The Spotty Blade A Short Story by Random Writer Albert Doop looked at the spotty blade in his hands and felt active. He walked over to the window and reflected on his industrial surroundings. He had always loved creepy Philadelphia with its teeny-tiny, tense trees. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel active. Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Chantal Lakeman. Chantal was a deranged carer with ginger eyes and fluffy fingers.