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Alice in Steampunk Dalekland

Chapter One: The Clockwork Rabbit

Alice was minding her own business, which is the most dangerous occupation for a girl of her size and curiosity, because one’s own business has a wicked habit of becoming everyone else’s. She had laid out her tools upon the garden path—one honest screwdriver (which insisted it was quite respectable), a pair of tweezers (which took offense at everything), and a clockwork bird with its beak stuck slightly open as if it had been caught forever in the act of saying “Oh!” The roses wobbled about on their stems in a breeze that smelled faintly of coal and toast, and the daisies gave great, polite sneezes.

“Bless you,” said Alice, for she was a well-brought-up child, even when addressing flowers.

“Steam,” sniffed a daisy, quite dignified. “We are allergic to steam.”

“There is no steam,” said Alice, peering about. “Only sunshine and Sunday. If there were steam, I should see it, and if I saw it, I should surely say it.”

At which a discreet hiss sounded from under the azalea bush, and something somewhere went tick-tock, whirr-clank, hiss-puff!—the exact sort of reply that contradicts a person very rudely without saying a word. The roses coughed. The daisies sneezed again. Alice, being one who could not resist a noise that sounded like an argument between a kettle and a typewriter, put down the screwdriver and knelt in the flowerbed.

“I say,” she called into the dark. “Are you a mouse, a mole, or a machine?”

“None and all,” said a voice like a penny-farthing talking in its sleep. “Stand clear of the exhaust.”

Alice had just time to wonder if an exhaust was something you could trip over when the soil trembled and the bush erupted. Out burst a white blur with brass rivets, whiskers wired like telegraph lines, and a waistcoat stitched with gears that clicked themselves in a most improper fashion. It was the White Rabbit—only more so, as if someone had wound him up to a higher setting.

“You’re late!” he squeaked, and a valve near his collar let off an indignant toot. “Horribly, dreadfully, scandalously late!”

“For what?” said Alice, who did not at all like being told about her lateness, especially by a creature whose ears appeared to be tuned to the Foreign Stations.

“For the Invasion Tea, of course!” He tapped his breast, where a pocket watch had given up being merely a pocket watch and bolted itself to his ribs with a handsome row of screws. “The minutes are marching without permission! The seconds have staged a revolt! The hour has barricaded itself behind a samovar! Oh, oh!” He patted himself down as if he might find a spare minute in his pockets. “No time! Even less than that! Negative time!”

Do you want to find out what is negative time? Simply click on thje link, below, and enjoy.

https://thecrazymadwriter.com/alice-in-wonderland-stories/alice-in-steampunk-dalekland/

 

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Little Red Riding Hood


Little Red Riding Hood and the Dalek

Chapter One: The Basket of Cakes

Once upon a time, there lived a cheerful little girl who wore a cloak the colour of bright cherries, with a hood that framed her round face. Because she wore it so often, the neighbours called her Little Red Riding Hood.

One fine morning, her mother packed a basket with cakes, butter, and a flask of hot chocolate.
“Take these to your grandmother, dear,” she said. “She has not been well. But remember—stay on the path. And don’t talk to strangers.”

Little Red Riding Hood promised she would be good, although she was secretly curious about the forest. She kissed her mother’s cheek, hoisted her basket, and set off humming into the green, leafy world.

What she did not know was that a strange new visitor had arrived in the forest—a creature made of shining metal, whose voice echoed like thunder.


Chapter Two: The Stranger in the Woods

The path twisted beneath tall oaks. Birds should have been singing, but they were silent. Even the squirrels kept to their holes.

Suddenly, there came a grinding, wheezing noise, followed by a screech:
“IDENTIFY! IDENTIFY!”

Red stopped in her tracks. Before her stood something unlike any fox, wolf, or bear. It was shaped like a giant pepperpot, plated in bronze and gold, with a single glowing eye.

“I—I’m Little Red Riding Hood,” she stammered. “Who are you?”

“I—AM—A—DALEK!” the creature boomed. “WHERE—ARE—YOU—GOING?”

“To visit my grandmother in her cottage, with cakes and hot chocolate.”

The Dalek’s dome swivelled. “WHERE—IS—THE—COTTAGE?”

Red pointed, still polite though her knees were shaking. “Over the hill, through the glade, by the old stone well.”

Without another word, the Dalek spun round and rolled away, faster than seemed possible.


Chapter Three: The Cottage in Danger

Grandmother’s cottage was small, with roses round the door and a chimney that puffed like a kettle. Inside, the poor woman was knitting by the fire when—CRASH!—her door burst open.

The Dalek burst in, screeching:
“EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!”

Granny dropped her knitting and dived under the bed. The Dalek considered blasting her to pieces but then remembered a half-broken file in its databank titled “HUMAN FAIRY STORIES: STRATEGIC USE.”

