Soon as this business is over, I’m writing a book.
I’ll call it “The worst town of all time”, and it will sell millions because no one will ever expect it to be true*. Until they see the pictures. There’s bound to be a camera somewhere around here- there usually is. The melted spider thing can get a double-spread, the berserkers a side-reel.
For HH, the entire damn front cover.
I still can’t quite work out what’s happened to him. He’s in a limbo, of sorts. Somewhere between flesh-eating corpse and stick-waving rabbit man. He snaps and drools occasionally, but I’m pretty sure this is the same chump- he still remembers to adjust his damn top hat from time to time. And he certainly recognizes me. He has to keep reminding himself not to bite, because apparently “it’ll give me the mother of all stomach aches”.
I’ve warned Alice to stay alert- as far as I know, she isn’t off the current HH’s menu. She doesn’t seem too bothered by him, to be honest. Maybe she knows about this kind of thing. I sure as hell don’t.
The melted spider chump didn’t either. One minute it’s attempting to rip my arms out, the next it’s having a whatever-counts-for-a-heart-attack, because some reject from The Historically Recreational Satanic Muppets society has bitten hard into it’s skull and now refuses to let go. Trapped by sheer confusion, it never stood a chance against both of us.
Can’t say I miss the chump much. My bones certainly don’t- until Frank sorts me out, I’ll have to tread lightly. I’m a walking house of cards right now. One good blow and I imagine things will cave in, one way or another.
I don’t think I can afford to let that happen, what with HH being… all chompy, so to speak. Alice is leading us deeper into the hospital. She’s looking for someone, I figure. Every body we pass seems to jolt her like a metronome, and considering how close she got to the melted flesh spider thing (not to mention the chump that’s currently walking alongside us, arguing with itself), I’d guess corpses aren’t naturally that scary. It’s all assumption based on logic, of course, but it’s better than the alternative and more convenient than going through the hassle of finding out**.
So here we are. Two cadavers and a kid. Great band name, that. I’d write it down if I had anything resembling paper on me. Plenty of “ink” around.
“Womble- who’s feeling hungry? ANYONE??”
“There’s a room I could do with something fresh, anything, I ain’t fussy!”
I nod. I really, really hope whatever it is he’s got isn’t contagious. Or permanent.
“Follow me, tell Alice I really want something to eat, LET ME CHEW ON HIM…”
I nod again.
“One sec. Alice! Al- huh?”
She was-I swear she was-one sec.
Damn. Nothing. Nadda. Kids, I tell you. Turn your back for one min–huh?
*Unless, of course, they’ve ever visited Andover…
** “Finding out” is an abnormality in the realm of logic, because it rarely appeals to the soul of the weary and yet logically appears to be the def facto solution to everything. Usually it feels best not to find out why something is, regardless of how insightful this might prove to be, just in case it reveals itself to be something you then spend the rest of your existence trying to forget. Such as marmite. No one should know why marmite is.
***WOO! Happy one hundredth post day! I’d like to say a special thank-you to one very special penguin, you know who you are, don’t be shy, have a fish and GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HEAD…on a serious note, thank y’all for reading this blog of ours. We love you for it. In our own crazy way.