Type Imp

I live inside of your computer. Autocorrect bends to my very will. That sentence you slaved over, the one you re-read twenty times, the one you edited twenty times until it was perfect–I changed the spelling of one of the words. The spell check didn’t catch it.


Type Imp, writing and photography by P. L. Cobb

That essay you wrote, the one with the clever title? It just got a little scandalous!

I am the Typo Imp! Your one and only, driving you insane during the early hours of the morning down till the late hours of the night! No amount of coffee will make it stop. Nothing you do will make me leave: not a hard reset, nothing. Don’t take my word for it though. Go ahead, go and take your computer in. Pay the man’s wages.

I’m a benefactor.

Of my amusement.

That essay you wrote, the one with the clever title? It just got a little scandalous! Can you imagine how boring your existence would be without me? You can at least say (without a doubt) that someone does pay attention to you. The fact that I am neither friend nor family is another matter.

(I have some friends who’d be willing to fix that . . . For themselves. I wouldn’t recommend them. They just wanted me to let you know that they’re around; they say you watch fun movies!)

With love,

The Typical Imp.

P.S: Did you catch that? If yes, it’s only because I wanted you to . . .

Coopid, who may or may not exist, or who may be a parasite?

Hey Girl–

Hey Girl–, words and art by P. L. CobbHey girl,

we could partake

in the dark arts


Alabaster Wight

Alabaster Wight was in the kitchen that day, spreading out cobwebs and knocking the salt and pepper shakers across the expensive flooring. Being a professional home-wrecker was a delightful but tedious line of work. She had begun to hum a funeral dirge to herself when there was a knock at the back door.

Alabaster Wight stopped to stare at that door.

Again: Knock. Knock!

“Who’s there?” she called out. Her voice was as dead and monotonous as it was the day she had died.

“It’s me, Grumpy! Let me in Alabaster, or I’ll blow this house up with you inside!”

“Screw you,” Alabaster Wight shot back. “I’m already dead.”

There was a pause. “Oh! Well in that case–” there was a distinct click.

Alabaster cursed as the floor beneath her gave way, swallowed up in flames. She could have sworn that she had heard her nemesis shout: “Have fun down there!” When she found a way out of this mess, she swore that she would give the wizard who had summoned her severe whiplash. Or a tongue-lashing.

Alabaster Wight’s days as a professional home-wrecker were over, starting today.

To be continued! 

Our benovelent/malevolent overlord, Theo Monster

Silf Turns Into a Man

Silf Turns Into a Man, writing and art by P.L. Cobb

Killer alien-human hybrid comes to town

Finds no decent men to mate with.

Turns into a man to mate with the women.

(Still a better love story than Twilight.*)

This says more about the men in that city than it does the hybrid.


How about that?

No hybrid love for you, I guess.

*Everything’s a better love story than Twilight, we just like to pour salt into the wound.


Friday the 24th

Friday the 24th, photography by P.L. Cobb

Friday the 24th; that’s when my sister came rolling in. Except she wasn’t my real sister. The real one had left Sault Ste. Misery years ago. I liked my real sister. The person she had been replaced with was something else. She was one of those people, the kind of people you use air-quotation marks for when they end up in conversations.

Honestly, I think she’s the devil.

Our benovelent/malevolent overlord, Theo Monster

Tea Cup Drama

Tea Cup Drama, story and art by P. L. Cobb

I’ll serve it in my favourite cup . . . Come on mama, drink it up!

Hey there mama,

wanna piece of the drama?

I’ll serve you up something–it’s not hot

it’s not cold.

It’ll make you feel young

before you die old.

I’ll serve it in my favourite cup . . .

Come on mama, drink it up!

Our benovelent/malevolent overlord, Theo Monster

The Wind

The Wind, story and art by P. L. Cobb

I’m afraid, she finally admitted to herself. I am so afraid of . . . Of this place . . . And this–stranger. Or this person?

The wind whistled in her ears; she was cold and her jaw hurt, but she didn’t care. It was nice to stand in the sun. She closed her eyes. Behind her eyelids she saw something block out the light.

“Do you like this?” Someone said in an indescribable voice. It had not clear gender.

“It’s nice,” she answered. Her eyes stayed closed. The cold touch of the stranger’s hand caressed her cheek. Continue reading

Inter-dimensional Sailor

Inter-dimensional Sailor, writing and photography by Penny C.

Inter-dimensional sailor . . .

Story and art by P. L. Cobb

Inter-dimensional sailor


One that slays the moon

Quarter by quarter

Tied to limbo

But everywhere

Except for home


Sorry About Your Mom

Sorry About Your Mom, written and photographed by Penny C.

Sorry you had to grow up in fantasy land.

Writing and photography by P. L. Cobb

Sorry about your mom.

Sorry she tried to eat you when you were two.

Continue reading

We’re Done Now

We're Done Now, written and photographed by Penny C.

It turns out you’re a bit of a joke!

Writing and photography by P. L. Cobb

We’re done now

(You should know)

Continue reading

A Brief Trip to Mars

A Brief Trip to Mars, written and photographed by Penny C.

When he had touched down on the surface of Mars Carlson took out a book-shaped bundle.

