Stooge Fan Fiction

[moe-jo]

I like to write Stooge fan fiction. I come up with a new one almost every day (even though I'm in a lapse at the moment ). But nevertheless, I will post my fanfics here.

P.S. I share these with my English teacher to get Extra Learning credit. She loves them! I have more of them saved on the computers at school. I will post them when I get to school on Monday. Until then, read this one. It has a Harry Potter feel to it.





A Book to the Past
A Three Stooges fan fiction by moe-jo

Larry stumbled through the pouring rain. It was about four in the afternoon, but the howling rain made it seem like midnight. Larry would never have had to worry about this weather if stupid Robert Gershom hadn’t been picking on him. Earlier on in the school day, when it had not been raining as hard as it was now, Larry had found a book. Not a book, per se, like The Adventures of Tom Sawyer or Lord of the Flies or even The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, but an old book, an ancient book. He found it in one of the boys’ bathrooms after school. Robert Gershom had come in when Larry had been studying it closely and had stolen it and had flushed it down the toilet. By the time Larry had reclaimed the book and dried it off, he had missed his bus and had to walk home. Now he was stuck with this.

Larry stopped to look at a sign as he was running and slipped and fell in a puddle. The book, by its own power, it seemed, slid out of his hands and fell into a sewer grate in the sidewalk. “Hey, come back!” Larry shouted. It was no use. The book was gone. Larry sighed and slowed his run down to a walk. He didn’t care about getting wet anymore. Bad things always happened to him. No matter how hard he tried to stay out of trouble, it usually found him. Larry didn’t know why he even bothered to try to avoid it.

Suddenly, ahead of him, he saw a flash of green light. A brown object seemed to pop out of the ground: the book! Larry dashed across the puddles to grab it. “I gotta take you home and show everybody,” he said to the book. “I can’t lose you anymore.”

“I’ve seen this before…” Shemp thought.
Larry, Curly, Shemp, and Ted Healy, a frequent visitor to the boys’ apartment in downtown Boston, were sitting at a table in the kitchen of the apartment. Moe was sitting on the counter, waiting for a piece of pizza to finish cooking in the microwave.
“Where’ve you seen it, Shemp?” Curly asked.
Shemp stood up and started pacing.
“On my way home from school once…it was brown and it had a hurricane or something on it…”
“That’s exactly what mine looks like!” Larry exclaimed.
Moe rolled his eyes and shook his head. Larry can be so transparent sometimes, he thought. He took out a beer from the refrigerator, grabbed his pizza, sat down at the table, and grabbed the book from Larry’s hands. Shemp was still talking.
“—quacked like a duck. And then it lit up and I got sucked into it! And everything was all black and white and everything! It was like I had been sucked into the past or something!”
“What?” Curly and Ted exclaimed together.
“Yeah! And then I got back to where I was before I was sucked in, and the thing just like skyrocketed out of my hands! It was like crazy!”
“Wow,” said Ted, awestruck.
“So, what you’re saying is…” Larry began. His voice trailed off. Curly finished the sentence for him. “That this book…can take you into the past?”
“More than that, man,” Shemp replied. “I took a pencil and wrote in it, and words started appearing in it!”
Moe rolled his eyes and shook his head again.
“I think…” Curly began. Everyone turned to look at him. “I think…that we can time-travel…because if there are things written in there…uh, that is, if it is a diary like we think it is…maybe we could go back in time to those events…”
“That’s a good theory, Curly, but there’s only one problem,” said Moe, flipping through the pages. “There’s nothing written in this diary.”


Later in his room, Larry examined the diary. At least, that’s what the boys had assumed it was. Moe’s words still rang in Larry’s head. There’s nothing written in this diary. That’s morally impossible, thought Larry. The dictionary definition of a diary is “a daily record, usually private, especially of the writer's own experiences, observations, feelings, attitudes, etc.” Larry had several diaries of his own he kept, each following that dictionary definition. The question kept ringing in his mind as if Quasimodo was ringing it like the giant church bell at Notre Dame: why would someone keep a diary only to not write in it? Then Larry thought about what Shemp had said. While he was sitting at the table with the boys, he had thought what Shemp had said was just a figment of his broad (if sometimes annoying) imagination, but now he really thought about it. He opened the book, took a pen, and wrote,
“To whoever owns this diary: my name is Larry Fine.”
He sat back, then leaned forward again. The words had disappeared. New words and another name had appeared in their place.
“Charmed to meet you, Larry. Moe Howard.”
Larry leaned forward so much he almost fell off his chair. He was ninety percent sure, but he still had to ask.
“Are you my brother?”
“Yes.”
Larry’s eyes grew wide in shock.
“Who does this diary belong to?”
“Me.”
Larry dropped his pen. Both of his hands were shaking uncontrollably. He was drenched in cold, clammy sweat.
“Explain this diary to me.”
“To explain the numerous secrets of this diary, that is impossible.”
Larry sighed and sat back. Just like Moe to get someone excited and then drive them off a cliff.
“But I can show them to you.”
Larry leaned forward and stared into the blank page of the diary.
“Let me take you back six months ago.”
Larry picked up the diary. The pages started flipping madly, then stopped on an ink-blotted page towards the end of the diary. A date was visible in the upper right-hand corner: “20th September.”
A purple light shone through the seam of the diary. It filled Larry’s room. Larry looked around him in shock. All of a sudden, he was lifted off of his chair and into the book.

