The bean, it must be found. For MHD's Fairytales contest.

I have no idea why I wrote this. All I can say in my defense is that it seemed like a good idea at the ti--wait no that's a lie, I said, repeatedly that this was stupid and shameful every time I mentioned working on it.

The truth is I needed to publish something before the end of the year and there is CLEARLY a burning need for wolf stories in the psyche of children using the internet. But then they write them badly, or make their wolves behave like clans of cats. So here is a simple straightfoward story of a young wolf leaving his pack in search of a better life. Maybe no one will ever feel the need to write another one now, or if nothing else maybe this will give them ideas for how to do it in slightly more minimum-standards-meeting ways.

Final conclusion however is that writing about some dumb animal with no agency is not something I'd recommend.

If you don't know what this is for, then it isn't for you.

The prompt: "There is something wrong with your dog." Vote here!

Story B: Not a Dog's Chance Sun is starting to set as the blue crossover rolls onto a driveway attached to Becky’s suburban house. And yet it’s only after her father stops the car, causing her to almost drop her phone as she’s yanked forward by her greatest enemy: physics that she realizes they’ve arrived. “Fu- crap,” she just barely saves herself from a different, perhaps worse kind of accident. With slight panic in her eyes she looks up and meets a pair of squinting blue eyes looking at her through the rear view mirror, but a look is all she gets this time. Seeing as she got a pass, she decides not to poke the bear sitting in the driver’s seat. Still she’s pretty sure he did that on purpose. “Come on, honey,” her mother turns back towards Becky from the passenger seat. “Pass me one of those bags and let’s get home while dad parks the car.” The girl nods while slipping the phone into her purse and passes the heavier looking bag to her mom. The two then step out of the car and head for the porch, accompanied by a whine of lazily opening garage doors. As soon as they walk into the familiarly cozy living room they’re greeted by the fourth member of their family. “Hey Rufus,” Becky’s face lights up as the Golden Retriever approaches at an unhurried pace, his tongue out and tail swinging from left to right, but as soon as she leans down the dog recoils from her. The slightest hint of a growl escapes from his mouth as his teeth show for a second before he turns around and walks away just as lazily as he arrived. The girl’s smile drops along with her shoulders. “Oh dear,” her mother says as she takes a step towards her daughter, but stops just short of a hug. “I’m sorry baby, but you need to be more mindful now. His eyes aren’t what they were.” “I know,” a dejected response is all she can muster while dragging her feet over to the kitchen counter. As she slumps on top of it her father steps in through the garage doors. “What happened?” he asks, but a single glance from his wife makes no words necessary so instead he sits on the barstool next to Becky and gently puts an arm around her. “I know it sucks kiddo, especially on your birthday, but Rufus is at least ten now, and there’s not much we can do to help him.” “Your father’s right,” her mom joins in. “But don’t be sad. Instead think of the good days, like the day you brought him home.” “That one’s debatable considering the first thing he did was ruin the carpet,” The man responds with mock annoyance which does prompt a chuckle from his daughter. “Still it’s true that we made plenty of good memories that shouldn't go to waste.” All Becky can do is nod in response, her vision slightly blurred from tears held back by only the memories coming back to her one by one, starting from that day she found Rufus lying on the street. All the subsequent images recalled makes her grateful she managed to save him with only a stranger’s help, and even more grateful that said stranger never came to pick him up like he promised back then. She wipes the single escaped tear from her cheek and straightens out. “Alright,” her mother takes that as a cue and clasps her hands. “I think we’re all tired after the party so how about we leave all the presents here and go to bed? You can always open them up tomorrow.” “Sure, I’ll keep that one though,” Becky responds while showing a small gold charm she had hidden under her blouse. “ It’s Saint Benedict, grandma gave it to me personally.” Her parents look at each other, a whole discussion happens in a glance before the girl’s mother smiles. “No problem honey. Goodnight and Happy eighteenth.” “Goodnight, mom.” A sudden noise startles Becky awake. Rain pounds aggressively against the bedroom window and there are flashes followed by thunder, but that wasn’t it. What she heard sounded more like something heavy falling to the ground, and like it came from downstairs. Unsure what to do she leans over to the reaches for the light switch, but when it flicks up with what feels like the loudest click it ever made nothing happens. After two more attempts to turn it on the girl gives up and instead starts to scan the nightstand with her hand looking for her phone. Unfortunately that proves to be just as fruitless an endeavor in the complete darkness. “Mom? Dad!” she finally calls out. “I think the power’s out!” After a moment of uncomfortable silence she calls out again and… still nothing. With the downpour being the only thing to reach her ears she eventually grows too restless and gets out of bed. Thankfully her room’s familiar enough to navigate even blindly, with the exception of the chair she forgot to push in earlier and walked straight into as a result. Taking a few breaths to calm her now racing heart she pushes it aside and walks into the corridor, then takes a right. Her parent’s bedroom is right next door, but in this darkness it might as well be a mile away as she slowly shuffles forwards using the wall for guidance. A few steps later she does start to wonder if she didn’t already