Saturday, October 20, 2012

Halloween Tales From A Demon Cat, Part 5

"Are you ready for the story about my last owner?"

I was almost happy to hear my Demon Cat, Gabriela ask this question.  She'd told of four previous owners in four previous lives,  (You'll have to go the to find the first two stories and the background info.)  and I'd been patiently waiting to hear her final tales, considering I was one of her owners, too!

I hurriedly replied, "It's about time you're coming to the end.  Just out of curiosity, when you say "last owner", are you talking about me or the one before me?" 

"How can I tell you the completion of your story when it hasn't happened... yet?"

Feeling stupid, knowing she had a point, I said, "So, after this, you'll still have my story to tell someone, right?"

"Are you trying to get rid of me so you have a story about you?"

I thought a second and asked with sarcasm, "Haven't you made one up about me already?  You seem to be good at making things up."

"I'm going to ignore that,"  she screeched.  "You have no idea what might be in store for you on the horizon.  It's only for me to know.  So, get your damn fingers on the keyboard and get to typing!"

For some reason, I didn't want to push her any further.  She'd made her point, and her face gave me no hint of her joking around.  So, I began to type as she told her story.

Crawly Things

My last owner was a lot like you.  Like yourself, he worked with venomous reptiles, too!

I don't know what either of you see in those damn things.  As far as I’m concerned, they're stupid, dangerous and not good for anything besides biting.  One day, you'll have to fill me in on your obsession with them.  He never got the chance.

Microsoft Images
Anyway, he actually owned a venom lab.  Day after day, he'd be busy cleaning cages, feeding, and extracting venom from the hundreds of different specimens he owned. I guess he did this to sell the venom to research facilities to try to keep the lab funded.  He'd work his tail off  (I really hate to use that phrase, but it fits.) day after day trying to keep the electricity on and mice supplied for the snakes to eat.  

When money got tight, that’s when he cut back on his food and mine, and still keep the snakes fed properly.  I guess he figured they were money makers, where he and I really could do with less.  I’d have been happy to have some of the mice and rats he fed them, but during these times, I had to go out and find my own.  

It’s always nice to know where you stand in a person’s priority list, isn’t it?

He worked by himself for many years.  I stayed in the house for the most part.  I really didn’t like the snakes or the smell of musk they presented.  Plus, the one time I did go in the lab area, he almost tripped over me as I walked between his legs.  Probably wouldn’t have mattered much, but he had a five foot specimen with a rattle on its tail in his hands at the time.  

Okay, so I’m not perfect.  Are you?

One day, while giving a tour of the lab to a bunch of school kids, one of the youngsters slipped away from the group and opened a plastic drawer.  

Now, in the lab, he had racks of such drawers.  The bottom of the top drawer acted as a top to the one below.  So, when you pulled it out, there was no top to speak of.  I’d seen him stand way back and reach with this metal hook on the end of a metal shaft and pull them open before.  Several times, the specimen inside would strike out at the hook, because snakes are stupid and like to bite.

Microsoft Images
Anyway, the school kid had opened the drawer of a small cobra.  It did exactly as I described a moment ago (if you were listening) and struck at the boy.  Caught him right on the arm.  I guess the kid was as stupid as the snake because he just stood there as the snake bit him another time.  

Well, he went running to the teacher and the kids went running out.  But, the snake had long left his drawer and bit two more of them as they headed down the hall in a frightened panic to the door.  The paramedics were called in, and my owner collected up the snake and put it back in the drawer, but neither of those things really mattered.

To make a long story short, after a trip to the lab, the town had three less kids to feed in the school cafeteria.

Of course, my owner felt terrible about it.  I guess he took it personal and couldn’t deal with the guilt he felt.  I’m sure he also knew lawsuits would be coming his direction.  Not only that, but the county inspectors had immediately checked over the lab and made up several violations to close him down.  I guess that’s what made him do what he did.

Somewhere inside the intelligent mind he’d always pretended to have, something snapped.

No!  This time I had nothing to do with it!