Larry fell to the ground with a thud. He got up and looked around him, looking for signs of life. He touched himself to see if he was still real. He was. He looked down at his shoes. He was still wearing the same T-shirt and jeans. He looked up again. He was in a deserted street downtown. It was pitch black out and the street was dimly lit by street lamps. A dense fog hung over the city. Very few buildings had their lights on. Larry looked up and down the street repeatedly. The first few times he looked, there was no one there. The fifth time he looked down the street, a man had appeared. The man was Caucasian with black hair in an upside-down soup bowl fashion. He was wearing a trench coat and walking slowly towards Larry. He appeared to be holding a long, slender object in his left hand. The expression on his face was grave. Moe Howard stopped in the middle of the road in Larry’s line of vision. He looked left and right, and then kept walking up the street. Larry followed him. “Moe? Moe? Moe, can you hear me?”
Moe did not answer. He just kept walking.
Larry paused for a moment. It wasn’t like Moe to ignore people, he thought. Then he remembered all of the movies he had seen about people that meddle with the past. The people INSIDE the past cannot see you or hear you. Larry continued to follow Moe up the street. Finally, after spending some time walking in the middle of the road, Moe crossed over to Larry’s side of the street and walked some more. He finally stopped in front of an old, almost gone building. The thing looked like it was about to tip over. Moe took out the long, slender object he was holding in his left hand and opened it. Larry gasped but shut his mouth immediately when Moe looked in his direction. It was the book. Moe walked inside the building, which had no door, and Larry followed.

Inside, Larry found himself in what looked like a small waiting room. The room was not very well lit. It was lit by candles that hung in brackets in an adjacent hallway next to a large reception desk. Old men sat in red chintz armchairs by a glass window looking at the dimly lit street outside. The woman behind the reception desk bore the resemblance to an old hag. Her right eye was missing, and she was hobbled over, trying desperately to hold on to her cane. Moe walked up to her and said, “Found this lying around. Thought you might find it interesting.”
The old woman examined the book with her only good eye. “Aye,” she said, in a voice that made Larry think of metal against a blackboard. “This is a good find, boy. Let’s have a look-see.”
The old woman opened the book. She ran a claw-like finger along the page. The page rippled like water. She closed the book and looked up at Moe. “Follow me,” her raspy voice beckoned.
Larry followed Moe and the old woman down the hallway lit by the candles. About three-quarters of the way down, the old woman stopped in front of a door that was as banged up as the building itself. The door had three peeling gold numbers on it: “666.” The old woman opened it and Larry found himself inside what resembled a doctor’s office. There was a bed to his left and a small countertop to his right. The old woman placed the book on the bed and stood back. Moe stood next to her. The old woman muttered words in some strange ancient language. The book’s pages flipped madly and the room shone with intense golden light. A creature came out of the book. It was green and scaly and had long pointy ears.
“You have called?” it said in a loud whisper.
“Yes, Lord,” the old woman replied.
“What for?”
“There is a stranger in this room. We know not who he is, and we ask you to do away with him.”
“I see him.”
“Who is it, Lord?”
“That one. In front of the door.”
The creature yelled more words in the strange ancient language. There was a burst of green light, and when the light had disappeared, all that remained of Larry Fine was his shoes.

[Lunkhead]

Very creative story there, moe-jo. Well written too. I like how you included all the stooges and Ted Healy, while keeping Larry and Moe as the main characters. Neat imagining them in a surrealistic environment.

[moe-jo]

thanks, Lunk!

Here's another story:

The Shoes

Narrated by Moe Howard of The Three Stooges

I hated those shoes. They felt like the atmosphere in the sitting room after we said Kaddish for Gram. They sounded like the Yiddish records we would listen to after dinner. Songs like sighing.

We lived in the poorest section of Boston, so I guess I was lucky that our family was one of the richer Jewish families which allowed me to own shoes in the first place.

One day in 3rd grade at Hebrew school I noticed that my old black cleats were worn. Riding the city bus home, I knew exactly what kind of shoes I wanted. The bus dropped me and my two younger brothers, Larry, who was in 2nd grade, and Jerome, nicknamed Curly, who was in kindergarten, off at the bus stop at the entrance to the Jewish Sector. I ran home faster than any of my brothers. I burst through the front door, threw my bag on the ground, and ran to meet my father, who was in his big black chair in the sitting room, smoking his pipe and studying the Talmud. I told him exactly what kind of shoes I wanted: black loafers with so many silver studs around the sides it would look like I was a real cowboy. He was listening so intently as he studied the Talmud scroll I thought he would know exactly what shoes to get me on his way home from Temple the next day.

