[... last time: A Tale of Terror Part VI: Revenge of the Darksided... ]
As Kris Jenner pushes the button on the box, my heart stops in my chest when the creepy old guy reveals the
“1,000,000” written in gold glitter on the inside of the box.That bitch don’t
need the money--I need the money!
“What the fuck? That’s some backwards ass ‘Twilight Zone’ bullshit
right there,” I protest as Kris Jenner fans the money in my direction.
“Whatever, let’s go Carl,” I say as I turn and trip over his recently deceased
body. Well at least one good thing came out of this, that fucking kid was
working my last nerve, it’s about time somebody killed him. I was about to
leave his corpse there with Kris, but that bitch had already wandered off. I
started to feel bad, well not really bad per say, more like suspect numero uno. So I
had to do something with the body, and fast.
Luckily I spied a hand painted sign across the street that read “Pet Sematary." Really, what is wrong with these kids today? Goddamn kids just
can’t spell for a damn. I blame Facebook… and Twitter… and the Republicans. And another thing, is it too much to ask to know the difference between "their," "there," and "they're," come on youth of America, get yo shit together. Anywho, I muster all of my strength and drag Carl’s body across the street to
the sema—er… cemetery. Fucker was heavier than he looks, like he ate a bunch of stuff right before he died, and not marshmallow fluff stuff, like led shavings stuff, you know, the stuff that comes from China. I swear, even in death this brat was annoying the crap
out of me.
As I enter the pet sema—fuck… cemetery, I spied the mausoleum
and crematorium at the far end of the grounds. The lights were on at the
crematorium, and some funky green smoke was coming out of the chimney, so I had
to be stealthy so not to get caught. Then Fortuna’s Wheel began to spin in my
favor as I spied an open plot just a couple of feet away. I chucked Carl's lifeless
little corpse in the grave, and after a little cramming and stomping, I finally
got him to fit. Then I added a thin layer of dirt to hide the body. It’s
amazing what you can learn by watching Dexter.
“Welp, looks like yer gonna have some company in the
afterlife, Winston Churchill,” I say out loud, reading the name from the
headstone. Man, what a stupid name for a
cat, I think to myself, but then apologize out loud, as if the dead cat could
read my thoughts. Stupid cats.
After taking exhaling a deep sigh of relief, the sky opened
up and started to pour rain down on me. I don’t know what the funk was in that
smoke coming from the crematorium, but it starts mixing with the rain, making
my baby soft skin itch. I bolted toward the nearest shelter to take refuge,
which of course was the damned mausoleum--not that it was literally a mausoleum
for the damned, but damned in the frustrated sense of the word, like you know, the
closest thing could have been a Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, but no, it was a
damned mausoleum--again, not for the damned.
The inside was dimly lit and the air was buzzing with an odd
low frequency hum. Bored, I slumped down against the wall and watched the rain. While I waited for the rain to stop, a naked punk chick danced across the cemetery; I think it might have been
Siouxsie Sioux. After a few minutes, the low frequency hum sorta became a little soothing, like a white noise with people quietly whispering me to sleep. Just as I was about to drift off to
Nap-Nap Land, I spied from the corner of my eye, a gaggle of midgets… dwarves?
Munchkins? Fuck, I dunno, whatever… little people dressed in brown hooded
robes, running straight for me. “Well I’ll be damned; it was a mausoleum for
the damned after all!” I thought to myself.
To make matters worse, just as I stood up [to get my tits out of grabbing range, after all, there's nothing creepier than fat midget fingers on my tits. Whatever, judge it you want... some people don't like clowns... some people don't like creepy ass robed midgets in a mausoleum... but anyway], a miserable looking old man rounded the corner, followed by flying orbs that zipped straight toward my face…
[... on to Part VIII: Never Hold A Grudge]
No comments:
Post a Comment