Midnight.
Full moon.
Old rickety house with too many creaks, too many squeaks.
Joe looked at Ted. And Ted looked at Ned. And Ned looked at Fred, who looked at Bill, who said,
“Eh, what could possibly go wrong?”
So, with the last teeny bit of courage stretching thin amongst the boys, Joe, Ted, Ned, Fred, and Bill made their way slowly up the gravel path. The overgrown lawn — rather, the endless forest of nasty weeds and gnarly creepers, wild with years of neglect — made for such an adventurous approach that the boys almost forgot the old rusted gate they had scaled moments ago, which had disappeared behind them in the darkness. Poor Ned had scraped his knee on one of the gate’s spiky embellishments, and Bill’s handy-dandy pocket flashlight managed to get its lanyard caught on one of that mean old gate’s crooked nails. Not so handy after all? Too late to turn back now.
The boys tip-toed now, ever closer to the old rickety house. With the rotted-out planks of the porch in sight, Joe, Ted, Ned, Fred, and Bill ever so softly climbed the front steps, one shaky tip-toe at a time. Now huddled in front of the heavy wooden door, the boys strained to look into the dusty windows at either side. None of them tried to get too close though, feet glued where they stood. Was this really the best idea the little rascals could come up with on a boring Friday night?
Joe gulped the biggest gulp he’d ever gulped. Ted’s mouth was awfully dry, and Fred nervously watched something crawl around his shoe.
Determined to be the least scaredy-cat of the bunch, Bill rolled up his sleeves and, with some hesitation now, offered again,
“Um, what could possibly go wrong, right?”
Suddenly, the heavy monster-sized door of the stupid creaky house swung open on its own! Oh! just moaning and groaning as it went, why don’t you take your time you horrible, fiendish thing?!?
Good going, Bill! You with your ill-advised optimism! Those boys leaped through the air with the grace of Olympic athletes, and Joe, Ted, Ned, Fred, and Bill high-tailed it out of there as fast as their little legs could carry them.
Stupid monster door!
Stupid dusty windows!
Stupid creaky porch!
“HOLY MACARONI!!!” Ted hollered, finally finding his voice.
Curse you, nasty weeds and gnarly creepers!
Curse you full moon and chilly Friday night that should have been boring and not scary at all!
“Bill, wait up!” shouted Fred, trying to keep up with his friend. Bill may have been the least scaredy-cat of the group at the start of the adventure, but he was most certainly the quickest one off that porch!
Forget you, gravel path!
Ugh! More stupid, nasty weeds and stupid, gnarly creepers!
“Guys!” yelled Ned as they ran.
Double ugh! Even more stupid, nasty weeds and gnarly creepers! … Wait, something’s not right …
“GUYS!” shrieked Ned, now chirping at an intolerable decibel. “WHERE’S THE GATE???”
A look of pure, unabashed terror now flashed on poor Bill’s face, and the boy froze mid-stride, suddenly realizing he had no idea where they had been running and for how long. Of course, Fred ran smack-dab into Bill, followed by Ned, and then Ted, and finally Joe, whose short-sightedness was inevitably going to send the whole gang barreling into the dirt at some point, anyway. As if this night couldn’t get any better …
“BBBRRRAAAAIIINNNNSSSS”
The boys shushed-up real good at that. Something. Something vile. Something incredibly horrendous and insufferably unspeakable had called out in the darkness. And it sought brains.
YES, BRAINS! B-R-A-I-N-S, I tell you! The boys dared not to breathe, listening for something, anything moving in the dark. Ted did what he could for the group by making another plea to the great pasta deity. A silent prayer this time, though, as not to signal the dreadful creature with cravings for noggin meat.
HHHHHOOOOOOWWWWWEEEEELLLLLLLLL!!!!!
A wolf’s call suddenly pierced the night. Yes, a wolf’s! If you don’t believe me, just ask one of the boys! But please, not right this second, as Joe, Ted, Ned, Fred, and Bill cower together in fear. Even the slightest whimper of an answer may bring about most gruesome and untimely deaths for the lads …. And now you feel bad for doubting the validity of even a solitary syllable of this tale, don’t you? Every word speaks the truth, the ugly horrible truth!
Zombies — well, what else would have a hankering for noodle pudding? — and werewolves abound, the boys summoned a last hurrah of spirit, picked a direction, and sprinted off into the night as fast as they could. If only they could reach the gate to this dreadful piece of haunted real estate, they might escape in one piece.
NNNEEEIIIGGGGHHHHH!!!! BOOO! GIMME YOUR BLOOD YOU WRETCHED LITTLE THINGS!!!!
Suddenly, a headless, vampire-ghost riding a flaming stallion from Hell appeared before the boys, demanding every precious drop of their life source!
… All right, this is getting ridiculous. But you would totally piss yourself, too, if you were stuck in such a haunted, nightmare extravaganza. The night’s adventure could not have gone worse. Everything was terribly, horribly wrong.
Joe, Ted, Ned, Fred, and Bill did the only thing left to do: scream their bloody hearts out.
“Boys! WHAT THE FUZZLE IS GOING ON IN HERE?”
Bill’s father stumbled into the living room with a panicked look on his face. He removed the canvas ceiling of the pillow fort and saw Bill and his son’s friends curled up in the fetal position. They looked absolutely petrified.
Shaking his head, Bill’s father gave the boys some heart-felt advice about not letting their imaginations getting the best of them.
“… And stop reading so many comic books!” quipped Bill’s father as he left the room, rejoining his wife in the kitchen.
As the man sat down at the table, though, his smile faded. Slowly, a disappointed scowl took shape.
“Dear?”
“Yes, my darling?”
“Our pride and joy and his little buddies are getting the seizures again.”
“… oh?”
“I told you it was a bad idea to tell Bill about your uncle before he was ready. How can he possibly grow up to be a strong bloodsucker like his Dad if your damned kin scares the killer out of him before it awakens?”
Bill’s father gently massaged the gums around his fangs. Ouch! He needed to get more of that special toothpaste designed for sensitive teeth. Ice cream was just too much of a bother these days.
“Darling, you know Uncle Jasper didn’t mean to frighten the boys that badly…”
“Bullshit. I’ve never liked that bastard, and you know it.”
The Foogy Bear is an empathetic, well-meaning bear who tries his best to be a good role model for the local woodland critter youth. Ever-watchful, the Foogy Bear is a protector at heart and is employed as a professional peacekeeper in the forest. But even bears need hobbies, and occasionally the Foogy Bear dabbles in creative writing.
Tags: flash fiction, horror, satire, The Foogy Bear, vampire