The next day I was delayed from seeing my shoes immediately after I got home because Curly had started to cry when he tripped in a puddle outside the front door and my mother had assigned Larry and I the task of calming him down. When he finally stopped crying, I dashed upstairs to my room and looked around. There was a green box on my bed. I opened it and tore the paper out like a madman. I lifted up one of the shoes and my smile instantly faded; the shoe was the color of day-old noodle kugel. I picked the other one up, under some strange notion that it would be a different color, but it was the same drab brown. I heard my father calling that my shoes were in Larry’s room, so I brought the shoes over, hoping that they were for Larry’s enormous feet and not mine. Larry had no idea what I was talking about. I gave up. I went back to my room and put the shoes on. They were big, so big that when I walked my foot almost came out of the shoe and probably would have if the laces weren’t tied. I trudged downstairs, muttered a terse “thank you” to my dad, and went out into the backyard. It was still raining, but I liked the rain. I picked up a piece of lox from last night’s dinner from the scrap pile, tore it up, and threw the pieces back into the scrap pile. When the pieces were gone, I wiped my hands on my jeans and threw a basketball towards the sky. It landed in our neighbor’s yard. I went back to my room and watched my nautilus, Henry, crawl in and out of his shell. I went back outside and lured our neighbor’s dog, Jack, over the fence. I took one of the shoes off and teased him with it. He jumped for it once and missed. He jumped for it a second time and connected. I swore quietly, directed Jack over the fence and looked at the shoe. It had a deep gash along the side. I swore again and put the shoe down. I got into my meditation position and recited the Tahunun, the Jewish prayer of sorrow. I began to cry. Why I cried, I do not know and still do not know to this day.

At dinner that night, I plopped down on my chair and stared at the lump of gefilte fish on my dull blue plate. When I was selected by my dad to say the blessing over the bread, I recited it in a low monotone. I was so embarrassed to wear those giant shoes I did not even wear my yarmulke.

At Hebrew school the next day, the kids made fun of me and my giant shoes. They called me names like Clown Shoes and Lumpy. The rabbis didn’t help either. In Torah, the head rabbi quietly snickered as he moved his yad along the book of Malakhi. At recess, Isaiah Goldman, the playground anarchist, refused to let me play on the swings after I counted to fifty. My best friend, Ted Healy, ate an entire peanut butter and jelly sandwich without letting me have a taste, and my crush, Mary Feinberg, walked away from me at recess to go play with the boys wearing “cool” shoes. Even my brothers shunned me. It seemed like everyone was against me all because of some stupid shoes. The bell rang. I went into the synagogue and knelt on a mat. As is the Jewish custom, I took off my shoes before doing so. Immediately, the entire synagogue burst into laughter that I knew was directed at me. When prayer was over, we went outside for meditation. All the other grades had to see me in my geeky shoes. Even though they weren’t saying anything, I could see them whispering to their friends about my shoes and even covering their mouths with laughter.

I had those shoes for three long and miserable years. I blame them for those bad years. I blame my father for those bad years. But somehow, sometime between the time I got those shoes and the time those three years had passed, they became a part of me. And I became a part of them. I don’t know how it happened and I don’t know why, but it just did.








And here is yet another:



Adam


As is the Jewish custom, Jerome, known as Curly, started kindergarten at age 4. He was indeed nervous, and to show it, he wet his bed five times the night before he was to start school.

Curly’s first day of kindergarten did not get off to a good start. He was made fun of by his older brothers Moe and Larry on the city bus to Hebrew school. He slipped in a puddle outside the schoolhouse. Not until he got home did it get better.

Curly burst through the front door before any of his brothers, threw his bag on the ground and yelled, “Where’s my sandwich?” His mother and father ran to him and gave him a big hug. While his mother was fixing him his sandwich, she asked, “What happened on your first day at Hebrew school?” She brought him his grilled cheese and through a mouthful of bread, Curly replied, “Well, there’s this boy in our class named Adam, and he’s really fresh.”
“Fresh how, son?” his father asked.
Curly swallowed and replied, “Well, today, during coloring time, the teacher wanted us to draw a red flower, and I learned during Get-to-Know-You time that Adam doesn’t like flowers, so he asked the teacher nicely if he could draw a blue race car, and the teacher said nicely that he couldn’t draw a blue race car because that wasn’t what she asked us to do. So then Adam took a blue crayon and colored all over the teacher’s dress.”
“Wow,” said Larry.
“And then, during story time, the teacher was reading us a book about turtles, but Adam said during Get-to-Know-You time that he didn’t like turtles, so he talked the whole time.”
“Wow,” said Larry, again.
“Son, how do the other children react to Adam?” asked Curly’s father.
“The other kids laugh at him. They think he’s funny. Bye, Daddy!”
Ignoring his father’s scoldings of “see here, young man,” Curly went upstairs to his room.
“Can we expect any more from this Adam child?” asked Curly’s mother.
“Well, honey, I wouldn’t get too nervous. It’s their first time in an educational setting, so they’re a little scared. Let’s see how he does tomorrow,” said his father.

