by Ritch Duncan  — In less than a second, the sleigh dropped 40 feet of altitude and cut left, hard. Nibbles was thrown off his booster seat, and smashed into a massive sack of Christmas gifts. With a mittened fist, The First Elf grabbed the bright brass safety bar in front

What? No free scary short story by a comedy writer today? THE HORROR! OR MORE SPECIFICALLY, THE LACK THEREOF! Hello, subscribers, and welcome to the first edition of The Deathbed Digest, (or should we say “die-jest?”) a quarterly-ish update to: a) Let you know how much we appreciate you ( a

by Ritch Duncan  — BAM! Matthew slammed his bedroom door, hard, and crouched in the corner behind it, tears of rage welling in his eyes. He was only 10 years old, and furious at his mother.  He squeezed his favorite Pez Dispenser, a Spiderman, so tightly in his hand he thought

by Ritch Duncan  — Peterson didn’t consider himself a murderer. He’d only killed the one woman, after all. He glanced down at his wife’s corpse, which was sprawled face down over the workbench of the gardener’s shed. They didn’t have a full time grounds-keeper, but had

by Ritch Duncan  — “Hi, I’m Ritch Duncan, writing to welcome you to Deathbed, a new, weekly, online publication and newsletter presenting original horror stories from comedy writers, officially launching on Monday, September 29th, 2025. But before we invite you to creak open the cellar door and take your first