He started talking to himself in the next couple of weeks.  He was stressed out because he didn’t have the money to keep the lab running or even feed the snakes.  Plus, he’d been given and eviction order by the county, and legal summons by the courts.  This, along with the guilt he felt over the death of the kids, was simply too much too handle.

I’d been following him into the lab for a few days, worried that he’d decide to end it all and get bit by a snake or two or three.  I could see him doing that to end the nightmare that he was living.  But, instead, he had something else in mind.
I watched him go to the lab, and put all the snakes in these big cotton snake bags.  He didn’t just put one in each bag either, as he’d done in the past when he needed to ship it somewhere.  He loaded these bags up to the max.  And remember, all of these snakes were deadly.  

He must have had twenty of these bags by the time he was done.  He loaded them in the back of the pick-up truck one by one, being exceptionally careful to hold them above the knots he’d tied at the openings.  Guess he still wasn’t in the mood to get bit.  

Well, I have to admit, my curiosity got the better of me.  I jumped in the open window of the back door of his Club Cab and hid under the front seat the best I could.  It was getting dark, so even if he looked back there, my black coat would blend in with the shadows.

As he drove down the road, I figured we’d be stopping off at the river.  I’d heard about the monsters that tie litters of my own kind in bags and throw them into the cold river water to drown.  So, I figured that was what he was going to do with the snakes, instead of letting them starve.  

Boy, was I mistaken!

Rather than the river, we ended up at the high school.  He parked by the concessions entrance to the football field and got out.  Grabbing a couple of the bags, I watched him walk up to the gate, tell the guy there something, and walk right by him.  

There was this big sign over the gate that said “Homecoming.”  I didn’t know what that meant, but I did see just about the whole town there.

I slid into the stands area, watched him walk around the end of the field and under the bleachers on the other side.  A few seconds later, he came back out, walked to his truck, and grabbed another two bags.  Again, he returned with the bags empty. Finally, he did the same thing under the bleachers closest to us.
Then, before I could do anything, he’d jumped back in the truck and drove maybe fifty yards.  I figured I’d lost my ride home at first, but ran and jumped in the truck when he stopped.  He didn’t even notice me as his concentration was on emptying more bags all around the parked cars.

That was when I first heard the screaming.

My first thoughts were that one of the teams had scored.  I didn’t know it was the snake’s team that had done it.  People started rushing out into the parking lot in droves.  They weren’t walking.  They were running.  Running blind they were.  Right into a sea of deadly serpents.

One after another, I watched my owner smile as the people received deadly bites.  Men, women, didn’t matter to the snakes.  Everybody was a target!

My owner drove off laughing his crazed head off.  When in the center of town, he stopped the truck again and opened up the remaining bags, tossing them immediately into the street behind the truck.  When he was through, the whole street looked like it was moving.  

Scariest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

He scooted along the roof of the cab and climbed in the driver’s seat.  Taking off, he seemed to be in the best mood I’d seen since the kids got killed.  Didn’t make a whole lot of sense, but he did.

©Copyright RCRUMPLE2012. All Rights Reserved
Arriving back at the lab,  he went over to a couple of his cages that still had snakes inside.  One had “Black Mamba” written on it, and the other had “Inland Taipan” on the sign.  Without a thought, he unlocked the cages and opened one after the other. 

He just stood there as both snakes darted out of their cages.  They first seemed to attempt to avoid my owner and seek escape.  He ended that by stepping firm on the tails of both of them and receiving bite after bite as the deadly venom flowed from their fangs.  After a few minutes, he dropped to his knees and was bitten several more times.  After another ten minutes, his breathing had stopped.

So much for my fifth owner!

A Final Thought

“So, what happened afterwards?”

Gabriela looked at me with an expression of sadness I’d never before seen and replied, “Ever hear of the September Oil Refinery explosion that took out a whole town?  It was a cover up.  Civil Defense authorities decided that the only way to keep the snakes from spreading and killing more people, they’d have to burn a circle around the area for miles and feed it inward.  One hell of a snake barbecue, from my understanding. The whole town was destroyed.”

I stuttered out, “And the survivors?”

