I wasn't really sure where to put this. I have a few different bizarro projects on the go, but writing the rest of the The Ghost of Fashion Past is not the top of my priorities. I figure as I have a few bizarro things happening in the background, I would post all things bizarro as a separate blog, instead of adding it to Coming Soon.
As The Ghost of Christmas Past is a back burner project (so probably won't see to it until late 2025, early 2026), what is in the video and the text of what I read is subject to change between now and eventual release.
Also if you scroll to the bottom of the page, there's a video with four members of the British Bizarro Community reading from their Christmas stories.
As The Ghost of Christmas Past is a back burner project (so probably won't see to it until late 2025, early 2026), what is in the video and the text of what I read is subject to change between now and eventual release.
Also if you scroll to the bottom of the page, there's a video with four members of the British Bizarro Community reading from their Christmas stories.
(A Scene From) The GHost Of Fashion Past
Fashion Past
A scene from The Ghosts of Fashion Past for British Bizarro Christmas Reading 2024
A pile of dirty fur sat on top of the stone by the side of the road. Humid air pressed down against the creature, flattening both his neck and ear fins. Beads of moisture pooled into droplets and dripped down his broken scales.
Yet, the fur looked dry. Orange light shone down from above, bathing the scene in a dirty halo.
Wind howled through the trees. The orange light flickered and took back its dirty halo. Fallen leaves curled at their edges and twisted around. Blow-dried by howling wind. It picked them up and carried them down the road, but it didn’t touch the pile of dirty fur.
The humidity returned, gathering as moisture beads on the coffin stone until they were fat enough to drip into the crevices.
Orange orbs hovered, twisting around the branches and twinkling like a set of broken fairy lights set to sparkle in only one colour. The fur never was given back its dirty orange halo.
Wet footprints provided a soggy soundtrack as they appeared in the dirt. Far-off voices like a radio out of tune whispered to each other. They called one another mean names.
Sometimes, these were clearly heard, even on the main road that ran next to the hidden corpse highway, along with a horse galloping alongside, or the strange orange lights that appeared between the trees only to zoom away.
Other times, the voices came through as something pressing on brain cells and travelling down nerves.
The shore creature paused and struck out a long finger. Wind licked the webbing and pulled at the strands of polyester he tied around his wrists. Distant voices pulled on loose threads on his Christmas jumper.
The wind tasted his neck fins and the spikes that sparkled on top of them with indifference. Once it died down, moisture beads reappeared and dripped down the collar of his jumper.
He dropped his sack on moist leaves with blow-dried edges. They sighed at the weight. Wet clothes carried in from the beach. Modern clothes, made with modern fabrics. The corpse road hadn’t seen them before.
Orange light illuminated the pile of fur, twinkling its encouragement. An argument between still humidity and angry wind wouldn’t allow for another halo. The wind pulled; humidity pushed with whispers of Get the fuck off my leaves.
The pile of fur twinkled without its halo. The creature couldn’t resist temptation any longer.
Cold and damp stone greeted the creature’s hands with their extra-long fingers and wide finger pads. Beads of moisture pooled in the rock’s crevices where the wind refused to reach.
He tried to force his forked tongue beyond his mouth, but his fused lips wouldn’t allow it, so he settled for a sniff.
Pointy elbows straightened. Polyester sleeves swallowed his wrists as he reached for the fur. His long fingers held a faint green glow beyond the polyester bells and reindeer machine-knitted onto his salvaged Christmas jumper. He was allowed this one garment because the original owner had died.
The fork in his tongue poked against his lips searching for a weak spot in the fusing as his finger pads made their clumsy dance across the coffin stone.
He scooped up some fur with a pause to think about how he’d get it past his fused lips. Half the fork in his tongue found the corner of his mouth, while the other half continued to poke at the centre of his lips.
The wind threatened to take away his finger pad scoop of fur, but settled instead, with stirring the path’s leaves. The footsteps stopped as if the creatures they belonged to wanted to watch this outsider sample the fur.
The horse and rider paused too. Their form forever threatened by the wind that blew down the long corpse road.
Polyester rolled up his arms as he raised his glowing green fingers to the corners of his lips. The wide pads scooped up extra roadside fur.
The fins on his neck stood out as he tasted it. Barbs on the end leaked venom and twinkled in the orb light.
