“Hello Clarisse. Have the lambs stopped screaming?”
“Take that off, Dennis. It wasn’t funny in that movie and it’s not funny now. Great — you’ve ruined it now. I was going to eat that, you know.”
“You don’t need it Carla. The grease goes right to your ass.”
“You shut up Lindsay. If anyone needs to watch their weight …”
‘I’m an ogre Carla? Hello?! Besides, I’ve only had a thigh and one breast.”
The were-jackal was sulking now and the rest of the group couldn’t care less. They were having the time of their lives.
“You know,” the Cacodemon’s voice was sloppy as he munched on a leg, “We should do this more often.”
The triclops, Walt to his friends, rolled all his eyes. The Cacodemon was a first rate killer, but could be dumb as a post at times; so he couldn’t resist, “You’re absolutely right Dennis, what say we get together on Hallowe’en next month too?”
Dennis helped himself to another piece of meat and said nothing else. His natural red hue got a few shades darker.
There was a tremendous crash to the left, and a hideous, burbling scream that should have liquified the bowels of anyone within earshot. Being that all the most horrible creatures in the world were present and accounted for, nobody around the campfire batted an eyelash.
The mud golem emerged, and seeing he had impressed absolutely nobody, slumped down beside Carla and threw a sludge-encrusted arm around her.
“What’s goin’ on good lookin’?”
That got a reaction, as the woman-thing snapped her powerful jaws together, severing the elemental’s hand at the wrist, “Ugh, you taste like man-hands. Go away Steve.”
“This from a girl who couldn’t read ‘Beware of Dog.’”
“JACKAL.”
“Whatever.” The muck-man regrew his hand and started chomping on a hindquarter.
The behoemoth to his left flashed him a snaggle-toothed grin, and batted lumpy eyelids, “Steve, how was it out there?”
“Same as always, Lindsay, best night of the year. Nobody says a word when they see you walking around, just right out there in the open. Oh, except for this.”
There was a sludgy, ripping sound as something vomited free from his chest. It was a tiny, dirty brass cup. “Some drunk frat kids gave this to me. They said I deserved it more than them. Kids, huh?” There was a sinister round of laughter at that.
The group fell silent for a few minutes. All that could be heard against the silent backdrop of the woods was the greasy smacking sound of meat being rent from bone. Even Carla had decided to dig in again, perceived slights forgotten for the moment.
Happily, there’d been at least one more juicy strip of skin left, so she said, “Whoever thought of this was a genius. This whole night has been such a treat so far.” She threw down her small pile of bones back into the bucket.
The Cacodemon burped in agreement. “Now I know why the humans like this stuff. The herbs and spices make it so tender.”
Walt had a more pragmatic concern, “Any left?” A quick look around confirmed the chicken was, in fact done. “Well then,” he continued, “shall we get on with the main event?”
They all turned to the group of bound and gagged teenagers, each still wearing their torn and bloody costumes.
The pretty young blonde who seemed to be dressed as a hooker-cat had been sobbing non-stop, and thick black mascara coated her cheeks. The biggest boy, dressed as a vampire, which actually made the monsters a little embarrassed on his behalf, was whimpering and smelled distinctly like shit.
It turned out Steve’s little bellow had scared someone.
“Alright kids,” the triclops bared his double row of needle teeth in a nightmare grin, “Trick or Treat?”
The abominations advanced, and the screaming began in earnest.
“Oh, and thanks for the chicken,” added the Cacodemon..
“… DENNIS!”
© Chris Allinotte, 2009
Chris Allinotte lives in Toronto, Ontario, and writes in as much spare time as he can manage. Previously, his work has appeared at MicroHorror, as well as Static Movement and recently, The Oddville Press. More information about me and my writing can be found at his blog, http://chrisallinotte.blogspot.com
October 30th, 2009 at 3:14 pm
The pretty young blonde who seemed to be dressed as a hooker-cat had been sobbing non-stop…That line cut me up lol. Like another of your stories I’ve read, Game Night, it’s completely different to, well, anything. Great piece.
November 3rd, 2009 at 8:30 am
Chris, That was great…
‘The biggest boy, dressed as a vampire, which actually made the monsters a little embarrassed on his behalf, was whimpering and smelled distinctly like shit.’
Crack me up Chris! Really great tale. Thanks for the entertainment!!
Suzie
December 7th, 2009 at 4:28 pm
Hi mate, this doesn’t look so enthusiastic on the Imperefct browser. But anyway keep up the writing.