Monday, November 2, 2009

Let me entice you...

Hope everyone had a fabulously spooky Halloween. I've thoroughly enjoyed watching the Add on Story grown and morph. To entice you to add to it, I thought I'd post here what's been written so far. If you'd like to add to the mayhem contribute here.

The tires of the '69 mustang fastback squealed to a stop. Cautiously, the driver stepped out. He coughed and swatted at the puffs of dirt that fogged the air.

"What the..." he said under his breath. It was bright and colorful and moving about wildly, but what was it?

Florian Finkelkrumb narrowed is eyes and pulled himself together. He was not a man to stand about asking himself questions, not with a fortune to win and only two days left to live. He leant back into the car and pulled out his steam-powered blunderbuss. Bam! It backfired and killed him, just as Dorian Dundernuts predicted. Oh well, what was another dead Finkelkrumb?

Dorian stood from the ground. Dusting asphalt chips from his multi colored track suit and beanie. Who said faking a seizure in the middle of a county road couldn't earn you a sweet ride? He kicked Finkelkrumb's body aside and hopped into the Mustang. He revved the engine and fishtailed the hell out of there.

He'd been driving for more than five minutes, a country-western song blaring from the radio, before he realized that he was being followed.

The car following him was gorgeous...a silver Saturn Sky. In it was a beautiful woman. Everything about her was black, save her pale skin: eyes, long silky hair, tongue, nails, and black lips against her stark white teeth, the incisors elongated and the tips slightly showing. She was not a vampire, but what?

Then he heard the chilling song she was singing, instilling fear deep in his heart..."There's a Bad Moon on the Rise..." She laughed as she sang. After all it was 1969 and bad moons were everywhere!

In an effort to calm his nerves, Dorian grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniels Whiskey from under the driver's seat, and took a long swig. After all, Finkelrumb wouldn't miss it.

Now, with the liquid courage kicking in, Dorian slammed on the brakes and fishtailed in front of the Saturn, forcing it to careen to a screeching halt. Dorian got out of the car.

Nothing. Just dust and a faint silver gleam.

He pulled a long Cuban cigar from his left nostril, hoping as he did so that his interest in parlour magic was finally going to pay off.

The door of the silver Saturn Sky opens and a black pointed boot steps onto the pavement. 

Eyes wide. Mouth agape. The cigar drops from his mouth and rolls across the pavement stopping within inches of the boots point. Long manicured fingers, gracefully entwine around it.

She gives it a look of disdain with her cold black eyes. It falls from her hand, breaking up into a fine powder that piled up on the asphalt.
Wh-who are you?" stammers Dorian. "Wh-what do you want?"

"You don't want to know," says a voiuce from behind him. It is distinctly masculine.

Dorian spun in place. The bearded lady from 1944 stood her ground.

"Do it," she said. "Do it now."

Dorian pivots away from the bearded woman, simultaneously reaching for something in his back pocket. But suddenly something black, muscular, and slimy coils around his neck, squeezing his trachea, gagging him.
He looks down the length of the black muscular chord and shudders when he realizes what it is - her tongue.

He realizes that the bearded lady in black is not, in fact, bearded. What he presumed to be hair is little more than...shadows coiling around her, caressing her youthful skin.

The masculine voice floats to his hearing again. A man wlaks up to him--it is.....the last man Dorian wanted to see-the shadow-lady's boyfriend. He lets out a menacing howl and proceeds to give Dorian a tongue-lashing he would never forget. No, really. He inserts his black, writhing, cord-like tongue through Dorian's nose, up to his brain, and his venomous saliva starts to eat away at Dorian's fleshy cerebrum. Dorian's screams of pain give way to silence as his eyes glaze over. On the verge of passing out, he sees...

Sunlight coming through the rear winshield of the '69 Mustang. Dorian stretches his neck and vows to never fall asleep in the backseat again while letting a hitchhiker, no matter how beautiful she is, drive his car.

"You okay?" she asks. "You were making a lot noise back there?"


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