The next day was worse: Adam took pencils out to the playground at recess and threw them at the children on the swings. He punched a boy in the stomach and made him cry. He twisted a little girl’s pigtails so tight that she started to cry.

“What shall we do now?” asked Curly’s mother that night at dinner after Curly had left the kitchen.
“Wait it out. It’s only their second day,” his father replied.

Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday went over the same way as Monday and Tuesday: on Wednesday, Adam threw rocks at a little girl’s pet frog during show-and-tell and killed it. On Thursday he swore at the teacher, and on Friday at lunchtime, he opened his mouth, which was full of food, and all the children screamed and ran to go hide from him with the teacher.

“You know, Solomon, that PTA meeting is on Tuesday. I need to talk to Curly’s teacher and ask about this Adam fellow,” said Curly’s mother Friday at dinner.
“Don’t talk to the teacher. Talk to Adam’s mother,” his father suggested.

Only the fact that Larry and Moe had to stay home from school on Tuesday with head colds kept Curly’s mother from going to the PTA meeting.

However, by the third week of kindergarten, there seemed to be a complete transformation in Adam. Curly came home one day unhappy. When his mother asked him what was wrong, he replied, “Adam was good today.”
“Why? What did he do?” asked his mother.
“The teacher asked him to pass out crayons during coloring time, and he did, without whining. And then at recess, he let other kids play on the swings. At the end of the day, he got a train sticker because he was so good today.”
Moe, who came in the door after Curly, complained, “Aww, that’s boring.”
His mother turned to his father. “Well?” she asked.
“It might be a phase. Just you wait. Tomorrow, Adam will be Adam again.”

But Curly’s father was wrong. On Tuesday, Adam once again helped pass out crayons and glue sticks. On Wednesday, Adam played tag at recess without punching or hurting the other children. On Thursday, he sat and listened intently to the teacher read a story about frogs during story time. And on Friday, he painted a picture of a house without painting on the other children’s or the teacher’s clothing. By the end of the week, according to Curly, Adam had seven train stickers for good behavior.

But by the fifth week of kindergarten, Adam was back to his old self. He drew on the walls of the classroom on Monday, stole the other children’s lunches on Tuesday, scared the other children by jumping out of the bushes at recess on Wednesday, sat in time-out almost the whole day on Thursday, and threw clay at the other children on Friday.

Curly’s mother knew she had to go to the PTA meeting on Wednesday of the next week.

At the meeting, Curly’s mother looked and looked, but she could not find anyone who looked like she might be Adam’s mother anywhere. Finally, she spotted Curly’s teacher. “Hi, I’m Jenny Howard. Curly’s—er—Jerome’s mother,” she said.
“Hi! I’m Mrs. Feinnmann, Jerome’s teacher,” the teacher replied happily.
“So you must really have your hands full with this Adam character,” Jenny remarked.
The teacher chuckled. “I’m sorry, but, uh, did you say Adam?”
Jenny looked perplexed. “Well, yes. Jerome has so much to say about him.”
The teacher stared at Jenny.

“We don’t have an Adam in the kindergarten.”

[Lunkhead]

Nice work, moe-jo. I especially liked ADAM and the ending twist. Your stories are quite different and I enjoy reading them.

[moe-jo]

thanks, Lunk! I am actually in the process of writing a horror Stooge fanfiction. Now I don't want to give TOO much away, but it's from Moe's diary.

[moe-jo]

And here it is! A new story! It's just a short little one about Moe, but mind you, it might send a little shiver up your spine...


I’ve Been Seeing Things
A Horror Story by moe-jo




The following is taken from the diary of Moe Howard.




It’s easy to fall asleep at night. But sometimes, all these noises keep waking you up. And I’m not talking about a bang from downstairs or music playing. I’m talking about something…out THERE. Believe it or not, there is a big difference between what’s out THERE and in HERE.

But for me, there is no HERE or THERE. There is only an internal conflict. Or at least, I THINK it’s internal. A constant struggle between me and myself. Inescapable. Unavoidable (believe it or not, there is also a big difference between those two words as well).

The best time to cry is at night. That way, you’re safe and sound in your own bed and no one can hear you. That’s when I do it. I have many things to cry for, but mostly, I cry for the demon inside of me. I cry for my bad luck. I cry because the tears just come out. My brothers think that nothing bothers me, that I hurt them for my own pleasure. But I have a secret.

I am possessed. Yes, possessed. Possessed by this…thing inside of me. And I am powerless. It is a parasite, and I am its host from which it gains energy. I will fall asleep with the sweetest of dreams, say, about Gail Tempest, only to keep in the back of my mind that I will awake sometime later drenched in cold sweat, screaming. I will close my eyes only to blink as visions of darkness disrupt my eyesight.