pass the door as the hallway keeps going and going, her heart beating faster with each inch covered, but eventually her fingers do graze the doorframe and an audible exhale makes the girl realize she’s been holding her breath for God knows how long. Reaching towards where the handle is supposed to be and grasping nothing makes her realize the door’s already open. “Dad?” She pokes her head in while still leaning against the frame, but is once again met with no response. “Mom?” Finally she takes a step inside, then another but almost immediately recoils as her bare foot makes contact with something wet and sticky. Looking down doesn’t help much in this complete blackness with only the occasional flash from behind the window illuminating the room, but eventually she manages to make out the dark puddle formed on the bedroom floor right in front of her. Her gaze slowly follows the stain further into the bedroom and towards the bed on which she notices a person sized shape. “Guys, what’s going on? What’s that stuff on the floor?” She calls out from where she stands, unable to take another step forward without stepping back into the puddle. Slowly her anxiety starts turning into annoyance as she’s once again met with silence as a response. But then another lightning strikes, illuminating the room and Becky’s eyes go wide. A glass-shattering shriek destroys the silence as the girl’s knees turn into rubber and she collapses to the floor, her gaze locked on the pair of bulged out blue eyes staring right back at her. Her heart banging against the ribcage like never before. She recognizes the eyes, but barely anything else as in place of the bottom half of her father’s face there’s a massive hole with his jaw and throat gone. Unable to pick herself up she starts rapidly crawling backwards until she slams against a wall. The impact however barely registers as she starts hyperventilating, unable to look away. Still dazed, she finally manages to rise to her feet and immediately sprints towards the stairs, literally skipping over half the steps as she barrels down, finally slowing down once she reaches the living room and comes to a stop, trying her best to catch a single proper breath with no success. That’s when she just barely makes out the back of her mother’s head who’s sitting on the couch, facing away from the stairs and towards the lit fireplace illuminating the room with a faint, flickering glow. “M-mom… da… dad… dad’s…” Becky tries to speak, but only splinters of words manage to emerge in between the rapid, shallow breaths. She walks towards her mother, each wobbly step a challenge as she circles the couch, but once she’s halfway around it all comes crashing down as her vision is filled with red upon red. As fire illuminates blood. Not even a scream emerges from Becky’s mouth as she freezes completely, and instead she’s forced to stand there and watch what’s left of her mom, sprawled on the couch in a lake of blood. Blood on the couch, blood on the floor, blood on gold fur. Rufus doesn’t even register that somebody’s watching him as he sticks his head into the dead woman’s stomach and rips a piece of her out, blood dripping from his mouth as he swallows the piece and goes back for seconds, and thirds. “Ru-” Ding dong! The sound of a doorbell fills the air, both Becky and Rufus look towards the entrance. The girl’s shock prevents her from doing anything more, but at the same time the Golden Retriever pulls away from his feast and struts to the door. Once there he gets on his hind legs and uses his forepaws to press the doorhandle, opening the doors with ease. “Thank you kindly,” the stranger says as he casually walks into the house, not a single drop of rain on his perfectly fitted three-piece suit. The man takes two steps in before stopping, his eyes fixed on the frozen in place girl for a few seconds, each of which feel like a century to her. Eventually he shifts his gaze towards the couch, but only for a moment as he sighs deeply before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why do you always have to make such a mess, huh?” Rufus grumbles in response before skipping over to a corner and laying down, his head resting on blood soaked paws. “No matter,” the stranger recomposes himself and slowly walks over to Becky, who in response finally manages to take a step back, but not much more by the time the man’s right in front of her. “Hello again, little one. Long time no see.” Confusion joins the bubbling cocktail of emotions overflowing in her head. “Don’t you remember? I told you I’d be back, little one.” Upon hearing those two words again a collection of memories starts clearing up. Rufus lying on the street, not breathing. Becky crying over the dog. The man extending his hand with a comforting smile. “T-that was…” she starts, but can’t bring herself to finish the sentence. “Indeed.” “But, I… I didn’t sign…” “Sure you did. Not literally sign, but those are semantics. I made an offer, gave a price, and we shook on it. Sounds like a contract to me.” “Oh God… mom… dad…” tears start pouring down the girl’s face. “Well, honestly you can blame the big guy for that one,” he says while setting down into the one unbloodied armchair. “Personally, I’d just plunk your soul on the spot and move on, but nooo… I can’t claim them when they’re all young and innocent, but a day after their eighteenth he doesn’t care anymore. Dogs I can’t touch at all by the way, so make of that what you will. Hence I had to shove one of mine into dear Rufus over there. Could’ve found someone with manners though.” Rufus lifts an ear upon hearing his name, but otherwise doesn’t budge from his apparently comfortable corner. “Anyway, I am on a schedule so…” the man snaps his fingers and before Becky’s next tear splashes against the ground the girl crumbles into a pile of dust and ash, a perfectly spherical pink gem left on top of it. He rises from the armchair and picks the gem up, inspecting it closely. “Hmm, not a bad specimen. Alright time to go. Come on boy, I still got twelve left for the night.”

