Best Medicine

/by

by Evan Baughfman

State of the world’s got me in a deep, dark hole, so my doctor’s prescribed me

SMYLOTO®. Helps me find joy in unlikely places. Before this, I hadn’t laughed in months.

Last week, I saw a kid plummet from a park slide, split his skull apart. My giggles drowned out ambulance sirens!

On Monday, some drunk stumbled into traffic, got flattened by a truck. I chuckled—snorted—so violently, my nose bled!

Yesterday, fire obliterated a neighbour’s home. Smoke and snickers brought me to tears!

Tonight, I’m in an alley, knife ready, awaiting passerby.

Eager to make my own happiness.

Evan Baughfman

Evan Baughfman is a middle school teacher and author. Much of his writing success has been as a playwright. A number of his scripts can be found at online resources, Drama Notebook and New Play Exchange. Evan also writes horror fiction and screenplays.

Wild Laughter in the Throat of Death

/by

by Scott O’Neill

The Night Guard trudges his morose rounds through the dungeon. “Prisoners, my very soul aches. I’ll free whosoever makes me laugh!”

Sullen silence.

Then, a knock-knock joke croaks through shattered teeth.

“Not funny.”

Puns wheeze from a thumb-screwed thief.

“Not funny.”

Finally, a raunchy jest about lusty widows coaxes chuckles from even the most demoralised prisoners.

The Night Guard laughs, taking out his keys. His mirth builds into howling paroxysms.

He drops dead.

“Too funny?” wheezes the punster.

The raunchy joke’s teller stares at the keys, just out of reach. He cackles brokenly as madness slithers past his shattered hope.

Scott O’Neill

Scott writes reports and memorandums by day and speculative fiction by night, with short works published by various presses. You can find him on the socials as @wererooster.

When Things Heat Up

/by

by Tim Law

Sally, Michelle, and Tiffany. That trio made my high school years hell. The queens of the school whose laugh haunted me throughout my early adult years. Tiff was the worst. Those few friends I had turned against me thanks to her lies.

She walks into the studio, Smyth, about to become Brown.

“Just a lightly sun kissed look…” she orders, no please.

I titter when I get her locked in place under the glowing light. Each turn of the dial and my laugh grows.

“Be sure to recommend us,” I say sweetly as they wheel Tiff out, her bandages oozing.

Tim Law

 

 

 

Relieving Laughter

/by

by Andreas Flögel

Smoking gun in hand, Jack stood in the children’s room.

The sight of his shot-down sons was horrifying. Knowing this had been the only way to spare them further suffering offered no comfort.

The ‘laughing virus’ (no one could remember the scientific name) was deadly and extremely contagious. Those infected died from hours of painful, convulsive spasms of uncontrollable laughter.

A thought came up: Laughter from the children’s room – had Jack overreacted?

This idea made him giggle, then laugh out loud.

Relief washed over him, despite the cramps that made it hard to lift the weapon to his temple.

Andreas Flögel

Andreas Flögel thinks laughter is not always deadly. But if you want to play it safe, a subtle smile is your best bet.

Website: dr-dings.de

 

 

Falling on Deaf Ears

/by

by Laurence Croft

Tom used to play a cruel joke on me: he would put his hand in front of his mouth, preventing me from lipreading, then say stuff that made his mates laugh. I’ll never know what he said, but their mockery made me so miserable that I ended up on sertraline.

So, one evening, I got my own back. I spiked Tom’s drink, then tied him to a chair in the basement.

“What’s the difference,” I said, when he came to, “between Tom and tears?”

I cackled gleefully, relishing my own wit. Then I brandished the knife.

“Tom has no ears.”

Laurence Croft

Laurence Croft is a writer from London who now lives in Heidelberg, Germany, where he works as a tour guide. His fiction has appeared in the Dark Lane Anthology, Creepy Podcast, The Satirist, and Sci-Fi Shorts.

 

 

Cracker Jokes

/by

by Corinne Pollard

Cracker jokes aren’t funny. Yet when it flutters out from my paper hat, I feel obliged to read it out loud.

