The "Complete Moisture Solution" pack wasn't as advertised, he thought, scowling down into his basement. Sure, there hadn't been any more leaks--but now there were those disgusting glowing, pulsing leach-like things wrapped around all his pipes. They were creepy and weird. They muttered quietly to each other, and he thought they sometimes sang in high-pitched whistles at night. Of course, it was always silent went he came down to check, but he wasn't fooled. He could hear them. He knew what sounds were normal and what were not. It was creeping him out, and he'd decided that it was time they left his house. He would hire an honest plumber, if he could find such a thing, a man who'd come in with some spot-weld and some new pipes or seals or whatever it was that plumbers used, and soon, there would be no more--

Inspiration: "Complete Moisture" Dry Skin Lotion
Story Potential: Medium.
Notes: And he tries to be rid of them, and that's his mistake. Simple.

The rabbit ears bounced around on the top of its head as it rolled along the cracked sidewalk. Not ideal operating conditions at all. It would have shaken its head regretfully, but it had lost that functionality two years ago when a couple of teenagers threw their beer bottles with unexpected accuracy. Perhaps, had its trajectory-calculation program still been functional, it would have been able to dodge the bottles. That had been knocked out when it was only six months out of the factory, though, entirely by accident, but still distressing. Piece by piece, its equipment was dying, and with it, its usefulness. Graffiti crawled up the sides--

Inspiration: I saw a guy with rabbit ears on his head today. Bunny rabbit ears, but still....
Story Potential: High.
Notes: I was going to say low potential, but then I thought about an old, mostly defunct police robot starting to scavenge parts, to improve himself and his neighborhood, and how he'd get them, and what the results would be, and I found it more interesting.


Status: Written as
"Salvaging Scottwell." Published in the December 2009 issue of
Baen's Universe.

I heard my name called from the wail of the wind as it whipped around the cabin, but I pulled up my quilt and stuffed it into my ears. The voice was like the voice of my mother, but I knew that she slept across the room. I could hear her soft snoring. It helped to anchor me in my bed, to keep me from rising and walking across the cabin. It kept me from opening the door and stepping out into the icy embrace of the blizzard outside. The voice still sounded like my mother; it had none of her tones, not the wry humor she frequently used when she called my name, not the warmth and tenderness when she was pleased with me, but it sounded like my mother. My other mother. My mother who lived in the snow and whispered my name with icy breath. My mother who would kill any boyfriend that I tried to bring home to her. My adopted mother, who had found me when I was only three years old and adopted me. She'd been able to keep me for only a week, but it was enough to thaw her icy heart. She loved me, truly, she did. I knew that. It was why I didn't flat-out refuse to come out to the family--my real family--cabin.

Inspiration: "Iago's Demise" by Faith and the Muse (my favorite song by them)
Story Potential: high.
Notes: I like this set-up, this slant-take on the snow queen and the child-stealing. Not sure where it would go from here, but I'm guessing that if I started writing, I'd find out.