose got her shot, the camera clicking, and then burst into a fit of giggles. As Ovit continued to gape at him, Klir found himself tightening his hold slightly on his prize, savoring the warm weight of her on his knee. She wasn’t fighting him, asking immediately to be freed.

In a bold moment, he dared to draw his mandibles through her hair.

“Klir,” Everrose whispered, resting a smooth hand on his fuzzy forearm.

At first he thought she meant to chide him for what he’d done, and he was half willing to bow his head and take it – but then he saw what’d caused her to speak. The rest of the cafeteria was staring, too. As the weight of a hundred combined gazes started to register, Everrose collected herself. She coughed, and moved to stand; Klir let her go.

“Thank you,” she told him primly, before grinning spontaneously at Ovit. She then scampered away, her camera held high, pausing only to tell a shell-shocked Miranda, “That’s how you do it and not get growled at.”

“That was so gross,” Miranda breathed.

“No it wasn’t! It’s not like he’s slimy.” Everrose peeked back at Klir, then giggled again. “Did you see him lift me?”

Ovit continued to stare after the Year Site girls, before swinging four of his eyes to Klir. “I hate you so much right now.”

“Knock yourself out,” Klir said, helping himself to a morsel of meat.

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Twisted Freaks Need Love, Too – Part II

Okay! After going through the entries (and can I just say that some of you guys should have my job? The entries were awesome!) I created the following long list:

 

Stella: Camel spiders (don’t they scream like banshees?)

Flo: Brain (oh, childhood spent watching 50s movies, how I miss you)

Eve: Centipede (potentially more insectoid than a human centipede, which might be too fanfictiony)

Bri M: Fungus (that video was AWESOME)

Laura: Taniwa (I’ve never heard of this legend before – it’s really cool!)

Alyssa: Fizzy skeleton (for some reason this appeals – I’ve been spending too much time killing Dragur in Skyrim, maybe I want to atone)

Elie: Twisted earth elemental (I like this, for various reasons – seems like a real challenge)

Courtney: Blob fish (how can you not love that face?)

Chelsea: Igor (tons of material here)

 

These ideas struck me as potentially gross and also open enough to really get into and play with. But in the end, there can be only five. And so, in no particular order, I think I’m going to go with…

 

Stella: Camel spiders!

Flo: Brain!

Bri M: Fungus!

Alyssa: Fizzy skeleton!

Elie: Twisted earth elemental!

 

So, on to the next round – the writing! I’ll do my absolute best to sell these upstanding young gentlemen, and be back with you shortly!

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Twisted Freaks Need Love, Too – Lia’s Valentine’s Day Contest

I don’t know why I’m offering to do this, because my plate is so full, but I honestly think it would be fun. So. CONTEST TIME!

First up, what I’m offering:

  • A signed copy of the Dearly, Departed audiobook – 17 hours of actors pretending to be my characters! (Yes, actors - there are five narrators, so the entire thing sounds like a vintage audio play.) I figured this was a little different, as the book’s been going out a lot.
  • Signed posters, bookmarks, stickers, whatever else I feel like throwing in there.
  • CANDY!

And how can you win,  you ask? Well, there’s where you have to prove yourself to me. After reading this article, I joked on Twitter that I would write a young adult novel about an anthropomorphic worm boy – since after making dead bodies lovable, what do you do for an encore? But the more I thought about it, the more ways I came up with for anthro-worm boy to work…

…and that’s exactly how Bram got his start. Because I’m sick in the head. You see where I’m going with this?

So, my Valentine’s Day contest has multiple parts.

  1.  In the comments below, until February 3rd, I want you to recommend the most disgusting things you can think of. I want you to recommend a creature or idea so profoundly gross that you can never imagine it in a romantic (or even friendzoned) context.
  2. I will pick my favorite five ideas.
  3. I will write shorts for these five ideas (a page at most), trying my utmost best to sell these guys.
  4. We’ll vote on a winner. So while I may pick my five ideas subjectively, ultimately my writing will also be judged. I think this is pretty fair.

So, get to it! I want to cringe and cry as I read this list, people!

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