“What do you call an elderly snowman?” I pause. “A puddle.”

Most groan, some roll their eyes, but Aunt Iris, who’d been at the sherry, laughs.

I smile at her silliness, watching as her cheeks grow redder, until…BANG!

She vanishes, and my vision darkens. I wipe her blood off my face and realise the table is swimming in it.

I spot her eyeball floating in the gravy boat and her ear in my champagne glass.

Cracker jokes aren’t funny.

Corinne Pollard

Corinne is a UK disabled horror writer who loves to dabble with drabbles. Follow her online: @CorinnePWriter

Getting the Last Laugh

/by

by Jeff Currier

For Max, it began as a low rumbling chuckle. For Helen, a delicate tittering giggle. Inevitably though, it slowly swelled, gleeful chortling burgeoning into gut-clenching rambunctious hilarity.

Like all laughter, it was contagious. It spread unchecked, a convulsing wave of mirth, drowning the entire world in uproarious pandemonium.

They tried regaining control. But through their rising trepidation, their desperate howling tears, the unbridled raucous cachinnation only grew. Mutated. Into hysterical cackling terror.

Abruptly Max collapsed, a broken empty harlequin, his prefrontal cortex cerebral tissue all consumed. Helen, and everyone else, soon followed. The brain parasites had finally gorged themselves silly.

Jeff Currier

Jeff writes little stories. Find more @jffcurrier on X or Jeff Currier Writes on Facebook.

 

CAPTCHA’D

/by

by Liam Hogan

“Select squares with TRAFFIC LIGHTS.”

My fist slammed down. I muttered a sorry and the internet cafe owner retook his stool. But bloody hell! This was my third CAPTCHA. All I wanted was a cheap flight, and the damned system kept kicking me back to the beginning like it was trying to keep me here.

I entered the stolen credit card details again and watched the icon spin.

A picture of a field appeared, dividing into a grid.

“Select squares where there are BODIES BURIED.”

“Yes!” I crowed, knowing I’d got this one right.

Flashing blue lights rewarded me.

“No…”

Liam Hogan

Liam Hogan is an award-winning short story writer, who dabbles in drabbles.

Website: happyendingnotguaranteed.blogspot.co.uk

 

Needs Breakfast

/by

by Evan Baughfman

Andy hasn’t eaten. Never a good idea. Empty belly means “hanger” consumes the best of him.

In the company parking garage, Andy finds a freshly installed vending machine. He inserts a few coins. Pushes buttons.

The machine whirs. Doesn’t drop the desired pastry.

Cursing, Andy kicks, dents the machine. Shoulder-checks the contraption. Wallops its glass front, spiderwebbing cracks.

Something growls.

Not Andy’s stomach. The machine.

Its delivery slot opens. A tongue snakes through, gripping Andy’s ankles, pulling him in—folding him, crunching him. Every last bite.

Soon, the machine offers a new treat.

A scarlet confection, simply labelled, “Sour Candy.”

Evan Baughfman

Evan Baughfman is a middle school teacher and author. Much of his writing success has been as a playwright. A number of his scripts can be found at online resources, Drama Notebook and New Play Exchange. Evan also writes horror fiction and screenplays.

 

A Matter of Cleanliness

/by

by Andreas Flögel

When Peter called for the waiter, the anger in his voice was indisputable. He held a fork at the lower end, pointing it at the staff member.

“I know this is no five-star establishment. Nevertheless, this is simply unacceptable. The cutlery is dirty.”

The waiter leaned in to inspect the fork.

“I apologise, sir. I cannot detect any contamination, but I would be happy to replace it for you.”

Peter thrust the fork into the waiter’s eye.

“Surely you’ll agree that, of course, cleanliness is key. In your case, a dirty fork poses an additional risk of a nasty infection.”

Andreas Flögel

Andreas Flögel keeps his calm, always. You hear me? ALWAYS!!!!

Website: dr-dings.de