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Have a read of last contributions to the open stories listed below. If you are interested in making a contribution for one of the stories simply click the "contribute" link under the last contribution below.

Pussy in Paradise

The old lady from across the road, Ethel Morris.

"Morning Mrs. Morris" he said, trying to get to the shop before it closed.
"Good morning Mister J-"
"I'm sorry, but I really need to get going Ethel."
"Oh yes dear, you just carry on with what your doing and I'll just take my four bags of heavy shopping all the way down this icy road all on my own... don't worry about me J-"
"Just... wait hear. I'll get the milk and then come and help you."

The pepper-pot shaped lady seamed to be lost in thought as she stared vaguely into the middle distance, shes quite famous for doing that, you thought she did it on purpose when he was young but now he knows shes just lost it.

"Pore Ethel" He said, out loud, walking away.

Zombie Invasion

Struck by the scene you can do nothing but stair and the bodies... you have lived here for many years - after retiring early from an injury in the army - so the bodies strewn upon the floor are all fends and faces you recognized, the local shop owner, the baker, the old grump from down the road.

Your years in the army have you accustomed to both violence and death so the sight does not have you wrenching in the corner like most people. Deciding, at once, you must fined one of these 'save-houses' where you can be checked for the virus and (hopefully) be saved.

Looking about you see no sgin of movement in the sunlight, taking up the newspaper you scan for an incarceration of the different safe-houses... after examining the page for a while you find the nearest safe-house within an hours walk... it's time to start.
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Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Ivory Case.

Upon entering Holmes's room I found him slumped upon an armchair. He wore dark brown pajamas with a silver pinstripe and wore a purple dressing gown over that. Upon the table to his left lay a pile of various pipes... some still smoking slightly.

But upon his right lay a newspaper and, below it, I could see the hypodermic needle of a syringe.

"Mr. Holmes?" I call, unsure of his condition.

Demonic Beginnings

It was a bleary November morning and the cold had just started to set in.
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