by John Cox

Likes: 3 Words: 200

The lights were low, the room was full, and a disquieting reverence hung thick in the air.

"I know you gentlemen can't wait to hear who gets the crown. After all it's why we are all here tonight. So I will get right to it. The nominees are James McCloud, Peter Pomp, Julian Dubois, and Ferdinand Muller."

"As you know the task was to bring to the club an object beyond value. All the nominees have done so most admirably."

"Peter has added to our little collection, The Spear of Destiny, on permanent loan from the Vatican. James has gifted a full 8 oz jar from the fountain of youth. Ferdinand captured a human soul gifted now to our humble organization. Julian... has gifted his life."

"Are you ready Julian?"

Julian nodded and a blindfold was tightened across his eyes.

"Each of you has brought your knives I presume?"

The room was thick with an eager silence. All eyes were fixed upon Julian. Each hand grasping tight their favorite blade.

"Just so you know Julian, the award goes to you."

All stood and formed a line circling the room. Bloodlust shined in the attendees eyes. The Chairman placed the crown.

by Eolas Pellor

Likes: 2 Words: 200

The dinner, like most service club events, was held at a banquet hall owned by some member’s cousin. That avoided any obvious conflict of interest, but still kept the money within the circle of trust that the elected officers liked to build around themselves.

Not that the man could complain; his accounting firm had been retained on exactly the same basis, but his boss had been unable to attend the club’s annual awards banquet and he had been seconded the duty of bearing the briefcase with the award winner’s name to the feast.

“Some feast,” the man muttered under his breath as his fork bounced off the rubbery chicken that no amount of sauce could convince him was edible. The club president stood at the podium, speechifying.

“As you know, I’m a man of few words,” he said for the fourth time. There was a glassy look on the faces of the tables of businessmen as they regarded him; it was, by now, doubtful if anyone believed him. At last he got to the point of the proceedings.

The accountant unlocked the briefcase and passed the envelope up to the president, who slipped the card out.

“The award goes to…”

by Jesse R Traynham - Author

Likes: 3 Words: 200

Welcome back to the first annual Cryptid Awards, brought to you by BlurryCam. Before the break, Barbra Banshy won the award for “Loudest Cryptid.” She has been forcibly removed from the studio, and you may now take out your earplugs.

I’m Stan Slinderman, your host. Our final category is “Most Elusive Cryptid.”

The nominees are: Marty Mothman, Nessie McLoch, Chester Chupacabra, Wally Wendigo, Gary Goatman aka The Lake Worth Monster, and Bobby Bigfoot.

Our agents set out to contact these folks with mixed results. They located Gary Goatman on Greer Island. Gary started throwing tires at our agents, so we disqualified him for being rude and too easy to find. Nessie was disqualified due to being a giant fish whom we could not accommodate. Chester told us he “didn’t need no award” and moseyed back to Mexico.

That leaves us with three contestants: Marty Mothman, Wally Wendigo, and Bobby Bigfoot.

And the award goes to Marty Mothman. Unfortunately, Marty is here tonight, which disqualifies him from the category.

So the award goes to Bobby Bigfoot. Bobby, are you here? Good deal. Bobby’s publicist, Tim Burr, is here to accept the award. Let’s give it up for Bobby, wherever he is.

by Mary Zuelke Author

Likes: 2 Words: 200

"Where did you get that?"

"What?" Jemma asked.

“The golden arrow.”

Jemma looked toward the shelf. A memory flooded into her — one she never liked to remember. Her stomach flipped.

“They granted me the Hiro—"

“To a woman?"

Her eyes snapped at him. "Yes. I’m the only one. I won’t lie… I wasn’t the strongest or the best. But I'm loyal." Her fingers brushed the pointed tip.

Coal’s voice softened. "Tell me more."

"It was the Veizla, honoring the king's daughter and her betrothed. I guarded. I knew what to expect. She was heartbroken. I told her to stay away… to forget him."

Coal frowned. “I remember that day, but how could you have known?”

“She told me.” Jemma swallowed. “She was my sister.”

Coal reached for her, folding her into an embrace.

“It’s okay,” She whispered. “I had to do it. But that—” She pointed to the trophy. “The words still sear my heart every time I look at it. ‘And the award goes to—‘”

She fell into Coal sobbing. “I killed her. And they give me this.”

“You had to. They would have killed you for being a traitor.”

“I know. But that doesn’t make it any easier.”