Writing and photography by P. L Cobb

Up, up, up. Carlson ascended into the heavens, passing clouds, passing through the ozone layer. Someone must have seen him on his journey upwards; he wasn’t travelling very fast. That thought quickly turned to other, more important things as the vacuum of space pulled at him. Carlson let out a sigh, knowing that it was his own spell that protected him from a sudden and brutal death. Continue reading

Soup #2

Soup #2, written and photographed by Penny C.

Dinner is served!

Writing and photography by Penny C.

The imp smiles

While you pine,

And spoil

Melting away

As you boil.

Dinner is served!


I Am Weird Now

I Am Weird Now, writing and photography by Penny C.

My hands are my feet, my arms are now wings.

Writing and photography by Penny C.

I have no idea what I’m doing here.

Up and down have changed directions;

Now they’re left and right. Continue reading

Kingdom of the Cats

Written by Penny C.

Kingdom of the Cats:

Headless birds,

Headless rats.

All is a foul stink.

Filth between your toes.


The Kingdom of the Cats.

P.S: I have nothing against cats, even if they are out to get us.



Monster Cake

Monster Cake, by Mitchel Stoycheff, Jake Zaccaria, and Penny C. #art #photomanipulation,#wtf http://theenigmaticmonsterproject.com/2015/07/10/monster-cake/

Theo baked you a cake . . . Yay! #alwayswatchingyoulol

By Mitchell Stoycheff, Jake Zaccaria, and Penny C.


Mr. Alien

Mr. Alien, written and photographed by Penny C. http://theenigmaticmonsterproject.com/2015/07/09/mr-alien/

I wanna go for a funky space ride . . .

Story and photography by Penny C.

Take me for a ride in your spaceship,

Mr. Alien.

I’m all alone

And I’ve got nothing to do.

I wanna go for a funky space ride,

Mr. Alien.

So tell me,

What are you going to do?


His Old Self

His Old Self, written and photographed by Penny  C. http://theenigmaticmonsterproject.com/2015/07/09/his-old-self/

Memories of the past flooded him with regret.

Story and photography by Penny C.

Chrystopher. I am now Chrystopher, he told himself once more.

It had been a long time since he had done this . . . Reflect upon himself. Chrystopher promised a new beginning.

That was his hope.

He still couldn’t trust himself not to fall back into old habits–to fall back into his darker self. When everything was young he had been different; he swore that he had never been so evil. He had simply grown into it.

He hated that, but it was the truth. “I hate myself,” he murmured. Chrystopher wasn’t trying to be hard on himself, just honest.

Again with that? a part of him said in derision. Just forget it; it’s futile and you know this. Don’t disappoint yourself!

Perhaps that part of him was right?

“It probably is,” he reminded himself. It was him, after all. At that thought he allowed himself a deep chuckle.

“I was such a bastard!”

You still are! the cynical voice replied. That part of him was his darker self. Chrystopher didn’t have to like it, but that part of him would always be with him; he was better off accepting that now. Memories of the past flooded him with regret. Sometimes he wondered what his life would have been like had he woken up to himself sooner?

Would the king out of darkness still have his wife?

Would his son still have aligned himself with the opposing faction, and would he still have disowned and exiled him?

Would he have absconded his duties as a father, and would he have allowed his mistress to terrorize his children?

Would his youngest daughter be alive today?

When Marianna left he had hated her for it; she was unhappy, and because of that had left him and their children. Da’Kiri–his old self–had fallen into madness. That had been so long ago, he wouldn’t be surprised if she had passed into oblivion.

“Forgive me. I am a bastard.”


I Just Danced

I Just Danced, writing and photography by Penny C. http://theenigmaticmonsterproject.com/2015/07/09/i-just-danced/

One night became an eternity.

Story and photography by Penny C.

The Owl and I

We danced upon the moon one night.

And to my delight,

One night became an eternity.

Forever dancing in the skies

Never a care of the old life I once had.

I just danced.



Septembre, written and photographed by Penny C. http://theenigmaticmonsterproject.com/2015/07/07/septembre/

I had questioned my experience, and it was years before I saw another expression of his existence.

Written and photographed by Penny C.

It was in Septembre of last year, on a dreary day . . . It was the first time I saw him. He was squatting, balanced atop a mouldering fence post. The red raven, standing on the edge of a knife; the red raven, whispering his words, his secrets, his life. That was the day I discovered his true nature. It was only a matter of minutes, but they were like an eternity to me. How it must have felt to the force before me. I could almost smell his ennui.

And then he was gone, like he had never existed to begin with. The only evidence I could find was the fence post, now a pile of smoking coals.

I had questioned my experience, and it was years before I saw another expression of his existence.

But it wasn’t the same

The lustre and the shine had vanished. What replaced it resembled a wet dog. I saw a troubled man  instead of that proud god. Ragged,tired, wearied, exhausted . . . All of the same words to describe the same thing.

I am afraid.

I am afraid because I have never witnessed the slow death of a god.

It troubles me, not because it is a death caused by human hands, but because it is a death brought about by the gods themselves. Perhaps even him. The gods, these forces . . . Existence relies heavily on their movements; their wars, their chaos, their peacemaking–all a constant struggle, a simple game of tug-of-war.

