An Imp Scorned

Last time, the witch returned from the furnace, all hot and bothered.  Now, Ben struggles to disarm her with his charm and wit (two things he sorely lacks, atm).

The witch glowered at Ben.  “Ever since Hansel and Gretel murdered my great-grandmother, witches are discriminated against.”  She planted her fists on her hips.  “We aren’t all cannibals.”

Ben gagged beneath the stove’s door.  Soot and ash filled his nostrils, throat, and mouth.  He coughed and sputtered.

The imp rubbed his hands together and fluttered into the air.  “Kill him, mistress.  Be done with the wicked wretch.”

The witch raised an eyebrow.  “Well?”

“He wants to live.”  The goblin grinned.

“Yes, yes. We know.”  The imp waved a hand, dismissing the idea.

The goblin folded its arms over its chest and leaned against the island counter.  “Thought I might help.”

Ben rolled his eyes.  Words evaded his brain’s grasp.  Dread seeped into his bones.  He knew the witch would kill him.  “Please?”

The imp cackled.  “That’s the best you’ve got?”

“Hush.”  The witch frowned at the imp.

Pouting, the imp dragged the young goat out of the kitchen.

“You want me to break the stereotype?”  The witch tapped a wart on her chin.  “Show you that not all witches are killers and kid-eaters.”

“Point of order.”  The goblin raised a finger.  “You are planning on eating a kid.”

“Not the time.”  Ben coughed.  A cloud of dust billowed into the air.

The goblin shrugged.

“I’ll let you live.”  The witch smirked.  “If you make yourself useful.”

Ben nodded.  “Right away.”  He struggled to lift the oven door.

The witch shook her head and groaned.  “Not with that.”  She snapped her fingers.  The door floated into the air and reattached itself to the oven.  She pointed outside.  “Help the imp.”

Ben staggered to his feet.  “The imp?”

The witch nodded.  A smile spread across her lips.

Dragging his feet, Ben trudged out of the kitchen in search of the witch’s familiar.

The imp sat on a tree stump in the backyard.  The goat’s leash in one hand, a knife in the other.  “Stupid human,” the imp muttered.  “Why’d she take his side?”

“Can I help?”  Ben forced a smile onto his face.

The imp looked over its shoulder and glared.  “You know how to skin a kid?”

Ben shrugged and held out his hands.  “I’m willing to learn.”

The imp’s eyes narrowed.  “The price of your life?”

Ben stared at the ground and kicked a dandelion stalk.

“I thought so.”  The imp waved Ben away.  “Begone.  I’ve work to do.”

“But–”

The imp snapped his fingers.

Ben’s mouth clamped shut.

“Better.”  The imp flicked the knife toward the goat.  The goat crumpled to the ground in perfect, ready to cook slices.

A silver platter drifted through the air and banged into the back of Ben’s head.  Ben stumbled to the ground.

The imp placed the goat slices on the serving tray.

Ben knelt on the ground.

He shoved the tray against Ben’s chest.  “Cook these.”

Ben rubbed his chest.  “Where?”

The imp pointed to a large, brick grill against the side of the house.  “The mistress is very particular about her goat.”  With a laugh, the imp returned to the house.

Ben blinked.  He stared at the grill and gulped.

So, what do you think will happen?  What do you want to happen?  Was it too short?  Too long?  Too unfunny?

Yep, that’s right.  I’m soliciting comments and suggestions.  I may even use them.  No matter how wacky, zany, nerdy, or weird.  No matter how serious, fanciful, or sci-fi.  It’s a choose your own adventure.  You choose what happens next.

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About bkreuch

I like to read, I like to write, and I like to make people laugh.
This entry was posted in Ben's Hen, Humor, Writing and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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