The ship sailed in out of the fog, and the sailors on the port gaped at it. Never had they seen a craft so tall and strong, as tall as two city buildings stacked on top of each other, a weird green iridescence flowing over it's surface. They'd been going about their business all steady and normal-like, but at the sight, a serious breakdown in order occurred. Some ran for their cameras, to get pictures to National Enquirer or videos to YouTube. Some ran for th control room. Some ran for the weapons locker. The latter were not entirely incorrect in their aim, as it turned out, but they had no idea that the AK-47s and stun-guns stored there would do nothing--


Inspiration: "ship"
Story Potential: High--if I figure out the rest of it.
Notes: There have been a number of "ship from the past emerges from the mist/bermuda triangle" stories, and a certain number of "ship from the present ends up in the past," but not so many "ship from the future ends up in the present" ones.

He had mud on his face. He sat in his house, his civilized modern architecture house iwht its open windows and cantilevered ceiling, and he kept touching his face. The mud was red. It wasn't because of the dirt in the area. It was the blood of his wife. She had bled--so much. He'd smashed the--the thing back off the cliff into the sea, but his wife was already bleeding, had been bleeding for so long before he came looking for her, had stopped bleeding as he held her in his arms. She bled still after her heart stopped (he knew it stopped because it, it wasn't there).

Inspiration: Oh, that Jonathan Coulton song about mud on your face, big disgrace....
Story Potential: Low potential
Notes: Eh.

The moray eels were thick in the waters when the new man came into the town. It was an omen, she came to believe later. The fishermen came back with stories of pulling up nets filled with nothing but eels. There were not so many people willing to buy eels, so after they realized that they had enough to feed themselves and their families, to pickle and salt and put up as many as possible, to live on eel stew through the lean time of the year, they started throwing back the catch when it came up as another net of eels. The new man was slippery as an eel, and he would sting when provoked, she thought, shaking her head. He'd moved right in like nothing strange had happened, settling into the parish church, and taking the names of all the people, writing his sermons, talking as if nothing that strange at all had happened to Father Reilly.

Inspiration: "muraenid" - the family that moray eels belong to.
Story Potential: Medium.
Notes: Not an evil priest, nothing like that, just somebody who riles things and deals with things supernatural when they lash out against the Church. Kind of a trouble-shooter. Something bad did happen to Father Reilly, after all....