Story A The sunrise cast a warm glow around my living room. The curtains were drawn open to reveal the golden-orange leaves of the maple tree in the yard. I sat on my old, gray couch with a cup of coffee in one hand and my phone in the other. I was skimming some news articles. In a few minutes I would take Byron on a walk, and then I would have to go to work. Just another boring office job, but at least it paid the bills. I could hear Byron’s nails scrabbling on the wooden floor. I poured the dregs of the coffee into my mouth and slid my phone into my pocket. Byron bounced into the living room with his leash in his mouth. He was a ball of pure energy before his walk, and it was contagious. I couldn’t help but smile and pet him before grabbing the leash from his mouth and sliding on my sneakers. Walking Byron was one of my favorite parts of the day. We just went around the neighborhood, but it was a decent sized loop. It was calm outside in the morning, the only time there weren’t any kids screaming in their yards. The only people who were awake were either the runners, who sped on by without a word, or early risers holed up in their homes. It was a pleasant autumn day, slightly warm, but there was a cool breeze blowing. It was going to be hot this afternoon. The kids would be begging their parents for ice cream and a visit to the pool. We finished our loop and started walking back to the house. I checked the time on my phone. I had about thirty minutes to shower and scavenge something to eat. I had really meant to go grocery shopping for the past two days, but I’d kept putting it off. I’d stop by the store after work today. I pulled the keys out of my pocket and unlocked the door. Byron hesitated. I looked down at him quizzically. Normally he just walks right in when I open the door. He sniffed the air and then tentatively crept in. I shrugged and closed the door behind me, taking off his leash and petting him for comfort. He seemed to relax at my touch, and then he pranced off to another room. I dismissed it as Bryon being weird and continued with my day. When I got home from work and the grocery store that evening, Byron was waiting at the door to greet me, like always. I walked over to the corner to set the food down and pulled out some carrots. It was the one vegetable that I had actively liked eating since childhood, and Byron shared my interest. After eating a few without Byron coming over, I called his name. “Byron, come here!” Byron stayed. “Byron, I’ve got carrots!” I shook the carrot bag emphatically and waved him over with the other hand. Byron whined. “Byron, what’s wrong?” I walked over to him, and just like that, Byron was all over me, taking the carrot I had been holding for himself. I laughed. “You’re a silly boy, aren’t you?” I asked, ruffling the fur on top of his head. Byron was weird. You could never know what he was thinking. The next morning I was woken by Byron jumping on the bed. He nudged me with his nose and then dropped his leash on my chest. I shoved him off the bed sleepily and rolled over, still half asleep. He pounced on me again, and when that didn’t work, he did it a third time. He hadn’t done this since I first got him. “Hang on there boy, we’ll go on a walk in a little while. What’s the matter with you this morning?” Byron kept jumping around and started barking. As I forced myself to get out of bed, I realized that Byron wasn’t just energetic. He seemed scared. He was tense and jumpy, his barks less playful and more urgent, like he was trying to convey something. “Hey, what’s wrong? Shhhh, you gotta be quiet; it’s too early in the morning, and I don’t want to get complaints.” Byron just kept barking, thrusting the leash at me with a fervor. I sighed and ran a hand over my face, trying to wake up. This wasn’t a fight I wanted to have with my neighbors, and it was only a few minutes before my alarm was going to wake me up anyway. I grabbed his leash and begrudgingly let Byron pull me to the front door. As soon as we got outside, Byron’s mood shifted. He relaxed and began walking at a normal pace. The sun wasn’t quite out yet, but the streetlamps cast the neighborhood in light bright enough to see the sidewalk and its surroundings. I shivered in my t-shirt and shorts. It had been warm yesterday, but today was a few degrees cooler. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it would've been nice to have a sweater or some pants. I walked briskly to warm up some. I could feel the chill air entering my lungs. It felt crisp and alive. We stopped to watch the sun rise. Normally I saw it from my window and thought little of it, but this morning’s was especially vivid. It was a deep red, like blood rising over the horizon. I brought out my phone to take a picture, but it didn’t look the same through the camera lens. It was less alive, less vibrant. When we neared the end of our walk, Byron slowed down. He dragged his paws and whined. “Byron, I took you on an early morning walk. You can’t complain now. We’re going inside. I haven’t even gotten to drink any coffee, and I can feel a headache starting.” Byron howled, loud and clear to wake the surrounding houses. “Byron! You need to shut up. What is up with you today?” I dragged Byron