Yet, for some unspeakable truth, I seem to enjoy this feeling of possession. I crave it. I must have it. Without it, I cannot survive, it seems. And I want to be rid of it as well. And I hate it as much as I love it. This creature, or creatures, inside of me tell me what to do, and I listen, which, for some reason, I love doing, but at the same time, I don’t love doing it. It is a battle of good and evil. And this time, I cannot expect to win the war.

[Lunkhead]

Creepy. Poor Moe!

[moe-jo]

Yeah. I felt there needed to be an explanation for why he does so much slapping.

[moe-jo]

A new one! This one is a little sad...



Blood Brothers
A Three Stooges Fan Fiction by moe-jo




“How is he?”
Jerome Howard peeked into room 45 at Merrimac Valley Hospital. Larry was standing on the side of the bed. Shemp stood by the door with his hands crossed across his waist. Ted Healy sat in a chair next to Shemp, focusing closely on the figure that lay motionless in the bed.
“He’s fine,” Larry replied, without looking and as calmly as if he and Curly were discussing the weather. “He’s been sleeping all day.”
Still looking at the ground, Curly walked over to the bed. He looked up at the lifeless face of his brother. That face which had always made him laugh and cry with endless expression now lay expressionless.
“He’s still breathing!” Curly said, hopefully.
Larry looked at him sternly. Curly’s smile faded and he continued to stare at the body. He almost wanted to call it a corpse. He’d seen enough movies to know that the chances of a person coming out of a coma were slim, even if they received proper medical treatment. He pulled up a chair and sat down on the side of the bed. He touched his brother’s cold, limp hand. Moe’s hands were usually warm. Tears welled up in his eyes.
“Do you need a tissue?”
Shemp had stepped forward, holding a Kleenex.
“No…no, I’m fine.”
Shemp pocketed the Kleenex and went back to his spot against the wall.
“They brushed back his hair…” Curly cried even harder.
“I think we should leave him alone,” Ted whispered to Shemp. Shemp nodded.
“C’mon, Larry.”
Larry took one last look at Moe, grabbed Curly’s hand, which was on top of Moe’s hand, and looked at Curly. For a brief moment, Curly thought he could see tears in Larry’s eyes as well. Then Larry let go and he, Shemp, and Ted left the room and closed the door.

Curly sat alone with Moe. He let go of his hand and looked at the seemingly dead face. “It’s my fault,” Curly cried some more and wiped his eyes with his hands. “I was selfish. I should never have pushed you out into the street, even if I did have to save myself.” Curly stared at the limp face. He stood up abruptly. “Shut up!” he yelled. “You know just as well as I do that’s what I had to do! Fat lot of good you do me!” He was angry now. Angry at a corpse. What was he doing? He sat back down and sighed. He looked away, then looked back again. “I’m sorry,” he said calmly. He lay his head down on Moe’s lightly rising then heaving stomach. He wrapped his arms around his waist. “For everything. I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry for being your little brother when I could’ve been anybody else’s. I’m sorry for being fat. I’m sorry for being bald. I’m sorry for being stupid. I’m sorry for being better than you sometimes. I’m sorry for being nicer than you. And I’m sorry for probably being the worst little brother in the world, but more than anything, I’m sorry that you have to go through this. Please, Moe, please, please, please come back…please come back…”
And with that, he closed his eyes and fell asleep with a silent prayer of hope.
And as if by God, a hand reached out and gently pet Curly’s bald head. As if by God…

[Lunkhead]

Another interesting take on the characters, moe-jo. Good one.

[moe-jo]

here's another one. Might send another chill up your spine...


Omen
A Three Stooges fan fiction by moe-jo


Curly sat alone in the apartment. Finally! He never got to be by himself. Moe was with Gail, Shemp and Larry were at work, and Ted was too busy to come visit. He was all by himself. The only problem was there was nothing to do. So Curly sat on the couch in the main room and read a magazine. He was just coming across an article on roast beef sandwiches being damaging to your health when he felt the hairs on the back of his head stand up. He lifted his head from the magazine and looked around. He heard doors slamming. He walked to the boys’ rooms. The slamming continued, but no doors were shut. “Huh…weird,” Curly thought. He went into his room. Suddenly, he had the feeling of being watched. He walked over to the window. He began to sweat wildly. He turned around abruptly and saw a black figure, about the size of a small child, standing in the doorway. “Who are you?” Curly asked. He started to hear children giggling. “Do you have friends here? Do you want me to go look for them?” Curly asked, under the notion that this figure was human. Suddenly, the figure darted past Curly and out the window. Curly screamed, “MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOE!”

