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Word length = 48,000+


    A group of short stories.
    The title is self-explanatory. These stories are absolutely ridiculous.


    The scream from upstairs was brief with a final sound of constricted squealing in the throat leading the listener to believe that the screamer was so petrified that the bocal chords would no longer work. The scream sounded distant, and because of the well-insulated walls, and because of the ceiling, and the noise made by the patrons in the restaurant, Mr. Wye couldn’t tell if it was a scream of horror or a scream of death.
    He looked around the diining room to see if anyone else had heard it. A few of them stopped what they were doing for a moment and listened, but after hearing nothing further, they continued eating and talking as is nothing had happened.
    He put down the menu and looked through the large window at the rear of the restaurant. In the dark of the night he could barely make out the lake a mile away as the moonlight reflected off the surface of the still waters.
    It was a beautiful night—an Autumn night.
    For the twelve years he had lived in Pinedale, he never ceased to appreciate the beauty of the Rocky Mountain foothills.
    He looked toward the door, which led from the restaurant into the room with the staircase. Sometimes he wanted to throw caution aside, push open the door, and run up those stairs to help whoever was screaming. But he never did. It would be an act of futility—and maybe worse. None of the men or women or even children who went up those stairs ever came back.