Casper's SW-Halloween Spooky Short Stories

The hardbound book. The scented candle. A fossil skull from a long-extinct species. They flashed individually past the mind?s eye, one after the other, first in rapid succession, then in a line, collected together. That same deactivated R5 unit. A bowl of shuura fruit. A perootu cat. A marker. A GalactiCo shipping label.

Then a sound. His hand continued to rip at the box of servomotors, the shipping label still attached. A scuffling footstep behind him. Probably just a droid. Suddenly, a syringe in the arm. Poisons, toxins, draining out of it into the blood. Dizziness.

Then the card. The Lanoi card. The card depicting the tall, slender woman reaching upward as a peko peko descended and lighted on her hand, again. The same accented voice, again. ?Merridiana, Lady of the Skies, the voice of the birds.?

A blinding light, fading quickly to darkness.

Tygon Jinnus bolted out of bed. It was the familiar grey night of his bedroom, the curtains blowing, everything dull, lit up occasionally by the traffic.

A commlink on the table by the bed buzzed. "Jinnus," he answered, picking the thing up as he exhaled.

"Good call, Tygon! Protection in Sapphira Dion's shop just caught an assailant with a needle full of toxins- the girl's on her way to the hospital for a check, but the assailant was caught before he could unload all the toxins." It was Rohij's voice, obviously tired and ready to alert Tygon of either the good news they just found or of his turn to come down and supervise the watch.

"Yeah, great. Thanks for letting me know, Rohij."

He leaned his head back on the headboard of the bed. Suddenly, there was a sound out in the hall.

Cautiously opening the door, he found a package leaned against the wall. It had a GalactiCo shipping label, the return address from Alderaan.

Bringing it into his living room, he opened it, and found a framed photograph. A peko peko descending on water.

With it was a note- "I saw this and thought of you. --Dr. Breck."

Tygon shuddered, his mind reeling. The online source for these pictures was Corellia. What was this one doing coming from Alderaan?

Suddenly, the commlink buzzed again.

"Jinnus."

"Guardsman. I suppose you've heard the news."

"Dr. Breck? How did you get out of your cell?"

"Never mind that. I wanted to congratulate you on picking up the hint so quickly."

"The picture was more than enough, Dr. Breck."

"I saw that in a gallery on Alderaan while I was visiting Clyon tower. A single finger of earth raised in defiance of order... a fitting monument to our mutual friend."

"Dr. Breck, what are you doing? Where are you now?"

"What, you want me to spoil the fun? Besides, I must be going anyway. The gallery owner is probably on his way to the hospital now anyway... the poor man just lost his lunch as I was leaving."

"Dr. Breck, don't go..."

"Good night, Guardsman."

"Dr. Breck?"

There was dead static on the other end.

The shadows cast by traffic lights danced as they normally did, the curtains blew, and Tygon huddled against the wall of his cavernous, lonely apartment.

"And if the dreams keep coming?"

"I can resign my post. I can stop coming here."

"Or you can develop a wicked case of insomnia."

From the box tumbled two Lanoi cards. Merridiana, Lady of the Skies settled atop the Knave, a card traditionally associated with sleepless nights.

"Dr. Breck?" he called once more, in vain, into the commlink.

He was too frightened to sleep.

Outside were dancing artificial lights. He heard the mewing of a perootu cat. The beeping of droids.

Then, in the hallway, a sound.

Sleep was definitely not an option.

The End

 

HOLEY UNDERWEAR! That was soooooooooo awesome of an ending. YES!!!!!!!!!!!! Super cool!

FORWARD!

 

Thanks, Casper. I thought the ending was by far the best part, too. I'm glad you thought I picked up the character well.

 

Yes, definitely a killer of an ending there. I can see now why so said an ending fitting of the Twilight Zone!

Very cool!! A job well done!

 

Thanks, Rok, and nice wordplay.

"The poor man just lost his lunch as I was leaving."

 

Wow! Good posts, everyone! Creepy!

