(This is a bog scarecrow made by the single greatest Halloween artisan in the world--my total idol Pumpkinrot)
It's that time again! I will give you an opening line and you may jump on and add a line to the last person's line until we make a horror short. Want to see last week's horror short?
"Something growled lowly behind him, but Jack could not turn to see it. He was tied tightly to the tree, in the dark forest, completely deprived of even the tiniest shaft of light."
Jack remembered an old MacGyver trick,and was able to reach into his front left pocket. He had a lighter with his smokes. He grabbed the lighter, and then lit it. He also remembered having a chimichanga with beans earlier in the day. He had enough gas in him to nuke a small acre of land. Jack knew what he had to do, even if it was going to cost him his life...
Dun Dun Dun ! (Max Evel)
with a quick *woosh* the lighter became a torch and Jack could smell the buring of the ropes. As panic started to set in because the growls got louder... (Adsila)
The blue flame technique taught to him by his college fraternity had saved his life yet again. Facing the growl he saw what appeared to be Joan Rivers in a bikini and armed with a whip. "My eyes", screamed Jack! (Gnostalgia)
But just as suddenly as that horrid vision had appeared, it was gone. "What the hell am I doing?" Jack asked hiGnostalgiamself. The last thing he could remember doing before waking up in this godforsaken forest was playing beer pong at the Slaughtered Lamb. He walked forward a bit a few steps before a loud cry of "CHRIST! Why do I smell burnt shit!?" pierced his ears! (HalloweeNut)
Remembering a snappy come-back from his favorite book, "There's More Than One Way to Skin a Tribble" Jack said, "You! Off my planet!" (Gnostlagia)
Acid-peeled skin stretched taut as a sumo's jock split to reveal two rows of too-perfect, too-large teeth. A voice from beyond the grave rasped "Can we talk?" (Sucio)
I'm afraid you are on your own I have to expel a rather ferocious hairball. Jack said. (Echo)
So, here's this week's beginning line...
"The beast rose up from the bog, moss dripping from its pelt as it surveyed the foggy mists in search of..."
she who had called him forth from his slumber. As if by instinct, for his thoughts were single-minded, the creature trudged forward through the fetid mire toward the ramshackle cabin jutting up from the swamp to stand weakly atop several rotting pylons. The old swamp witch stood on the porch proudly, a triumphant glint in her eyes. Her shock of unruly white hair framed her haggard face in a ghostly aura as the moonlight filtered down sickly through the cypress trees.
ReplyDelete"My child --- feast on the blood of the innocent", wailed the crone!
ReplyDeleteThe beast paused and said in a deep dark growl, "But, I'm a vegetarian!"