His forked tongue pushed at his fused lips. One half of the fork to each side. It found pieces of fur and pulled it further into his mouth, tasting each morsel on the way down.
A fresh breeze blew down the hidden corpse road carrying with it the taste of the sea and seagull shit. The orange orbs bounced. Silence gave a pregnant ball-gag to the soggy footsteps.
A horse and rider stood back from the scene as an eerie white glow twisted and pulled by the constant fight between humidity and wind.
The fur stirred as the creature went in for another taste. His neck fins stiffened. He pulled his hand back with his other hand wrapped around his wrist. Dangles of polyester string caught stray fur and wouldn’t let go.
The wind picked up fallen pieces of fur and dropped them with the others. It tugged at the pieces clinging onto the creature’s polyester.
Dirt fell from the fur as it lifted off the stone. Paws inflated with muscle and bone that wasn’t there before.
The creature fell back on its long legs, neck gills poking out and wobbly knees at odd angles.
Fur hung from the fused skin of its lips. The wind tickled the creature’s fins as it lifted what remained of the fur and placed it on the coffin stone.
From the paws, legs appeared, pulling in fur and sucking in life from the stone. The creature pushed itself back with its webbed feet. Its tail spine caught on its polyester Christmas jumper salvaged from the sea. A few threads came loose.
The snout inflated next. Orange orbs hovered closer. Horse hooves plopped somewhere further along the old hidden corpse road.
Wind pulled strands of fur from the creature’s lips. It couldn’t release the fused green skin. The orange orbs twinkled as if they were from a broken string of fairy lights set only on the one colour.
The creature stuck its long fingers into the corners of its mouth and pried at the fused skin with no luck.
The last few strands of fur landed on the dog regrowing on the stone. Bells chimed from somewhere near the entrance of the old corpse road. The horse sounded closer. The words its rider spoke remixed themselves on the wind and joined the chorus of out of tune radio sounds.
The dog stood up on the stone and barked. The creature shook with the earth responding with shaking of its own. It tried to stand but became tangled in its own webbed toes and polyester clothing salvaged from the shore and worn with permission from the higher ups.
The dog jumped off the coffin stone, landing only a foot away from the shore creature, tail wagging. It slobbered; humidity beaded on its tongue. A lonely bell chimed.
The dog’s wagging tail hit the creature’s sack of water-logged fast fashion Christmas joy. The shore creature pulled it away, but the dog had it in his sights.
It dug its teeth into the cheap plastic and entered a tug-of-war with the creature. Friendly tail wagging suggested the dog thought it was a game. The creature expressed his displeasure by shooting neck fin venom into the humid air.
Ribbons of toxins couldn’t kill that what was already dead. It landed on the moist leaves and their blow-dried edges with a diluted sizzle and no spark.
The bag ripped strewing water-logged clothes across the corpse road. The dog bounced around with excitement. Orange orbs lost their flicker and illuminated the scene.
The creature fell to his webbed hands and knees and tried to gather up what he could. He was on a quota. Return so many garments to their rightful owners before Christmas morning or he’s fired from the Santi-Claw's Cheerful Elves.
Tail-wagging, the dog saw this gathering of clothing as a game too. The creature stood up and watched the dog. It did a good job, illuminated by the orange glow, but he left all of his spare sacks on the beach. He’d have to go back for more.
The creature walked away. By the time the dog noticed, all of the clothes were gathered into a pile in the middle of the corpse road. It trotted to catch up with the creature.
More bells chimed from the road’s entrance; a different horse galloped closer. A flickering shimmer weaving through the humid air occasionally looked equestrian with a uniformed rider (until his flesh melted off with a lack of preparation for this new type of warfare).
A seagull flew overhead, screaming at the wind as it sucked the bird onto the corpse road. The bells went crazy with their chimes. Old ones woke up that hadn’t been heard in centuries.
The humidity stripped the seagull of its feathers. The wind came in for another go and tasted fresh flesh. The chimes came in, calling out the for the troops. Jealously churned them out of tune.
Radio voices stitched together with static came for the scraps as it fell to the moist leaves with blow-dried edges. Once every last piece of the seagull was devoured, it took flight again, but it couldn’t leave the hidden corpse road.