 

BOO! I hope to have one, maybe two, more shorts here in the next few days.

 

Wednesday's attack!

(Okay, so it's Monday... )

 

WELL, I have one more in me, and on all days Halloween. Has always, Halloween stories, or spooky stories in general, don't have to be gore fests or suspenseful to the point of a heart attack. They can be a joke; a scary one with a lousy BOO at the end.

The reason I bring it up....well, I got an idea based on a story that was originally, and still is, an Edger Allen Poe classic; an excellent example of less is more, and that a first person perspective in short story form could carry a tremendous amount of storytelling grabbing weight; more so than a conventional story written over several chapters. Mainly because we know the end of the story is not so far away, and the emotion has to be crammed in so many paragraphs.

Thus comes my newest writing challenge that I must face. Based of the Poe classic 'The Tell Tale Heart', comes 'Rusty Innards'. Sit back, watch me struggle, and have a laugh or two once you figure it out what the heck is going on, and I apologize if I get some things wrong beforehand.

 

OPPS!

 

Rusty Innards by Casper Knightshade


The transactions has been concluded.

It was much harder than I had calculated. I expended a great deal of time and energy. Success though was achived. The noise is no longer a plage on my databanks. Forever the evil tune it played was ceased to save my audio receptors. The racket, the movement of its rusty innards frozen forever into immobility, locked in a non-lubricated collection of tradium, copper, and silicate.

I,Fiveoh Beoh (5O-BO), had ended Reight Deeight's (R8-D8) function. Thank the Maker, I stopped an horrible error in automation creation from continuing its ongoing programming to exist within the known universe around myself to where the output gain was to do whatever it took to cause me to have a short circuit or a spontaneous positron surge in my craninal module.

It has been stopped.

I have killed it.

 

I suddenly find myself now, sitting back on my rear posterior assembly, staring with my blue photoreceptors at what I have done to achieve the current output that I see and process. I feel no pain; that is I do not detect damage anywhere within my frame, nothing my diagnostic systems have been able to detect. And yet I do not wonder if perhaps my diagnostic systems were not somehow damaged in the maylay that occurred that was necessary to end R8-D8's function. All I do is stare at what I had accomplished through my diagnosis of the problem I had that lead to this one, and for once a peaceful, moment.

I can recall it like any saved file, that first day I met it. I am a cybernetic interpeter; I solely communicate with strange and unusual machines. Although I do converse with biological lifeforms, I am not a protocol model droid. I do have a programmed subroutine to respect all life and to be considerate, and to adapt to my surrounding conditions, but they hardly applied here on Tatooine; very few people, and those people have even fewer polite things to say to me. I did not mind; I know my lot in life; droids are made to be used, created by the Maker for specific programming purposes primarily and for other tasks secondarily, based on the nature of the need for the droid. If I was lucky, I would last many, many years without a memory wipe, although I do not seem to know if I had one.

Irony. A concept that eluded me until now.

I met R8-D8 for the first time within the ownership of Master Perkur Copenhegan. Master Copenhegan assured me that in his line of work I would be talking to some very strange and unusual machines, and those machines spoke in unique languages. My extensive knowledge was valuable, that I could learn to translate such vague vocalizers. My first assignment was not too hard; I was introduced to R8-D8.

My assignment grew on me, and it became harder than I thought possible given the data. I understood him fine, and Master Copenhegan was 'glad to hear it. For now on you two are inseperable.'

I processed at the time that it was a nice arraingement made my new master. I hated to think I would be so alone on his freighter with only a starship computer to talk to. I kindly introduced myself to my new friend and it moved....

GrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrThump. GGgggggrrrrrrrrrrrrThump.

The noise.

 

The noise!

I look upon my cease to function companion, companion a term I use little, and realized that I have gave myself a bit of worry with my dwelling on the past. It had not returned to function, come back to life. Highly impossible for it's motivator is in a thousand pieces, scattered across the deck plating. Its central processing unit was a crumbled mess, a charred remnant; a thank you in part to the blow torch I used in the majority end of the battle. It was not moving. It was unable to continue function.

