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Joe R. Lansdale 67-Word Weird Horror Contest Winners : Day 2
© RevolutionSF contest survivors
April 06, 2010

We got your winners right here for RevolutionSF's Best of Joe R. Lansdale contest. Your challenge: Write a weird horror story in 67 words.

So many of you whomped up good ones that we're spreading the love for five days. One winner per day wins the book, and we post a few excellently weird runners-up.

Today's book winner

"Tangled Hearts"

Battle ends, men scream. Night falls. Severed legs walk slowly to a pile, followed by crawling arms, which form a giant shape with multiple arms and dozens of legs, hundreds of fingers. A voice wails "never again," but a louder voice commands the arms to commence firing; the body disintegrates.

A mutilated head rolls out. "Told you to shoot that bastard in the mouth." -- Gay Fifer

Excellently weird runners-up

"New Job"

Day 1: Typical first day bullshit. So and so's in charge, here's what's expected of you blah blah blah.

Day 2: Meat and potatoes of the job. How to secure a deal, how to move product.

Day 3: Trained and ready to go. First deal surprisingly easy. Bastard screamed like hell, but I got the kidneys. Six more by Friday and I'll be sitting pretty. -- Robert David Thomas

"Thank You for Your Submission. Unfortunately, It Does Not Meet Our Needs at This Time. We Wish You the Best of Luck in Your Future Writing Endeavors"

A serial killer stalking horror magazine editors. What a cliche piece of shit. No SASE, so into the shredder. It wasn’t until he licked the envelope containing the rejection letter, however, that he felt the sting of the hypodermic. -- Scott Nicolay


“It's biblical, Man, it's the end times.” James was never the most stable guy.

“I don't recall any prophesy in the bible about any of this,” I replied. I flicked my dead butt out into the overgrown drainage ditch.

“Well, Maybe Psalms or something. It's definitely Old Testament. Out of Moses?”

“Shut up and grab a shovel.”

And meat rained down as sand. -- Lou Yuhasz

"The Swarm of the Clowns"

He appeared from out of the woods like an illusion, did the clown. He moved towards my back porch, making to draw the butcher knife from the waistband of his billowing pants. I pulled the trigger of my shotgun and blew his grease-painted face off.

He was not the first clown I killed that night. He wouldn't be the last. -- Jesse Janicki

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