mister duck

Creepypasta #1082: Misser Duck

Length: Short

I never liked taking my young son, Ben, along on business trips, as he was at that tireless, inquisitive age whereby everything is either boring or fascinating. But Ben’s father - a handyman - was working all weekend and the regional office had a creche, so I decided to turn the trip into a weekend break. The hotel in Atlanta, Georgia was pretty, but past it’s best - the sort of place with lots of empty rooms. The polite young guy on reception took a shine to us, and gave us the penthouse suite at the regular room-rate, since no-one was using it.

The suite was huge: two bedrooms and a lounge; plenty of space for Ben to play whilst I worked on my presentation which nobody would care about.

“Misser Duck’s in here, mommy!” He ran out of the bathroom, looking delighted.

I barely looked up from my ancient laptop. “You mean ‘Mr. Duck’, sweetie?” He couldn’t pronounce his ‘T’s.

“Misser Duck, Misser Duck!” he was bouncing with glee. “He’s sayin’ fings! Come see, mommy!”

I said I’d go look later, pleased he’d made a friend to amuse himself, even if it was imaginary. “But ducks don’t ‘say’ things, honey. They quack! So why don’t you quack back?”

I became so engrossed in my stupid project that I didn’t notice it was growing dark outside. Ben’s giggles from the lounge spurred me to shut my laptop and call him in.

“I’ll order us some food, buddy. Sorry mommy’s not been much fun today!”

“S’ OK, mommy. Misser duck’s been quack-quack-quacking! He loves you.”

This made me smile, although I wondered what had brought a duck to mind, as we were about as far from any pond as possible. That night, Ben insisted he sleep alone in the adjoining bedroom; I agreed as he’d been so well-behaved all evening. I heard him whispering softly until late, and figured he was excited about being away from home and making a new, make-believe friend. I imagined hearing faint, raspy “quacks” echoing as I drifted off to sleep, and gentle duck footsteps somewhere above me.

The next morning I found Ben curled up under his bed in a grumpy mood.

“Whatever’s the matter, sweetheart? Doesn’t Mister Duck want to play, today?”

“Misser duck lef’ me all alone. He liked seein’ you sleep more’n me.”

I felt a draft on the back of my neck, and looked up to see the ancient ventilation shaft above the head of Ben’s bed, missing its grill cover. I rushed back into my room to find an identical set-up. As I peered into the black passageway, just big enough to fit a person, it dawned on me that Ben’s dad would have taught him the word “duct”, as he was forever fixing them in our apartment block. I’d noticed similar shafts in the suite’s bathroom and lounge, too.

“You lookin’ for Misser Duck? S’ OK, Mommy. He quacked me where we lived, so I quacked him our home-address.”

Credits to: Hack_Shuck

Read on for an explanation: 

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tagged by @killarytheneoliberalwarhawk

rules: answer the 20 questions and tag 20 amazing followers you want to get to know better!

name: Sean

nicknames: Duck, Ducky, Seanie, Mister President, the Iron Duck, 

zodiac sign: Sagittarius

height: 5′10″

nationality: American - predominantly Irish Catholic with a whole host of other European countries in my ancestries

favorite fruit: Banana, followed by raspberries

favorite season: Fall, especially Midwest/Minnesota fall - cloudy, rainy, temperatures not too low. I was born in a California winter which is my second favorite

favorite book: Oh god…too many to count. I enjoy nonfiction, science fiction (particularly Star Trek and Star Wars), mysteries…

favorite flowers: Roses, lilies, orchids

favorite scent: Elizabeth Taylor’s Passion for Men (my preferred cologne), the scent of the flowers I listed

favorite color: Blue, then green (interchangeable)

favorite animal: I love dogs, seals and sea lions and otters…

favorite beverage: DIET COKE IS TOPS, OKAY

average hours of sleep: About 7. That’s what I strive for.

favorite fictional character: Again, too many to count, but Phryne Fisher, Beverly Crusher, Jessica Fletcher are all near the top

last thing I googled:  "murder she wrote episodes online” because Netflix took them off and I need to get my fix.

number of blankets you sleep with: One king-sized blanket that I can adjust so as to provide enough cooling when sleeping in summer or winter.

dream trip: A trip through the Balkans, followed by weeks in the UK and Australia

blog created: May of 2011

number of followers: 671

Tagged: @lord-kitschener @goldkat-g0negrey @tami-taylors-hair @zedille @brainstatic @foxnewsfuckfest @kellyannekanye @mediocrepresident @cinemaocd @frederick-the-great @frankenshane @memattbe @queerts @olennawhitewyne @independent-thought-alarm @missfellatio @flipocrite @superdorktime @mymuffintopiswholegrainlofat @mrstevensheadofcatering

A Thorn in His Side

fobbed!Twelve, Rose Tyler

Malcolm Tucker fights with himself.

Not actually smutty, but not exactly innocent either.  Nothing with Malcolm is.  Take that as you will.

He’s irritated.

That, in itself, isn’t new.

The cause of his irritation, on the other hand, is unprecedented and, frankly, baffling.

He glares at the offending item laying insolently on his desk, and runs his hands down his face.  It’s stupid, all of it.  Fucking ridiculous.  He’s Malcolm fucking Tucker, he’s important, he hasn’t got time for this horse shit.

“Mister Tucker?” Rose asks, ducking her head into his office, and he scoops the thing out of sight hurriedly.

“What, what is it?” he snaps.

“Treasury’s waiting for the draft of that memo,” she said calmly, arching an eyebrow.  “And Ollie’s asking to speak to you.  Again.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake!  Tell him I went to Majorca.”

“You were on television this morning.”

“Then tell him I fucking died, I don’t care,” he growls as he shuffles through the papers on his desk to find the memo.  “Tell him, if he wants to talk to me, to get out a fucking Ouija board, cause he’ll have better luck with that.”

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What I Call Life (Part 19)

Part Nineteen of the blangstpromptoftheday mpreg fic.

Parts 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 
15 / 16 / 17 / 18

After this, there’s only one more chapter left of this fic. This update is over 17,000 words long so it’s a doozy. Next chapter ends our journey and wraps everything up, so if you think I missed something in this chapter, it’ll be in the next one.

Songs in this chapter? Here.

This fic is on FF.net too.

If there was one thing Burt Hummel was incredibly good at, it was being a dad.

Sure, he wasn’t perfect, but he did a damn good job with what he had. Raising a son as a single father for as long as he did wasn’t something he ever imagined, but he did his best. Whenever he looked at his grown son now, he had to give himself a pat on the back. Fatherhood was rough, but Kurt made it through his tough teen years with only his father’s help. Now Kurt was a responsible adult and an overall good kid, so Burt considered that an achievement. Unfortunately though, no matter how old Kurt got, he’d always need his dad. Always… and in that moment in time, his little boy needed his dad’s help.

He needed Burt to bring his soulmate back.

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