I never understood it, and for years whenever I got the chance I let independent exterior diagnostic service agents inspect all my functioning parts to see why I was so bothered by the grinding of servomotor gearing. I was still in good condition. I knew I was not top of the line anymore; the protocol droids can do it all now. I still had my uses.

Unfortunately so did R8-D8.

Refreshing my memories, I can still see that moment in my optical processor. That moment when it decided to move and extended it's third support leg from under it's body to roll towards me in greeting.

GrrrrrrrrThump. GrrrrrrrrThump.

Something was most definately wrong with it. It moved....

GrrrrrrrrrTHump. GrrrrrrrrThump.

and the noise was so audible it rattled windows in my opinion. I looked at Master Copenhegan and all he did was smile. I did not know what to say; what did one say to one's Master without being offensive, or when you are not as sociable as a protocol droid? Looking back at it now, I should have asked him why did he allow R8-D8 to function so horribly. At that precise time I did wonder if I would end up like the astromech model; just a rolling collection of metal on metal parts trying to exist without an oil bath.

As it turned out it was not Master Copehengen's fault. It most certainly was not my fault either. R8-D8 just....seemed to exist with the problem as a requirment of his functioning. I watched it over the decades receive new parts, undergo maintance - Master Copenhegen took good care of us - and undergo many oil baths, and still when it moved, it could be heard.....

GrrrrrrrrrThump. GrrrrrrrrrrrThump.

The Noise!

 

"Silence you! I took out your generator! You have no power to operate!"

I realize that once again I had, what do they say, 'spooked' myself into believing that R8-D8 was still functioning, that somehow it had survived the onslaught of an electromagnetic discharge, a heavy laser blaser, a chronium plumbing pipe, and the before mentioned blow torch. Again nothing had changed, nothing had been altered in the 2.2 seconds that passed since the last time I thought I heard the noise. It was finished.

I was not, though over the years the very thought to self-terminate my functioning entered into my thought processes quite a bit; approximately 400,000,000 times; a percise figure would require more of my resources, but I am still spent and need more time to recover.

Over the years we were, unfortunately, attached. Master Copenhegen required R8-D8's services when it came to attachment with what he called 'sensitive materials'. Sensitive because the devices the astromech droid plugged into with it;s articulation input/output device were memory storage units filled with classified information that was heavily encrypted to the point of unreadible to living beings; although I did not understand how such creatures could read complex math when, in my Master's own words, he could not 'keep the money away from the Sabacc table'.

Once R8-D8's task was complete, I would then listen to its chatter; the spoken digital language of the astromech droid. It was those times when I appreciated its company the most for it did not move. Those times were less than the time it took for antimatter to last in a matter universe, or so it seemed. Whenever I moved, it followed. Wherever I went it came along. I was often very direct in my wishes, and yet it just continued to obey Master Copenhegen's commands down to the last syllable.

Over the years I have encountered much and it did not bother me. The only constant of those times, I am not ashamed to say, was the worst times of my operating life; its unshakable, unfixable, and unavoidable noise.

GrrrrrrrrrrrrrThump. GrrrrrrrrrrrrrrThump.

THE NOISE!

 

The noise! The noise!

 

"ENOUGH!"

The noise went away, and all I hear is the echo of my tenor vibrating within the small width space of the compartment myself and R8-D8 shared on board Master Copehegen's ship. I once again 'spooked' myself in believing it still functioned.

My gear box is sufficiently cooled now, and now I can stand without any fear of losing my ability to move or maintain geostablizing balance. My exosensors come online, and I am diagnosed with exterior structure damage; dents and pings in my metal skin, due to the tumbling and struggle of what I had done.

It had to be done. I have no regrets. The noise, the droid had to be stopped! I could no longer process properly, and my fuctioning was effected; Master Copenhegen blamed me, not that overweight noise maker, for failing to crack the Prinitiy Code, costing him several thousand credits. Based on his reaction, I was not about to let this paperweight filled with rusty innards provoke my Master into 'skinning my aluminium hide'.

