Uncle Jeremy Looks Best in the Dark


A carrot with creepy eyes saying "Call me Jeremy, Baby"

Hey there,

Instead of writing, I was procrastinating with a newspaper article on interior design.

Then I wasn’t procrastinating, because I had my story.

Seven Secrets Interior Designers Don’t Want You To Know:

1. Interior design is all about lamps. You can replace an interior designer with a truckload of fancy lamps.

Bear in mind, though, lamps are for ambiance, not lighting.

Only use bulbs that provide about as much light as a hot carrot.

2. All interior designers want to tell you about their “Uncle Jeremy.”

Standard opening gambits include:

  • that time Uncle Jeremy was a horse;
  • you won’t believe what Uncle Jeremy found in Zsa Zsa Gabor’s kitchen in the 80s, and
  • he’s retired now, but this space is so interesting, I’m sure he’d look at it for free, if you’d like?

But he is not their uncle.

He is their sire.

3. They didn’t want to be interior designers. Uncle Jeremy insisted. They wanted to be artists. Hence the tasteless nude statues.

At night, in the dim orange light of a hundred lamps, the statues shine with a feverish, bloated glow.

4. Interior designers will get rid of your practical storage space to make room for more dim lamps.

You therefore have nowhere to hide the awful statues, your vacuum cleaner, and the plastic bags you keep accumulating despite your solemn promise to Save the Planet.

5. Thank God you said that; I thought I must be going mad. The downstairs bathroom really is gone, isn’t it? I mean it can’t be, they must have just hidden the door behind some curtains or something. What about behind that big Triffid-looking lamp?

Let me check there… ouch!

Can’t we just have one proper light? For emergencies?

We’ll never find the toilet—or the cat—like this.

6. You know who can see in the dark?

Uncle Jeremy.

He sees everything as he crawls over the ceiling above your head in the hot carrot darkness.

7. Though mocked as being bland or boring, neutral colours have a wonderfully calming effect on victims.

This improves the taste of their flesh.

END

Back in 18th century Dublin, interior design just meant making sure there was less rain inside the house than outside.

That, and having somewhere to hide when the Fairy Queen came to visit.

In case she turned up hungry…

See what’s on the menu in A Grave & Dreadful Business here!

Chat soon!
Morgan

P.S. This is just one of the emails I wrote a couple of weeks ago.
If you enjoyed it, sign up to my newsletter to read more: https://morgandelaney.info/newsletter.

Dark, Strange and Fantastic Fiction

Trusted by 500+ fans to find the fun in the funereal, the absurd in the macabre, and delight in the darkness. Join fiction author Morgan Delaney three times a week for genre-bending stories of cozy horror, dark fantasy and a brain with mind of its own...

Read more from Dark, Strange and Fantastic Fiction
A witch holding a catapult

it’s been all bloody go here at the HQ of the Official Hawkinge-By-Hythe Historical Society. First, I had those man sniffles, then a sudden change in weather gave me a migraine. And then I got lumbago. Look, I hate making a fuss, but I’m putting my foot down – carefully, because of the lumbago – whoever has the Morgan voodoo doll, could you stop now, please? The internet tells me “lumbago” is an “outdated term for lower back pain”, and I agree. We should all be using the more evocative German...

A woman wearing a blue suit and hat looking shocked as she says, "That dick… so dirty!""

Made you look, you dirty duck. Made you look for nothing. That’s the version we sang as children after tricking someone into looking at nothing. Or “gnaw-tin” with the proper Irish accent. Different places around the world have different versions of the song. Perhaps you were a dirty crook rather than a duck. Or at risk of being turned into turtle soup. But the game is best played in Germany, where they don’t seem to know it. When we moved to Heidelberg, our flatmate Anne loved to suddenly...

A harried businessman with loads of files and surrounded by random numbers.

Listen. Do you hear that? Numbers, floating in the air around us. Trying to tell me something. Listen. It can’t be a coincidence because in my next book, The Cat Wore Black, radios come to Hawkinge-By-Hythe. People love them. Radio gives them all sorts of things. Music, news, entertainment. And when the station stops broadcasting at night, the radios transmit strange random numbers. Which gives them the willies. Then I read in Wired that plastic surgeons use the formula of the Fibonacci...