Moe walked in through the front door, clearly in a good mood because he had just scored with Gail. Curly came running out of his room. He hung onto Moe. “Oh, Moe…I’m so glad you’re back!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes…there was this…thing…in my room…it was black and scary and then it shot towards the window and ran out…I’ve never seen anything move that fast in my life…”
“Curly, you’re just seeing things.”
“Moe, listen to the tone of my voice!”
Moe sighed.
“Hey, what’s going on?”
Larry walked through the door.
“Curly thinks he saw a ghost.”
“Well, I’m not sure if it was a ghost, because, you know, ghosts are white. But I heard little kids giggling.”
Larry took a step backward. His pulsing eyes moved around in their sockets.
“Hi everybody!”
Shemp bounced in through the doorway. Larry jumped.
“So, how’s it going?”
“We are experiencing the paranormal,” Larry said in a sinister voice.
“COOL!” Shemp yelled.
“Guys! This isn’t funny! I know what I saw!” Curly was practically pleading now.
“Ok, ok, I’ll go check, but I tell you there isn’t a ghost!”
Moe walked into Curly’s room. At first he didn’t notice anything, but after a while, he started to get the same feelings that Curly got. Moe started to hear children laughing. He turned around and saw two little boys standing in the doorway. They were dressed in black and wore caps from the 1930s. “Hello,” they said in unison.
“Uh…hi,” Moe replied uneasily.
“Where’s Curly?” they asked together.
“Um…out…side?”
“Thank you,” they disappeared.
Moe stepped out of Curly’s room in shock. Everyone turned to face him.
“Oh. My. God. Curly was right.”
The boys looked at one another.

Later that night, Larry lay asleep, thinking. Larry liked to think in bed. Right now, he lay awake with eyes open, thinking about what had happened to Curly and Moe earlier that day. Larry had always believed in ghosts, but he never really thought he would see one. Now it was as possible as ever. A cold shiver ran down Larry’s spine. This could be it, he thought. With that shiver…it could happen any time now…
He sat up. He heard children’s voices singing: “Ring around the rosie…a pocket full of posies…ashes to ashes…we all fall down…” The singing got increasingly louder. Larry tried to close his ears, but the singing burst right through his hands. He closed his eyes, wishing it would stop, and then, he fell…

At breakfast the next morning, Larry and Curly sat with Shemp and Moe. Larry, Curly, and Shemp didn’t touch their waffles. Moe scarfed his down and said, “Well, bye everyone! I got another date with Gail. I’m taking her to see Prom Night!” Shemp chuckled and shook his head.
The door closed and the conversation began.
“Did you hear it?” Larry asked Curly.
“Hear what? The singing? Yeah.”
“I heard it too!” Shemp cut in.
“I don’t know why but there’s something significant about that song,” Larry pointed out.
Curly closed his eyes and sang the song to himself. “Ring around the rosie, a pocket full of posies, ashes to ashes…” He stopped on that line and opened his eyes wide, then closed them again. “Ashes to ashes, ashes to ashes, ashes to ashes, ashes…” He opened his eyes and began to pace. “That song…was often sung…” He paused. “…during the Plague in the 14th century. During the Plague, people would stuff their pockets full of herbs called posies to ward off the plague. They would die anyway. So the kids started singing this song, and it was a song…about death.”
“So…” Shemp began. “What you’re saying is…the ghosts are obsessed with death?”
“Might be.”
“Hm…”
“So what do we do?” Larry cut in.
“We gotta call Ted,” Curly reasoned. “He’s the guy that knows most about this stuff.”

Ted Healy walked into the boys’ apartment. He closed his eyes. “There’s definitely something here,” he declared.
“What? What’s here?” Moe came out of his room.
“A ghost,” Curly said.
“There ain’t no ghost, and I’ll prove it to you!” Moe flailed his arms wildly and made an evil cackling noise. The boys followed suit.
“No, I mean, seriously,” Ted said. The flailing and cackling stopped. “I just KNOW there’s something here…”
He stepped into Curly’s room. “Wait a minute!” Larry yelled. He pressed his hands against the wall. A horrible growling began to arise. Larry moved his hands along the wall, first at a walk, then at a run. The growling got louder and louder. Larry was spilling buckets of cold sweat. Finally, the growling stopped, and so did Larry. “Right here.” He patted the spot where he had stopped. Ted walked over to where Larry was standing. He nodded. “Yep. That’s your sweet spot right there.”
“Ew,” muttered Curly. Moe rolled his eyes.
“Hello?” Ted called. “We know you’re here, so there’s no point in hiding anymore.”
Nothing happened. Ted called again. “We know you’re here.” Nothing still. Moe sighed and said, “Give up.”
Ted shot an evil glance at Moe. “You want to try?” Moe adjusted his posture so that he was at level height with Ted’s nose. He walked past him. “Hello?” he called. “See? Nothing here.” All of a sudden, a pair of white hands grabbed Moe from behind. There was evil cackling. Moe tried to scream but the hands covered his mouth. Curly and Larry jumped forward and tried to pull the hands off of Moe, but their hands went right through. “HELP ME!” Moe shouted as the hands pulled him out the window. Curly tried to jump out of the window after him, but Larry pulled him back. “He’s gone,” Larry declared, and hung his head.