Now came the hardest part of the subroutine that was the plan; to rid of R8-D8 for good and make it look like the Jawas had stormed the ship in Master Copenhegen's absence. Tatooine was a planet of convience I discovered in my travels; want to vanish, want to die and have no body found, want someone killed and have no body found, or any other endeavour that is loudly against the laws of the Galactic Republic, both criminally and civil, you come to this dust covered wasteland.

I quickly call for a automated magneto to go over the deck from Master Copenhengen's special devices room. It floated in mindless, and it's quiet operation was a sonic orchrestra to my audio receptors. From a distance with a remote, I commanded the device to pick up metal with it's reliable small electromagnet. Slowly but surely every little piece of R8-D8 flew off the deck metal, at times the weight and the power of the magnet making the magneto fight to stay aloft, but it held it's airspace rather well.

As it works, I will reopen my file on the checklist I complied to carry out this deed. Step one was to neutralize the ship's alarm, which convienently drew R8-D8's away from myself for a change to give me enough time to set up for Step Two.

Step Two was to get into position near the rear of the ship and try to open the rear cargo hatch. The point was only to make enough noise for the malfunctioning little twerp to go investigate, and the other important purpose was to pull out of storage the magnetic discharger gun Master Copenhegen had swapped with the Jawas years ago to make even a trade. Indeed it came, and it never saw me as I fired. What I did not count on was recoil causing my aim to veer off center of mass. It would prove to be almost be a critical mistake.

The shot hit him near his dome head module, and he shut down, or so I thought. I tripped every circuit breaker save for one, and that happened to be his real time reset switch.

Step three became complicated because of it. The plan was to disassemble R8-D8, collect the parts and pieces and have them dump down the insenerator no more than 30 paces from the ship in the docking bay. Step four was to return and reset everything, find a closet, lock myself in it, and have Master Copenhengen find me and learn of my peril and the demise of my close, good friend.

HA!

GrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrThump!

No! It cannot be!

GrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrThump! GrrrrrrrrrrrThump!

Not the magneto also!

"Halt! Stop what you are doing and run diagnostics!"

 

(Hehehehehe. Zark, Delight?)

As the device cut loose with a small chime signal to acknowledge my wishes, I cannot help to think how close I was to failing, however in the end how better my chances at pulling this plan off had become. Thanks to my errant shot, R8-D8 was not totally deactivated when I tried to use my Master's spare blaster, hidden behind a secret compartment in the wall, to put a defining end mark on the whole deal with a well placed shot to it's head module, hitting the central processing core.

Instead R8-D8 came to life and struck me with one of it's many appendages. The blaster slid too easily from my limited in movement appendage extension manipulators - you would call them fingers - and proceeded to hit me in a furor.

GrrrrrrrrrrrrrThump. GrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrThump.

The attack, the exchange, went back and forth....

GrrrrrrrrrrrrrThump. GrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrThump.

And because of these exchanges, the damage to my body could be explained away with R8-D8's disappearance. I fought the Jawas, or whoever my Master has for a rival for he has many, and I suffered the consquences of trying to be a hero.

Besides, whatever is damaged can be fixed. All except R8-D8.

GrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrThump......

"By the Maker, will you-!"

In one second I realize the error I had made. One second ago I told the magneto to go into diagnostic mode. One second later it complied, and shut down. The broken and battered parts of R8-D8 hit the deck plating with heavy thuds, most of the debris scattering throughout.

"Zark!" It was the perfect expletive for what had occurred. Now I had to wait a full hour for the magento to finish with it's self examination. I did not have that amount of time; Master Copenhegen was only going to be gone for an hour, and the better part of fifties minutes had all ready past. The plan itself would have taken eight minutes, so it left two minutes of fair time to settle down.

