FF – The Crabs of Crab Bay
Here is my silly story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Sandra Crook.

Copyright Sandra Crook
The Crabs of Crab Bay saw, at last, their target. Holidaymakers, setting up for a day’s sunbathing.
“Attack, my comrades! Today we taste blood!”
Pouring onto the sand, they charged, pincers snapping.
“Look, Dad, crabs!”
“Mmm, crab meat. Grab the cricket bat!”
The Crabs of Crab Bay milled in terror as the two-legs approached. Field Marshal Crab took charge and, wheeling sharply, with full military discipline, the Crabs of Crab Bay fled the scene strategically withdrew.
Seven Crabs lost their lives that day.
Avenge your fellows! Join up today! Pincer sharpeners provided!
The Crab Bay Defence Force – because Crabs matter
FF – Every Cloud
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Dale Rogerson.
The (completely anonymous) character “Dail” makes a guest appearance!

Copyright Dale Rogerson
Dail shivered and tucked herself deeper into her winter coat. A winter coat, in mid-summer!
The dust cloud, born of an unfortunate nuclear-related mishap, had seen the Earth freeze. At least Canadians are used to the cold, she thought. Many survivors were not so lucky.
Millions in Britain had frozen to death within minutes thanks to their “stiff upper lip, keep on keeping on” attitude, resulting in the general consensus that “it’s mid-summer so I’m wearing a t-shirt”.
Children, ever-resilient, built snowmen.
With survival a priority, the world forgot about Brexit. And golf-playing presidents.
So, every cloud, and all that…
FF – The Hungry Dead
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Roger Bultot.

Copyright Roger Bultot
“Huh, it doesn’t look as scary as the photo in the advert.”
“That photo was digitally altered. This place looks rather pleasant. Dammit!”
“‘Haunted house’, indeed. Let’s go.”
Cecil Montague, dead these 300 years, watched from the tower, hunger blazing from his rotting eyes. After all these centuries, dinner approached… anticipation becoming despair as they left. So close – he could almost taste their flesh! He’d spent years learning how use a ‘computer’ to ‘Photoshop’ a ‘photograph’ to snare tasty ghosthunters. What a waste.
Time to change tack… now, where were those instructions on how to list a property on Airbnb…?
FF – Late Night Snack
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Ronda Del Boccio.

Copyright Ronda Del Boccio
Greg moaned. Lying on his back… the moon? No, a streetlight. Oh… his head… way too much whisky… so much whisky… a van… someone coming… wearing a mask, a hypodermic needle… no, no… hauled into the van… moving… smell of food… blackness…
“Hey, Baz, fast food! Fancy a kebab?”
“Dunno, these fast food vans can be a bit dodgy.”
“C’mon, sissy! Just a shame we lost Greg somewhere along the way. Hey, mate, two kebabs!”
“Of course, sir, new delivery of meat just in, very fresh!”
“Awesome! Wow, nice. My kebab tastes like single malt. Magic!”
FF – Fruits of the Loom
Here is my little story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Sandra Crook.
Stand by for a major groan-worthy play on words!

Copyright Sandra Crook
I didn’t mean to do it, but Gerald… that smug git. Always winding me up. So I grabbed him one day and shoved him towards the loom. His tie got stuck; the machines dragged him in.
Oh, the screams, the noises as he was shredded… I don’t mind telling you, it set my teeth on edge.
When the cotton came out it made the most beautiful blood-red pattern on the fabric…. once you picked bits of Gerald out of it.
In fact I might market it. Maybe mix in some more colours. Make a fortune.
Think I’ll call it “tie-die”…







