6 Degrees of Decapitation
An Ongoing Blog-Novel Adventure
Chapter 20: The Horror of it All
"Sheesh," said GiGi dusting the dirt from her now plain jeans and surprisingly low cut t-shirt, and looking around the thick forest that surrounded her and her companions. "I feel like we've been in limbo for like 12 days or something."
"Yeah," said Furious D, scratching the stubble on his ruggedly handsome chin. "I'm still not narrating this story, but at least whoever is writing this now knows how to describe me."
"We're not in London anymore," said Playful1. "And there sure are a lot trees."
Chompy the Badger nodded and sniffed the ground, he then looked up at his long time friend and scratched some marks into the forest floor.
"Chompy says we're in Maine," said Furious D. "And if there are two things Chompy is good at, is dishing out fatal maulings and identifying American states by scent."
"Why are we in Maine?" asked GiGi.
"Could be the powers that be aren't all that familiar with Ann McCaffrey," mused Furious D. "Though I do miss the tuxedo. I looked snappy."
"What do we do?" asked Playful1.
"We should get out of these woods," said Furious D in the manner of a natural leader. "Because the sooner we get to civilization, the sooner we can find the lost Albanian Budgie and the sooner we figure out who is writing this thing now."
"I can hear cars," said GiGi, pointing to some light from between the trees.
The four wanderers found a road, a simple piece of two lane blacktop that crisscrossed the backwoods of Maine like a web laid out by an already deranged spider whacked out on a cocktail of amphetamines and mescaline. The sunset hung over the trees like a curtain soaked in the blood of madmen.
"The scene descriptions are a little more detailed than when you wrote them," said Playful1.
"You try grinding out a chapter without a clue what you're doing?" snapped Furious D, annoyed at the literary criticism.
"I'm just glad that I'm no longer killed off," said GiGi.
"There's a car coming," said Furious D, spotting a pair of headlights coming their way. "I'll wave it down and we can hitch a ride into town."
Furious D stepped to the edge of the road and waved to the oncoming car. But there was something about the car that struck Furious D as odd.
First, it was an old 1950s car with the personalized front license plate reading EV1L, and that there wasn't a driver.
"This isn't good," said Furious D, in a surprisingly calm tone, as the car's bumper slammed into him.
When Furious D regained consciousness, he thought that it was damn unfair that he was knocked out before he had a chance to make some sort of offensive innuendo.
Then he realized-
GiGi and Playful1 were gone. So was Chompy.
But he wasn't alone.
There was something moving in the woods, by the old Pet Cemetery.
"Oh crap," said Furious D. "This damn thing's being written by Stephen King."
"Yeah," said Furious D, scratching the stubble on his ruggedly handsome chin. "I'm still not narrating this story, but at least whoever is writing this now knows how to describe me."
"We're not in London anymore," said Playful1. "And there sure are a lot trees."
Chompy the Badger nodded and sniffed the ground, he then looked up at his long time friend and scratched some marks into the forest floor.
"Chompy says we're in Maine," said Furious D. "And if there are two things Chompy is good at, is dishing out fatal maulings and identifying American states by scent."
"Why are we in Maine?" asked GiGi.
"Could be the powers that be aren't all that familiar with Ann McCaffrey," mused Furious D. "Though I do miss the tuxedo. I looked snappy."
"What do we do?" asked Playful1.
"We should get out of these woods," said Furious D in the manner of a natural leader. "Because the sooner we get to civilization, the sooner we can find the lost Albanian Budgie and the sooner we figure out who is writing this thing now."
"I can hear cars," said GiGi, pointing to some light from between the trees.
#
The four wanderers found a road, a simple piece of two lane blacktop that crisscrossed the backwoods of Maine like a web laid out by an already deranged spider whacked out on a cocktail of amphetamines and mescaline. The sunset hung over the trees like a curtain soaked in the blood of madmen.
"The scene descriptions are a little more detailed than when you wrote them," said Playful1.
"You try grinding out a chapter without a clue what you're doing?" snapped Furious D, annoyed at the literary criticism.
"I'm just glad that I'm no longer killed off," said GiGi.
"There's a car coming," said Furious D, spotting a pair of headlights coming their way. "I'll wave it down and we can hitch a ride into town."
Furious D stepped to the edge of the road and waved to the oncoming car. But there was something about the car that struck Furious D as odd.
First, it was an old 1950s car with the personalized front license plate reading EV1L, and that there wasn't a driver.
"This isn't good," said Furious D, in a surprisingly calm tone, as the car's bumper slammed into him.
When Furious D regained consciousness, he thought that it was damn unfair that he was knocked out before he had a chance to make some sort of offensive innuendo.
Then he realized-
GiGi and Playful1 were gone. So was Chompy.
But he wasn't alone.
There was something moving in the woods, by the old Pet Cemetery.
"Oh crap," said Furious D. "This damn thing's being written by Stephen King."
TO BE CONTINUED...
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