by the leash to the house and unlocked the door. As the door opened, I felt a sense of unease wash over me. Did I leave something running that I shouldn’t have? I hadn’t used any appliances. I had the strong sense that I was forgetting something, that the atmosphere was off, like the balance had been shifted ever so slightly. Byron whined and hid behind my legs, and for a second I had the strange notion that I should hide too. Then it passed, and I realized that I should really have my morning coffee. Shutting a very upset Byron in the house and cursing the fact that my neighbors were most likely going to slap a passive aggressive note in my mailbox, I checked the time and set about getting my coffee. Byron was running around the house like a madman, barking nonstop. I just ignored him, hoping he would calm down. When he didn’t, I dragged him into the bathroom for time out. I was about to shut the door when he nipped at me, furiously fighting to get out. “No, bad dog! Sit.” Byron didn’t sit. He jumped onto me with enough force to knock me over if I hadn’t been leaning against the doorframe. He barked louder. It was frantic. The barks didn’t have any rhythm to them; they were just spilling out of his mouth as fast as he could manage. “Calm down!” I yelled, trying to think of what could be aggravating him. I forced him into the bathroom and slammed the door. I could hear his paws scratching at the door as he continued to bark. He’d never acted like this before. He’d caused a bit of trouble when I’d first gotten him, but nothing this extreme. Either way, I didn’t have time to worry about that right now. I had to get ready for the day and focus on work. After a few minutes, the barking stopped, but he continued to scratch on the bathroom door until I let him out. When I got home that day, I stood in front of the door for a few seconds, frozen. A foreboding feeling was swirling around in my stomach, a tiny thought curdled with far too much time to dwell on it. What if Byron had been trying to warn me of something? Byron had seemed adamant that we don’t go inside. I’d had the feeling earlier that something was off. No- I was being silly. All I needed was to go inside, relax, watch some TV, and treat myself to the cupcakes I’d bought at the store yesterday. Still, I couldn’t quite shake off that strange dread. I opened the door and was met with Byron lunging outside. He sprinted into the corner of the yard and started barking. Fear coiled in my brain, but I didn’t know why I was afraid. Maybe Byron was just having an allergic reaction to something in the house. That seemed highly unlikely, but I couldn’t think of anything else that would explain his behavior. I would take him to the vet tomorrow, and they would know what to do. I pushed past the strange apprehension and walked into my house. Byron could stay outside for now if he wanted to. I went to the coathook in the corner and took off my sweater. Strangely enough, it had gotten colder all day until it practically seemed like early winter. As I was walking towards the living room, I saw something move in my peripherals. I turned my head, but there was nothing there, just the empty floor. I shook it off and went to relax on the couch. I was just paranoid from Byron acting crazy. I was taken out of my phone induced stupor when it started to drizzle outside. I raised my head to glance out the window. As I moved, the corner of the room seemed to shift as well. I whipped my head around, but there was nothing there. I squinted into the walls, trying to see if I could catch anything that could’ve been mistaken for movement. The more I stared at the corner, the more the shadows seemed to thicken and settle. It was as if they were growing out of cracks in the walls. They almost looked like I could grab them and pull them apart; they seemed like they’d be the consistency of putty. Byron was perfectly content outside from what I could see out the window. It was overcast and strangely gloomy, but he ran in circles playing with one of his toys. I turned back to my phone to detach from all of the work stress and Byron’s strange behavior today. I’d look at openings for the vet tomorrow morning. After some time had passed, I got up to get ready for bed and let Byron in. It was dark outside, and the drizzle had turned to a downpour. Glancing out the window, Byron still seemed okay being outside. It was getting late, though. As I crossed the room, the shadows moved. I froze. Was that what I saw earlier? I watched in growing horror as the shadows flickered and curled inwards like small flames. Lightning flashed outside, thunder boomed, and then the power went out. The only light was from the window, casting a pale glow as the wind suddenly rose to a howl. The shadows were everywhere. I started to run, but they bled from the walls and reached for my feet. They slithered up my legs as I was held in place. They weren't solid, more like a mist, but they had enough substance to grab me. I opened my mouth to scream, but the shadows filled it, choking me. I tried to breathe in, but there was an absence of air. All I inhaled was the taste of dampness. The last thing I remembered was hearing Byron barking louder than the sonorous thunder.

