For fun, here’s a story start I didn’t continue with for the Damn Near Dead II anthology coming out in November:
When Everett Wilson shot the fridge, he figured he’d frightened the damned thing back onto the righteous path of chilling beer as it should have been doing for years. The fridge had stood on the screened back porch for as long as Everett had lived in the house, but its performance had been nothing short of erratic from day one. Why he hadn’t unplugged it and taken it off to the dump long ago, he was never sure. Why he had not taken it now, after forty-five years of unpredictable refrigeration and useless electrical humming, was obvious: he was a lazy, cantankerous, fat old bastard with the social skills of a mosquito and the charm of a rabid squirrel. He also drank too much too often and no one would have offered him any help shifting the old Admiral round-top any farther than it would have taken to tip it over onto Everett himself.
So the frightened fridge seemed the ideal place to stash Beatrice Honey when she, too, met with a small barrage of accidental gunfire from Everett’s old .32. She was at least as old as the fridge and it seemed entirely fitting. Especially since she did fit just about right….
Not every idea is actually worth pursuing.