Last week, our hero traveled through the tree into a strange place and the imp led him to a haunted house. Let’s find out what happens next.
Wellington, the skeleton, groaned. “Hurry inside.” He peered down the sidewalk. “I’ve got more customers arriving.”
The imp shrugged. “This it better than last year?”
Wellington shoved the imp through the front door. “This time, you’re paying!”
Ben, with the cockatrice on his left shoulder, followed the imp into the house. He craned his neck. A skeletal crow sat atop a bookshelf and cawed. Fog lingered across the foyer’s black marble floor. Mirrors reflected the candlelight.
A small skeleton wearing a black, hooded cloak approached. “Hi, Uncle Barty!”
“Batilda!” The imp scooped her into his arms with a grin. “Have you gotten bigger?”
She giggled. “No.”
“You sure?” The imp squinted. “Maybe I’m smaller?”
The skeleton nodded.
The imp placed her back on the ground. “Lead on.”
The skeleton picked up a lantern and crooked a finger. She led them into the kitchen. Bloody body parts hung from the ceiling, suspended by chains. Glowing jars of different colored water lined the counters, filled with odd creatures, ingredients, and parts.
Ben tightened his hands around his stomach.
The imp winked. “Not squeamish are you, boy?”
Ben clenched his jaw and shook his head.
“Good.” The imp grinned. “There’s plenty still to see.”
The young skeleton led them into the dining room. A skeleton sat at the table, wearing a gauzy black dress. A black tablecloth covered the table and a black candelabra with black candles stood at the center. Red flames flickered on the candles’ wicks.
The skeleton reclined at the table waved.
The imp smirked. “Great to see you again, Clarissa.”
The skeleton lady rested her chin upon her hand. “We’re boring you, aren’t we?” She sighed. “Ever since our reality show went on hiatus, Wellington’s been a proper bore.”
The imp sat at the table. “Trouble in paradise?”
Clarissa shook her head. “It’s those Bloodworths. How can we have a proper haunted neighborhood if they don’t open their doors until after sunset?”
The imp scratched his head. “Isn’t nighttime the right time?”
Clarissa buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
Batilda rested a lean hand on Ben’s arm.
The young girl took a step back.
The imp chuckled.
“We should move on.” Batilda turned toward the living room. “Winnie’s got a surprise for you, Uncle Barty.”
The imp rubbed his hands together. “Really?”
“Is it a new pitchfork?” The imp tapped his lip. “A mustache trimmer? Wing grease?”
Batilda remained silent.
Ben glanced at the cockatrice. “This will be good.”
The cockatrice warbled.
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
because I’m just not that creative.