[Lunkhead]

[moe-jo]

I'm glad you liked it.

I wrote another one!


The following is taken from the diary of Moe Howard.



January 28, 1998.....the biggest swell to hit Hawaii.


I was there. Curly had won a vacation to Hawaii by coming up with a slogan for Stix-Fast Glue. On that day Larry and Curly and Shemp and I went to the beach on Waimea Bay. The waves were monsters. We stood there watching them. I watched in awe. I distanced myself from the boys and climbed up on a rock with my board. I swear to God, the things were over 80 feet high. "Heaven, definitely heaven," I thought to myself. My heart pounding, I jumped off of the rock. Ignoring the cries of "Hey man, where you goin'?" and "Are you crazy, Moe? Those waves are beasts!", I ran out into the water. When I could ignore the cries no longer, I yelled at the boys, "I'm going surfing!" True, I could be killed, but there was no way I'd pass this chance up in a lifetime. The cold January water crashed against my feet, but I didn't care. A monster of a wave, the Frankenstein of all waves, was rising up towards the sky. When it got too deep that I could walk no longer, I got on my board and paddled up to the wave. God, I was right beneath it...I balanced my feet on my board, rode up to the crest of the wave and took a 180 degree spin jump. I landed on the body of the wave. I looked straight into the barrel, and for a split second, I thought I could see myself as a 12-year-old boy who screamed and cried with fright when his father took him through the barrel of a 20-footer. But I wasn't scared anymore, and this was an 80-footer. I went right into the mass of blue and green and white. It only lasted for about a minute, but I felt as though my whole life was encompassed in that one minute. I came out of the barrel and did a few S-curves thinking man I wish there were girls watching, but no girl would be crazy enough to do what I was doing. The wave with the barrel had fallen, but another bigger, faster-traveling wave was behind me. I was like, no problem. Until it hit. The wave was too fast for even a World Champ surfer, and I fell. I saw my board break and drift away into the depths of the ocean. I was underwater, swirling around in a mass of black, so black that I couldn't see which way was up or down. I heard the sound of another approaching wave, and I knew it was over. Another 80-foot wave crashed on top of me. I screamed but no noise came out. I knew I had to get to the surface if I ever wanted to see the boys again. The boys...I wondered what they were doing? Maybe just sitting on the beach, bragging about how much smarter than me they were. I knew I couldn't think about them right now. I swam as hard as I could. Finally, my head broke the surface. My bowl cut had been destroyed by the powerful waves.


When we got back to Boston, I saw that some people from IMAX had made a documentary about surfing on that day. I didn't have to see it. I lived it.

The ocean is my life. There's nothing I love more than heading out to Cape Cod for a day of surfing. But I will never forget the experience I had that day in Hawaii.

[moe-jo]

The following is taken from the diary of Moe Howard.



January 28, 1998.....the biggest swell to hit Hawaii.


I was there. Curly had won a vacation to Hawaii by coming up with a slogan for Stix-Fast Glue. On that day Larry and Curly and Shemp and I went to the beach on Waimea Bay. The waves were monsters. We stood there watching them. I watched in awe. I distanced myself from the boys and climbed up on a rock with my board. I swear to God, the things were over 80 feet high. "Heaven, definitely heaven," I thought to myself. My heart pounding, I jumped off of the rock. Ignoring the cries of "Hey man, where you goin'?" and "Are you crazy, Moe? Those waves are beasts!", I ran out into the water. When I could ignore the cries no longer, I yelled at the boys, "I'm going surfing!" True, I could be killed, but there was no way I'd pass this chance up in a lifetime. The cold January water crashed against my feet, but I didn't care. A monster of a wave, the Frankenstein of all waves, was rising up towards the sky. When it got too deep that I could walk no longer, I got on my board and paddled up to the wave. God, I was right beneath it...I balanced my feet on my board, rode up to the crest of the wave and took a 180 degree spin jump. I landed on the body of the wave. I looked straight into the barrel, and for a split second, I thought I could see myself as a 12-year-old boy who screamed and cried with fright when his father took him through the barrel of a 20-footer. But I wasn't scared anymore, and this was an 80-footer. I went right into the mass of blue and green and white. It only lasted for about a minute, but I felt as though my whole life was encompassed in that one minute. I came out of the barrel and did a few S-curves thinking man I wish there were girls watching, but no girl would be crazy enough to do what I was doing. The wave with the barrel had fallen, but another bigger, faster-traveling wave was behind me. I was like, no problem. Until it hit. The wave was too fast for even a World Champ surfer, and I fell. I saw my board break and drift away into the depths of the ocean. I was underwater, swirling around in a mass of black, so black that I couldn't see which way was up or down. I heard the sound of another approaching wave, and I knew it was over. Another 80-foot wave crashed on top of me. I screamed but no noise came out. I knew I had to get to the surface if I ever wanted to see the boys again. The boys...I wondered what they were doing? Maybe just sitting on the beach, bragging about how much smarter than me they were. I knew I couldn't think about them right now. I swam as hard as I could. Finally, my head broke the surface. My bowl cut had been destroyed by the powerful waves.