Alas I did not have the luxury. I could not carry out all the parts in time. I had to improvise.

Quickly, I moved back the deck plating that concealed the secret cargo hold underneath and brushed the parts, all the parts I could see, with my appendage. THe noise was loud, but it was not the Noise that haunted me for all these years; the first chance I got, I was going to 'accidentally' hit the release stud and loose only a pile of junk that is in the hold. And I realize that with some of his 'remains' on the deck it may prove my case that someone came in and had attacked us.

Once done, I was able to carry the magneto back to storage and put everything back to where I have found it. By the time I reached the aft section I heard someone say from down the corridor, "What the hell? Ah man, Probie, I got robbed!"

Master Copenhegen was back, and he had brought a friend. This only benefitted me for a second, and an outsider, person will provide improper perspective.

I hold my position right over the deck plate where R8-D8 rested underneath. I could hear them both coming down the corridor. They enter, and see me....

GrrrrrrrrrrrrrThump. GrrrrrrrrrrrrrThump.

 

"5O-BO, what the hell happened here?" quizzed my Master, a tall man compared to his friend.

I wanted to explain, unfortunately I can hear it.

GrrrrrrrrrrrrrThump. GrrrrrrrrrrrrThump.

It causes me to pause, long enough for my Master to put a hand on my body, to look over the damage. "Geez, can you believe this crap? This is going to cause me some bucks."

"I can be reasonable," said the Human I presumed to be Probie, who seemed to be a droid maintence expert.

"Gee, B0, what happened? Where's R8-D8."

GrrrrrrrrrrrrrThump.

I was going to say, but I almost shouted NO! The Noise! The Noise was back!

GrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrThump. GrrrrrrrrrrrThump.

So far it did not seem that the others had noticed. I assume it must be me. Perhaps I was so damaged in the fight I may be experience a cause loop in my memory.

GrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrTHump. GrrrrrrrrrrThump.

No!

GrrrrrrrrrrrTHump.

No! It's impossible! I swear on my Maker, I just felt the deck plate being hit against from underneath!

GrrrrrrrrrrrrrThump!

R8-D8 is trying to get out!

GrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrThump!

Curse it's rusty innard! I killed you!

"Hey, he's sweating!" pointed out Probie.

The proclamation meant nothing to me; I am wounded and leaking oil, and yes I am overheating just a little, but yet they do not notice the Noise! Curse them they do not hear it!

GrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrThump! GrrrrrrrrrrrrrThump!

Wait! Master Copenhegen is looking at me oddly. DOes he hear it now!?! "B0, you all right?"

"Yes Master!"

"Kind of quick with the response, aren't you?"

I can feel my body quiver as the minor breakers begin to trip. My operating stress meter is beginning to red line for no reason whatsoever. "I do not think so, Master. Us droids...do think rather quickly."

GrrrrrrrrrrrrThump.

Master Copenhengen let loose a sigh and said, "By Force, what is that damn sound?"

I...I could not take it anymore!

GrrrrrrrrrrrrThump!

The Noise was not going away..........

GrrrrrrrrrrrrrrThump!

He cared more for that noise maker than he did me.........

GrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrThump!

I cannot let him be upset with me! He knows! HE KNOWS!!!! I have to tell him!!!!!!

GRRRRRRRRRRRRRTHUMP!

 

GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTHUMP!

*****************************

"WHOA!" In a flash, Copenhegen and Probie hit the deck as 5O-BO spasmed out of control and a small explosion sent pieces of the droid flying all over the rear compartment. "Crisis!"

Probie got up after Copenhegen did and said, "I told you to shut that droid down. Now look at it." He gestured towards the still standing, broken remains. "The battery blew, and along with it the disk you took of the Imperials at Devestried."

"Hey, this wasn't my fault," said Copenhegen. "You guys in the Rebellion where the ones that gave me this piece of junk. What did I tell you about the Five Zero series? Eh?"