I've been cringing every day, thinking these authors are going to be knocking on my inbox asking me something crazy, like where are their stories. Thankfully, this did not happen! The truth is, while I sometimes am intentionally lazy about things, for the meme, I've had some unexpected family stuff going on the last couple weeks. I haven't been home much and more importantly have not been managing to get around to turning on my computer the times I am here, though sometimes I do talk about thinking about considering pressing the little button. And well okay, some of it may have been laziness. A little. Anyway, just to get this thread rolling, without further ado here is stargirl vs Cavus in Thuderdome 22: No Elaborate Intro This Time. One is a reformed CoGite from Poland, one is a teenage girl who hates Bezro. They will now take turns punching each other, please vote for the one that punches better.

In a conclusion much lazier than the introduction, RK turned out to be carrying body armor, grenades, and a great many guns. Ace was instantaneously reduced to a gurgling pink slurry, charred on the edges. "Oh boy!" RK exclaimed. "I hadn't expected PVP before I even got to the tryouts, that was a little scary!" Sadly, RK in turn was given a surprise beatdown by Enter and DB as he continued merrily on his way, because that is life in the wasteland. However, he still got to enjoy being the author of Story B and the clear champion of this round, and that is what matters most. (I felt like Ace's was pretty well done compared to a lot of these, but losing sight of the theme really did him in with voters, wow.)