Saturday, November 20, 2004

Chapter 9 Lives

Word count: 906
Total: 17,035

"It's about time this dump was modernized. Let's go check out the new city. There's someone here I'd like you to meet." Imp said, and walked down the cobble stone path toward the street. Skip followed.

They reached the street, which was already busy with traffic, and Imp flagged a cab. They both got in and Imp gave the driver an address. The cab navigated through city until they reached the suburbs. He then pulled into the driveway of a cookie cutter house at the end of a culdesac.

They got out of the cab and the driver stuck his head out the window to say, "Hold on a minute, that's going to be 23 dollars."

"Oh yea?" Imp said.

Before the cabbie could say anything else a large blade fell from the sky and sliced off his head. Skip didn't even flinch. He didn't bother to comment, or question. He just continued following Imp to the front door.

The exterior of the house was painted a bright purple that clashed with all the neighboring houses. It was a basic, single story, ranch style house, with an unkempt yard.

"You're going to love this." Imp said as he rang the doorbell.

An older lady with disheveled white hair opened the door and pressed her face to the screen. "Whadaya want?" She said.

"Good afternoon Mam, my name is Rick Boswell, and this is my partner Skip Harding. We're with the department of health. Do you mind if we come in for a few minutes? We have some matters we need to discuss with you." Imp said.

"The heath department!" The old lady crowned. "What do you want with me?"

"Well Mam, we've had some reports from you neighbors that there might be some health code violations taking place at this residence, and we'd just like to clear that up." Imp said.

"I don't want anything, leave me alone!" The lady yelled, and slammed the door shut.

"You believe this fucking bitch? I'm a God Damn duly authorized city official here!" Imp said.

"Well, you don't look much like any city official I've ever seen." Skip said.

"Your right." Imp said, and he morphed into the form of a large man wearing a black suit, with secret service style sunglasses.

"There you go." Skip said.

Imp knocked on the door again. There was no answer. "I'm gonna teach this crazy bitch a lesson." He said.

With a swift kick Imp knocked the door open and stormed inside. The lady started screaming like a banshee, and leapt from her hideous brown couch to lunge at Imp with a knitting needle. Imp brushed off her attack with ease and threw her to the floor. He then grabbed a phone cord, and started wrapping it around her ankles.

He then tied her hands behind her back, picked her up, and tossed her back on the couch. Skip covered his ears to deaden the lengthy string of obscenities that flowed from her mouth as this was happening. Imp left the room, and returned with a sock to stuff in her mouth.

Skip was alarmed, not by the harsh treatment of an elderly lady, but by the number of cats that were roaming the living room. The number was growing by the second as well. They were rubbing up against his leg, and letting out sad little cries.

"Now Misses Crablebottom, if you have a minute, I'd like to talk to you about the complaints we received." Imp said. "Apparently the ungodly stench of all these cats shitting all over your house has reached your neighbor's noses."

Misses Crablebottom squirmed on the couch like a worm. She was still trying to scream through the sock in mouth, but she was clearly beginning to tire.

"What you don't realize Misses Crablebottom," Imp continued, "is that you, and all those like you, have been providing material for stand up comedians for years. And I'd just like to know...why? I mean what sort of short circuit do you have in your brain that prevents you from realizing what a disgusting nasty skank you've become?

How many cats did you get before you finally decided it was 'OK' for them to shit all over the living room floor? How many more do you think you would have acquired before you realized that your welfare check wasn't enough to feed them?"

Misses Crablebottom had quit struggling, and was now laying limp with tears in her eyes, struggling to breath. Imp ignored her whimpering.

"Well Misses Crablebottom, your neighbors are sick of the stench, and they are sick of the pitiful cries of starving cats. So I think it's time to give the kitties something to eat."

Imp walked away into the kitchen. He returned with a stack of plates, a pair of tongs, and an electric turkey carver. He set the plates down on a coffee table, and plugged the turkey carver into a socket behind the couch.

"It's Thanksgiving bitch!" He yelled.

He turned the carver on, and Misses Crablebottom started struggling again. He paid no attention to her resistance, and began carving chunks of flesh from her thigh. He used the tongs in one hand to pull the chunks loose and put them on a plate. When the plate was full he would place it on the floor, where the cats would attack it. He would then start filling the next plate in the stack.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

If only you could spell

4:47 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home