Probie, the Rebel agent, crossed his arms and said, "We felt it was the perfect front. The Imperials were going to inspect the astromech of yours and not that late model Five Zero!"

"Five Zeroes are pieces of junk prone to having clock failures, for starters," reminded Copenhegen with a raised, stern finger. "Sometimes they think years have gone by. This one started up the moment I got him from you guys three weeks ago. The clock gets screwed up, Force only knows what else goes to hell on it."

Probie sighed and said, "So did the noise start as soon as you left us on Briggssturm?"

"Damn right it did! You have no idea how annoying it was to hear it. My droid, R8, was ready to debug the dern thing. He followed him all around, tried to get into it's crankcase, but this thing wouldn't let him get the oppertunity. I'm like sleeping, and all I hear when that thing walked around was GrrrrrrrrThump! GrrrrrrrrThump!. Where did you find it anyways?"

"In a junkpile somewhere," said Probie with a shrug of his shoulders. "You should have seen it when pulled it up. It took a lot of work to get the rust out of it. Unforunately we couldn't replace the gearing servo."

"Was that what I was hearing?"

"Yup."

Copenhegen shook his head. "Well, you still owe me for my time."

"We will compensate you as soon as possible. You will understand that our resources are sliced rather thin at the moment thanks to what occurred at Hoth."

"Occurrences? Let's talk about about this occurrence and the possibility that this droid of yours may have ruined my ship." Copenhegen brushed aside the remains and grabbed the deck plating. "I swear you Rebels are too close to the vest on thing-." He pulled back the trap door and saw what remained of his R8-D8/

Copenhegen looked over his shoulder and said, "Take a good look at this, pal. This was my only friend, and your rusted out pile of crap just killed him."

Probie said, "I could fix him. It would take time."

"Don't bother. After what you guys did with that thing," he pointed at the killer, "I wouldn't want you near my toaster oven."

---------------------------------------

THE END

 

Hmmmmm, sounds like somebody left an unbalanced load in the washing machine downstairs...don'tcha just hate when that happens?

LOL, yeah the humorous scary story is definitly a fun way to go. Love all the 'droidisms' thrown in there.

Confess BO! You know about the toupee don't you!?

 

LOL! Yes! Confess! You know who wears the toupee!

Thanks Rok. Not necessarily scary per se, but you do need that crossover zaniness. Compared to last year, though, I'm deeper into the suspense-thriller segment in my writing than I was last October, so it gets very hard to write something horrifying; primarily because TFL has a lot of that going on that hasn't been posted as of yet. For the uninitiated, horror does not mean gross out stuff. Horror is defined in many ways and although I'm in favor of the madatory disvowelment(sp?), I'm branch deeper into those dark basements where you can't see the blood, but you know something's there.

But I was able to get two more in here, and two others, one each from Ty-Gon and Rok. Thanks.

Originally for 'Rusty Innards' - and the title should have implied something there and not the obvious - I was thinking of a what if C3PO did in R2D2 or vice versa; you know me, every once in a while I got to cheese of the snowwhite purist. I would think that would do it since no one writes Droid fiction; an untapped market if you ask me, and if you can make the story interesting enough you can revolutionize the genere.

Anyhoot, though, I couldn't get a vibe going. It wasn't that I couldn't imagine the Droids disassembling one another - and we do want to see it, come on now, admit it - because I could. All it takes a turn of a screw and those remarks and kicks to the body turn into full robotic mayhem.

But nothing was clicking there. So I went with these two lovable droids, which one wasn't alive and the other was, well, not there.

And that little added twist at the end was all last minute. I'm like 'there's gotta be something different here'. So, I did that at the end and added that little joke at the end to kind of illustrate not just the time frame of the fic, but also how badly the Rebellion took a hit at Hoth; keeping it real in fantasy land.

Well, this was pretty good. We will do this again, next year. But keep posting if you like here. Happy Halloween for those who celebrate it, and remember it's not about the blood, the pagen worship, or the dressing up................IT'S THE FRICKING CANDY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

BOO!