Its mates called from the beach. It flew to the entrance, only to be forced back. Humidity couldn’t pluck these feathers. Wind couldn’t harvest the flesh. The voices came. The voices went. Static pierced them every time they returned so a different chorus sang.
The creature watched. His forked tongue poked at his fused lips. Moisture beaded on his fins. The dog sat by his feet, tail wagging, until he walked over the barrier between the corpse road and piss-soaked alley. A rat greeted the shore creature on the other side.
He turned around and saw a faint shimmer in the shape of a dog with a tail wagging, promising to wait.
A scene from The Ghosts of Fashion Past for British Bizarro Christmas Reading 2024
A pile of dirty fur sat on top of the stone by the side of the road. Humid air pressed down against the creature, flattening both his neck and ear fins. Beads of moisture pooled into droplets and dripped down his broken scales.
Yet, the fur looked dry. Orange light shone down from above, bathing the scene in a dirty halo.
Wind howled through the trees. The orange light flickered and took back its dirty halo. Fallen leaves curled at their edges and twisted around. Blow-dried by howling wind. It picked them up and carried them down the road, but it didn’t touch the pile of dirty fur.
The humidity returned, gathering as moisture beads on the coffin stone until they were fat enough to drip into the crevices.
Orange orbs hovered, twisting around the branches and twinkling like a set of broken fairy lights set to sparkle in only one colour. The fur never was given back its dirty orange halo.
Wet footprints provided a soggy soundtrack as they appeared in the dirt. Far-off voices like a radio out of tune whispered to each other. They called one another mean names.
Sometimes, these were clearly heard, even on the main road that ran next to the hidden corpse highway, along with a horse galloping alongside, or the strange orange lights that appeared between the trees only to zoom away.
Other times, the voices came through as something pressing on brain cells and travelling down nerves.
The shore creature paused and struck out a long finger. Wind licked the webbing and pulled at the strands of polyester he tied around his wrists. Distant voices pulled on loose threads on his Christmas jumper.
The wind tasted his neck fins and the spikes that sparkled on top of them with indifference. Once it died down, moisture beads reappeared and dripped down the collar of his jumper.
He dropped his sack on moist leaves with blow-dried edges. They sighed at the weight. Wet clothes carried in from the beach. Modern clothes, made with modern fabrics. The corpse road hadn’t seen them before.
Orange light illuminated the pile of fur, twinkling its encouragement. An argument between still humidity and angry wind wouldn’t allow for another halo. The wind pulled; humidity pushed with whispers of Get the fuck off my leaves.
The pile of fur twinkled without its halo. The creature couldn’t resist temptation any longer.
Cold and damp stone greeted the creature’s hands with their extra-long fingers and wide finger pads. Beads of moisture pooled in the rock’s crevices where the wind refused to reach.
He tried to force his forked tongue beyond his mouth, but his fused lips wouldn’t allow it, so he settled for a sniff.
Pointy elbows straightened. Polyester sleeves swallowed his wrists as he reached for the fur. His long fingers held a faint green glow beyond the polyester bells and reindeer machine-knitted onto his salvaged Christmas jumper. He was allowed this one garment because the original owner had died.
The fork in his tongue poked against his lips searching for a weak spot in the fusing as his finger pads made their clumsy dance across the coffin stone.
He scooped up some fur with a pause to think about how he’d get it past his fused lips. Half the fork in his tongue found the corner of his mouth, while the other half continued to poke at the centre of his lips.
The wind threatened to take away his finger pad scoop of fur, but settled instead, with stirring the path’s leaves. The footsteps stopped as if the creatures they belonged to wanted to watch this outsider sample the fur.
The horse and rider paused too. Their form forever threatened by the wind that blew down the long corpse road.
Polyester rolled up his arms as he raised his glowing green fingers to the corners of his lips. The wide pads scooped up extra roadside fur.
The fins on his neck stood out as he tasted it. Barbs on the end leaked venom and twinkled in the orb light.
His forked tongue pushed at his fused lips. One half of the fork to each side. It found pieces of fur and pulled it further into his mouth, tasting each morsel on the way down.
A fresh breeze blew down the hidden corpse road carrying with it the taste of the sea and seagull shit. The orange orbs bounced. Silence gave a pregnant ball-gag to the soggy footsteps.
A horse and rider stood back from the scene as an eerie white glow twisted and pulled by the constant fight between humidity and wind.