Where is order if there is no chaos?

The spider has dealt its last blow.

I am afraid because the gods want us to die. Everything. Nothing spared.

And I am afraid because the raven has allowed this to occur. He has lost his will to fight.

Imp Eye

Imp Eye, story and art by Penny C. http://theenigmaticmonsterproject.com/2015/07/06/imp-eye/

Gregory howled in agony. It was like somebody was stabbing his skull with a cold knife.

Story and art by Penny C.

“Got you.”

The goblin lord towered over him, looking every inch the demon that he was. With two large, long-fingered hands he grabbed Gregory by the shoulders and lifted him up from the ground. Gregory could smell the goblin’s breath: it stank of sulphur.

A wave of heat enveloped him. Gregory feared that he was not going to make it out of the labyrinth this time; the King in the Shadows had him now. He would not be playing anymore games with Gregory.

“Where is she?” Da’Kiri whispered in his face. Sparks shot out of his mouth as he spoke.

Fire-breather, Gregory thought. Da’Kiri was liable to bite his face off . . . Or burn him to death. Burn him till there was nothing but ash and hot coals.

“I don’t know where she went!” Gregory grunted.

“You helped her escape! How do you not know!” The goblin shook the man in its fury.

“She was your wife, not your captive.” He almost felt pity for Da’Kiri. “If you wanted to be with her so badly, you should have treated her with more respect!”

The goblin lord released his hold on Gregory’s left shoulder. He held his hand up, palm facing the human’s face.

Without warning Da’Kiri jabbed his index finger into Gregory’s left eye.

Gregory howled in agony. It was like somebody was stabbing his skull with a cold knife. He began to see red. Everywhere.

Satisfied with his work the goblin lord let his enemy fall. As soon as Gregory hit the ground he was unconscious.

When he awoke he found himself alone in the dark. It always ends like this. Why?

How many times did he do this? Was it really just this once, or had it happened a million times before?

His left eye felt different. What happened to me? Gregory felt with his fingers. The left eye felt much different from the right; Gregory blinked them both at different times.

The goblin lord had given him a goblin eye, something which he could not hide in the light of day.

I’ve been cursed!


Stars, written and photographed by Penny C. http://theenigmaticmonsterproject.com/2015/07/06/stars/

It extends as far as its arm can reach.

Written and photographed by Penny C.


and the spaces in-between.

Radiating heavenly light from afar.

Raining death upon those who stray too close.

What truth is there to be had in such a place

as this?

What truth is there to be had

in the expansive void?

It extends as far as its arm can reach.

Millions upon millions of years pass it by.

And it extends that reach

far beyond

what you and I have ever known.


Archaic Voice, written and photographed by Penny C.

Archaic Voice

Written and photographed by P.L. Cobb

He looked around and found himself in an inky void; for one terrifying second he thought he felt like he was disembodied. Nothing more than an ethereal speck outside of existence. For a time he forced his breathing to come out at a normal rate. His eyes were closed to block out the darkness, however he came to suspect that he was not dead at all . . . The need to know was stronger than his budding fear.

So he forced his eyes open.

The moonlight was soft, but it caused him to squint nonetheless. He was laying on his back in the middle of nowhere. Spruce and pine towered over him while he stared up at the sky.

Without any warning the stranger sat up and retched. The sounds of vomiting filled the air. Nothing came out though. His mouth and throat felt like sandpaper. That revelation did little for the churning inferno in his stomach.

Could it be snakes? a small voice at the back of his head asked, but he then quickly dismissed that thought, knowing full well how ridiculous it sounded . . . How superstitious it was . . .

That gave him cause to think. Or try. He felt that he had been very close to finding something, a prize maybe. Whatever it was. Again, he had the feeling that it had been of great value. Great value, and he had been so close to gaining it.

But now I’ve lost, and been sent back to the beginning of the labyrinth . . .

It was that voice again, superstitious and archaic facet to his personality that was as much a mystery to him as was his current situation.

Do you even know who you are? the voice said again, Do you?

I have no idea, he admitted at length. I am, and that is all.

The archaic voice hissed at him. Do not be so disrespectful! Do not use that name!

The man shook his head, trying to clear it. All that did was alert him to what would soon become the worst migraine he would experience so far in his long life.



Eat it Up, writing and photography by Penny C.

Eat it Up

Written and photographed by Penny C.

“Eat it up!” The waiter said in a Southern drawl. He walked away without another word.

They both looked at the steak suspiciously.

“That is a big steak,” Tamara said. Out of curiosity she poked it with a fork; poking became cutting.

“Looks a bit purple . . . Gross!” Jamie wrinkled her nose.


“It’s probably made of mutant space cow!” Jamie whispered.

“Eat it up!” Tamara mimicked the waiter. “Is he watching us?”

Jamie scanned the restaurant. There was a total of three people in the dining area, including them. “No, let’s get out of here!”

At the same time they both got up and made a beeline towards the doors.

Somehow, the waiter rose up before them, separating them from their escape.

“Eat it up.” He said in a menacing voice.