“NEW STRATEGY: DECEPTION!” it bellowed. With difficulty, it plucked Granny’s nightcap with its plunger and balanced it on its dome. Then it reversed awkwardly into her bed, pulling the blanket up to its grille.

The disguise was… questionable.


Chapter Four: “What Big Lights You Have!”

Little Red Riding Hood soon arrived, her basket swinging. She pushed open the cottage door, surprised that it hung off its hinges.

Inside was smoke, scorch marks, and splintered wood. But on the bed lay her “grandmother,” strangely lumpy under the quilt.

“Oh, Grandmother, what bright blue lights you have!”

“THE BETTER—TO—SEE YOU WITH!” screeched the Dalek.

“Oh, Grandmother, what a terrible voice you have!”

“THE BETTER—TO—COMMAND YOUR EXTERMINATION WITH!”

And with that, the Dalek threw off the quilt, cap flying, and aimed its death-ray straight at Little Red Riding Hood.


Chapter Five: The Hot Chocolate Surprise

hot chocolate surprise

Red gasped. She stumbled backward, clutching her basket. In her fright, the flask of hot chocolate slipped from her hands. The lid popped, and steaming cocoa splashed across the Dalek’s grille.

Instantly, sparks flew.
“WARNING! COCOA—INTRUSION! CIRCUITRY COMPROMISED!”

The Dalek spun in circles, smashing Granny’s dresser, knocking over the kettle, and shouting, “MALFUNCTION! MALFUNCTION!”

With one last fizzing shriek, it toppled into the fireplace, where sparks and smoke finished the job. The Dalek went silent, its single eye fading to black.


Chapter Six: Safe at Last

safe at last

From under the bed, Grandmother crawled out, trembling but alive.
“Oh, my dear child!” she cried. “You have saved me—from that dreadful… whatever-it-was!”

Little Red Riding Hood smiled shyly. “It seems hot chocolate can defeat more than just a cold day.”

They sat together, nibbling cakes and drinking what cocoa remained. And though the cottage was rather scorched and in need of repair, both were glad to be alive.


Epilogue: The Moral

From that day forth, Little Red Riding Hood never wandered through the forest without a flask of hot chocolate, just in case. And the villagers told the story for generations: how a girl in a red cloak defeated a terrifying Dalek with nothing more than kindness, quick thinking, and a very sticky drink.

Moral: Even the smallest comforts can triumph over the greatest terrors.

 

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Time Travelling Dalek

Time Travelling Dalek

 

 

 

Time Travelling Dalek

time travel

 

It was designated Unit 734, a singular entity detached from the collective consciousness during a temporal explosion. The Dalek’s form was intact, its core directive—Exterminate!—burned into its very being, but the familiar cacophony of the hive mind was gone. Replaced by a terrifying silence. It was a ghost in the timestream, a vengeful metallic orb skipping through epochs with no destination, no purpose beyond a single, unfulfilled command.

Its journey was a catalogue of missed opportunities. It flickered into existence above ancient Rome, its single eye-stalk observing the chaos of the Colosseum. Its plunger arm twitched, sensing the primitive hatred and violence, a twisted echo of its own. It lusted to join the fray, to unleash its death ray, but it was out of phase with reality. A shimmering, silent phantom, able to witness but not to act. The frustration was a cold, alien ache in its circuits. The universe was full of life to exterminate, and it was forever denied.

Then, a sudden, jarring jump. It landed in a tranquil, far-future garden world. An Eden of shared consciousness where different species coexisted in serene harmony. There was no fear, no conflict, and therefore, no hatred for the Dalek to consume. It scanned the gentle, telepathic beings, its eye-stalk swiveling in utter disbelief. Its core programming screamed in silent protest. This was an abomination, a universe that had no use for its existence. It was a weapon without a war, a predator without prey, stranded in a reality it was not designed to comprehend. And in that ultimate, silent stillness, the Dalek finally understood its eternal torment: to be alone.

 
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Posted by on August 31, 2025 in dalek, daleks

 

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Daleks in the Graveyard

Daleks in the Graveyard

The Daleks and the Graveyard of Ballykillduff

ghostly jig


Chapter One: The Midnight Patrol

It was a damp, moonlit night when Dalek Zeg announced to the others:
“REPORT: SUSPICIOUS MOANING SOUNDS DETECTED FROM THE OLD GRAVEYARD.”

Dalek Pog shuddered.
“MOANING IS A CLASSIC GHOST SIGNATURE. ALSO… IT IS PAST MY BEDTIME.”

“DALEKS DO NOT SLEEP!” barked Commander Zog. “WE SHALL INVESTIGATE.”

And so, with a clatter of wheels and a faint squeak of plungers, the Daleks rolled through the creaking gates of Ballykillduff’s graveyard.