The fur stirred as the creature went in for another taste. His neck fins stiffened. He pulled his hand back with his other hand wrapped around his wrist. Dangles of polyester string caught stray fur and wouldn’t let go.
The wind picked up fallen pieces of fur and dropped them with the others. It tugged at the pieces clinging onto the creature’s polyester.
Dirt fell from the fur as it lifted off the stone. Paws inflated with muscle and bone that wasn’t there before.
The creature fell back on its long legs, neck gills poking out and wobbly knees at odd angles.
Fur hung from the fused skin of its lips. The wind tickled the creature’s fins as it lifted what remained of the fur and placed it on the coffin stone.
From the paws, legs appeared, pulling in fur and sucking in life from the stone. The creature pushed itself back with its webbed feet. Its tail spine caught on its polyester Christmas jumper salvaged from the sea. A few threads came loose.
The snout inflated next. Orange orbs hovered closer. Horse hooves plopped somewhere further along the old hidden corpse road.
Wind pulled strands of fur from the creature’s lips. It couldn’t release the fused green skin. The orange orbs twinkled as if they were from a broken string of fairy lights set only on the one colour.
The creature stuck its long fingers into the corners of its mouth and pried at the fused skin with no luck.
The last few strands of fur landed on the dog regrowing on the stone. Bells chimed from somewhere near the entrance of the old corpse road. The horse sounded closer. The words its rider spoke remixed themselves on the wind and joined the chorus of out of tune radio sounds.
The dog stood up on the stone and barked. The creature shook with the earth responding with shaking of its own. It tried to stand but became tangled in its own webbed toes and polyester clothing salvaged from the shore and worn with permission from the higher ups.
The dog jumped off the coffin stone, landing only a foot away from the shore creature, tail wagging. It slobbered; humidity beaded on its tongue. A lonely bell chimed.
The dog’s wagging tail hit the creature’s sack of water-logged fast fashion Christmas joy. The shore creature pulled it away, but the dog had it in his sights.
It dug its teeth into the cheap plastic and entered a tug-of-war with the creature. Friendly tail wagging suggested the dog thought it was a game. The creature expressed his displeasure by shooting neck fin venom into the humid air.
Ribbons of toxins couldn’t kill that what was already dead. It landed on the moist leaves and their blow-dried edges with a diluted sizzle and no spark.
The bag ripped strewing water-logged clothes across the corpse road. The dog bounced around with excitement. Orange orbs lost their flicker and illuminated the scene.
The creature fell to his webbed hands and knees and tried to gather up what he could. He was on a quota. Return so many garments to their rightful owners before Christmas morning or he’s fired from the Santi-Claw's Cheerful Elves.
Tail-wagging, the dog saw this gathering of clothing as a game too. The creature stood up and watched the dog. It did a good job, illuminated by the orange glow, but he left all of his spare sacks on the beach. He’d have to go back for more.
The creature walked away. By the time the dog noticed, all of the clothes were gathered into a pile in the middle of the corpse road. It trotted to catch up with the creature.
More bells chimed from the road’s entrance; a different horse galloped closer. A flickering shimmer weaving through the humid air occasionally looked equestrian with a uniformed rider (until his flesh melted off with a lack of preparation for this new type of warfare).
A seagull flew overhead, screaming at the wind as it sucked the bird onto the corpse road. The bells went crazy with their chimes. Old ones woke up that hadn’t been heard in centuries.
The humidity stripped the seagull of its feathers. The wind came in for another go and tasted fresh flesh. The chimes came in, calling out the for the troops. Jealously churned them out of tune.
Radio voices stitched together with static came for the scraps as it fell to the moist leaves with blow-dried edges. Once every last piece of the seagull was devoured, it took flight again, but it couldn’t leave the hidden corpse road.
Its mates called from the beach. It flew to the entrance, only to be forced back. Humidity couldn’t pluck these feathers. Wind couldn’t harvest the flesh. The voices came. The voices went. Static pierced them every time they returned so a different chorus sang.
The creature watched. His forked tongue poked at his fused lips. Moisture beaded on his fins. The dog sat by his feet, tail wagging, until he walked over the barrier between the corpse road and piss-soaked alley. A rat greeted the shore creature on the other side.
He turned around and saw a faint shimmer in the shape of a dog with a tail wagging, promising to wait.