When we got back to Boston, I saw that some people from IMAX had made a documentary about surfing on that day. I didn't have to see it. I lived it.

The ocean is my life. There's nothing I love more than heading out to Cape Cod for a day of surfing. But I will never forget the experience I had that day in Hawaii.

[moe-jo]

I wrote an alternate ending to Disorder in the Court.


"I hereby find the defendant guilty as charged!"

Gail Tempest could not believe it. She would be spending the rest of her life in prison. The bailiff put handcuffs on her and was about to lead her out when Curly shouted, "Wait! Can we just...say goodbye real quick?" The judge nodded to the bailiff, and the bailiff uncuffed Gail. Curly walked over to Gail and said, "Work's gonna suck without you there."
"I know," Gail replied.
"I mean, like, there are like, twenty other hot dancers at work but, like, I think you're like, the cutest."
"Oh, Curly..."
The two hugged.
Now it was Shemp's turn.
"Um..." Shemp began. "The walls of the prison are gray...gray is a nice color. I mean, you're a girl so you may not think so, but I'm just trying to make you feel better."
Gail laughed. "I know, I know."
The two hugged.
Now it was Ted's turn.
"I don't know if this is going to make you feel any better but I was arrested once. Yeah, for holding. And it wasn't that bad."
"Ted, you were only in jail overnight."
"I know, and I'm telling you, it wasn't that bad."
Gail laughed and rolled her eyes. The two hugged.
Now it was Larry's turn.
Gail looked sternly at Larry. "Larry, I want you to promise me that you won't get into any trouble while I'm gone."
"Ok, I promise."
"Really promise?"
"Yeah."
"Ok."
The two hugged.

Moe didn't get up immediately. He was still wiping away tears. Finally he got up and approached Gail. "Um...I was saving this for your birthday but...I guess I can give it to you now." He handed Gail a small package wrapped in yellow wrapping paper with multi-colored stars on it and a red ribbon. Gail opened it. Inside was a silver necklace with a capital letter M at the base.
"Moe...it's your name necklace."
"Yeah...I thought you might like something to remember me by."
They kissed passionately. It must have been about 5 minutes before they let go.


A few nights later, Gail sat in her cell, fingering Moe's necklace. She was crying. She would never see the man she loved again. Tears streamed from her eyes. She was about to put it back in the box when she noticed a piece of paper in the box. She took it out. It was a letter from Moe.


Gail,

I'm not going to say I love you, because that wouldn't mean anything on paper. Knowing that I'm writing this while your life is on the line...I feel like I should be saving you. Hell, I'm surprised this paper ain't wet with tears. If you end up in jail, read below. If you don't, then that's a good thing!

I miss you, dammit. I miss you so bad. I think back to all those romantic days we spent together, and knowing that I won't get to do that with you anymore just kills me. I don't why I'm not dead already. I bought some pills yesterday. I'm going to kill myself. Baby, I don't know if you understand, but plain and simple, I can't live without you. I could try, but it would be pointless. What's the point of living if you can't feel alive? There is no point. You're the one that makes me feel alive, baby. You and I ain't related, but you're like my blood, my flesh, my soul that keeps me together. And without you, there's nothing left of me but my skeleton. Man, baby, I could go on and on about how much you mean to me, but you'll probably be interrupted from reading this by the guards telling you to go outside and smash rocks or something.

Baby, I'm gonna leave you now. There's nothing left to live for now that you're gone. When you get out of jail, don't come looking for me until your time comes, because I won't be here anymore. I'm going to leave you with this. I love you. I know three words isn't enough to say how I feel about you, but...it's really all I can say. I love you. So much.

Goodbye. I love you.
Moe

Gail lost it. Tears ran wildly from her eyes.

The next day, Gail was still sobbing into her pillow. The guard came and told her she had a call. When she asked who, the guard replied, "It's a surprise."

Gail sat down at the glass and looked up. Could it be? Was it really him? He looked like he had not slept in days. His eyes were bloodshot, but otherwise, he was the same man Gail remembered.
"...Moe?"
"Hey."
"Your letter said you were dead."
"Baby, I came this close." He held up his fingers to show how close he was. "When I was writing the letter, I thought of you begging me to stay alive. So since I couldn't do it on my own anymore, I got some help."
Gail saw what was coming, and she didn't like it.
"From who?"
"A guy."
"What did he give you?"
"My face looks terrible."
"What?"
"It looks terrible for a reason."
"Oh Moe...don't tell me you..."
"Yeah. Weed."
"Weed doesn't keep you alive!"
"Exactly."
A long silence passed.
"...Gail?"
"Yeah, Moe?"
"What the hell's happened to us?"
"I don't know, Moe. I just don't know."


THE END