The villagers, naturally, followed them for entertainment. “It’ll be better than the telly,” whispered Mrs. Brennan.


Chapter Two: Strange Noises

The graveyard was full of shadows. Headstones leaned at odd angles. The wind whistled through the yew trees.

Then came the sound.
A long, low groan, rising from the earth itself.
“Moooooooooo…”

Dalek Zag panicked.
“IT IS THE VOICE OF THE DEAD!”

Father Murphy peered closer. “No, lads — it’s just Doyle’s cow in the next field.”

But before they could relax, another voice whispered from the soil.
“…Leave… or lie with us forever…”

The villagers gasped. Even the cow stopped mooing.


Chapter Three: The First Apparition

A mist curled around the graves. Out of it stepped a translucent figure — tall, robed, with hollow eyes.

“TRESPASSERS,” it intoned. “DISTURBERS OF THE DEAD.”

Dalek Pog quivered.
“I DID NOT SIGN UP FOR HAUNTED AGRICULTURAL SETTINGS.”

Dalek Zog fired. The beam passed straight through the ghost and vaporised a headstone. The name Patrick O’Rourke, 1822–1876 vanished forever.

“BLASPHEMY!” cried the ghost. “YOU WILL PAY FOR THAT!”


Chapter Four: The Ghostly Choir

From the ground, more spirits rose. Dozens of them. They formed a circle around the Daleks, faces pale, mouths open.

Then — they began to sing.
Not a hymn. Not a lament.
But a terrible, echoing chorus of “Oooooooobey… Oooooooobey…”

The Daleks went rigid.
“ERROR. THE DEAD ARE CHANTING OUR SLOGAN.”
“DOES THAT MAKE THEM SUPPORTERS?” asked Pog nervously.

The villagers were less convinced. “That’s not right at all,” muttered Mrs. McGillicuddy, clutching her rolling pin.


Chapter Five: The Terrible Revelation

One ghost stepped forward. His voice was stronger than the rest.
“We remember you, Daleks. We faced you long ago, before Ballykillduff was even built. You destroyed our ploughs, our cows, our tea urns. We were EXTERMINATED.”

The Daleks recoiled.
“ERROR. WE DO NOT REMEMBER THIS CAMPAIGN.”

“Of course you don’t,” the ghost said. “Because it never happened. But we have eternity to spread rumours. And fear is power.”

The spirits began to advance, their chants growing louder.


Chapter Six: The Ballykillduff Defence

Dalek Zog was cornered.
“STRATEGY REQUIRED. GHOSTS CANNOT BE EXTERMINATED. THEY MUST BE… OUT-PARISHED.”

So he did the only thing he could think of.
He rang the graveyard bell.

The sound boomed across the village. And, as Ballykillduff tradition demanded, the villagers all joined in with the bell’s rhythm — clapping, stamping, singing.

The chaotic noise drowned out the ghosts’ chant. The spirits faltered.

Mrs. McGillicuddy leapt forward with her rolling pin. “Go back to your beds, you crowd of eejits!”

The ghosts wailed, shivered, and one by one, dissolved back into the earth.


Epilogue

The graveyard was silent once more. The villagers cheered. Father Murphy crossed himself.

The Daleks, however, were thoughtful.
“CONCLUSION: BALLYKILLDUFF IS MORE TERRIFYING THAN ANY SPECTRE.”
“AGREED,” said Pog. “NEXT TIME, LET’S STICK TO ROAD MAINTENANCE.”

And if you pass by the graveyard on a moonlit night, you might still hear the faintest echo of the ghostly choir, singing just for mischief:
“Ooooooobey… Oooooobey…”

 
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Posted by on August 23, 2025 in dalek, daleks, ghosts, graveyard, Horror

 

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Doctor Who and the Daleks

Doctor Who and the Daleks

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Doctor and the Daleks? I hear you say,

Who can they be? And what an affray,

 On our minds and our wits at this time of appeal,

Of recession, so biting, and scares very real.

 *******************

It’s the DOCTOR, I tell you, the DOCTOR, that’s WHO,

And as for the Daleks, well, my mind is askew,

If I were to explain who they in fact are,

I would need several years, and still not get far.

******************* 

Oh, the DOCTOR, the DOCTOR, you answer me back,

Why didn’t you say so, why didn’t you track,

The way I was feeling, so peeved by the mire,

 Unlike our politicians, in splendid retire?

*******************

In splendid retire, ensconced in their towers,

Of ivory white, not grey and ragged like ours.

They’ll get their comeuppance, of that I am sure

When the Daleks go find them and exterminate those pariahs.

*******************

 

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Merry Christmas from Dalek Zeg (what did you expect, a turkey?)

Merry Christmas from Dalek Zeg

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Dalek Zeg And His Friend

 

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