“Wasn’t many to speak of.  Over three hundred died either of snakebite or of being trampled in the panic it caused.  Those that did survive were forced into mental institutions under the premise of extreme depression and irreversible shock.  As you’ve probably guessed by now, the Black Mamba got me a couple of times in the lab and I died well before the fire ever took place.” was her reply.

I could only stare at Gabriela in awe.  Had she been telling me the truth, or was this a put on?  She seemed to be deep in thought, almost in a state of shock.  It was though the memories were coming back strong and she was struggling to keep them from overcoming her with the events of her past.

Breaking the silence, I asked, “So, are you okay?”

She shook her head from side to side a couple of times, as if to clear her thoughts.  She looked up at me with her eyes that had seemed to lose the demon fire I’d seen so often before.  It was as if she’d transformed into a feline that needed to be held instead of feared.

She stuttered a couple of times and finally asked, “You’re not going to go crazy on me, are you?  I mean, you’ve been pretty good to this point.  You feed me and pet me and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m loved.  I’d really like just to be free of my curse and have a normal life.  Do you think we could do that?”

I stretched out my hand to her and she softly rubbed up against it.  Then, she looked up and meowed as a normal cat would do.  Perhaps, she’d be okay now.  No more demon cat.  Just a fat and sassy feline for my other cat, Faletame to play with.  Wouldn’t that be nice?

Now, if I can just get the landlord’s dead body out of the house 
without her knowing it!

If I Could Only Be A Normal Cat
©Copyright RCRUMPLE2012. All Rights Reserved

©Copyright RCRUMPLE2012. All Rights Reserved

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Halloween Tales From A Demon Cat, Part 4

©Copyright RCRUMPLE2012. All Rights Reserved

"So, isn't it about time you asked me for another story?"

Once again, the shrill screechy voice of Gabriela pierced my calm.  

I answered her question with one of my own, "Why? Getting anxious to tell some more lies?" 

"I'd watch it if I were you.  You're treading on dangerous ground"  she hissed back.

"You know the last one you told was pretty far fetched" I snapped.

"I only tell the truth.  If you can't take it, you shouldn't write it"  Gabriela responded none so nicely. 

Arching her back and giving me a glaring stare warned me against taking this conversation any further.  I seemed to be touching a tender spot in her psyche.  Perhaps she had been telling the truth in the previous tales.  It would be best not to question until I'd learned more.

"So, I'm ready to type.  Are you ready to start?"

She glared back up at me with disdain.  I could see her frustration with being questioned as her ears quivered and tail flipped back and forth with added energy.   It was then she began.

Don't Stop.... Ever

It was in the late 90's.  My fourth owner, David H, was a shark nut!  He had shark posters all over his walls, shark curios throughout the apartment, and shark teeth and jaws setting on every end table.  When cable had "Shark Week" broadcasts, he took vacations from his job at a local department store so as not to miss a minute of the available viewing.  He dreamed for the opportunity to have one mounted on his wall.
Courtesy of 

Obsessed with sharks and lousy with remembering to feed and water me.  Davie only took me in as a favor to his brother, who had been stuck with a litter of three calico kittens and one black kitten.  The calicoes had easily found homes.  For some reason, perhaps my ability to slice petting fingers with my razor sharp claws, I had remained.  Only during a visit from Davie had I held back the claws as talk of being taken to the animal shelter had entered the picture.

Davie considered himself intelligent, but had no common sense.  In addition, he was one of those guys that wasn't attractive to look at (unless you considered 350 lbs. on a 5'8" frame attractive), couldn't communicate with girls, and had a voice that would make Dolly Parton's sound masculine.  Deep down, he knew he was a loser.  What other conclusion could he draw as he was teased by all he met and by those with whom he worked. 

However, put him on a computer and he became a bully.  You know the type: insulting others without mercy, falsely boasting of their intelligence and talents, and completely living a false facade behind anonymity. The type you find joining various social networks and spew trash to those willing to wilt and believe. 

Can you tell I didn't think much of this owner?  He was a just waiting to be taken down. 

Davie boy had another bad habit.  While under yet another screen name and browser, he would visit perverse  websites and fantasize over illegal photos and videos of youngsters.  There were times he'd even bring an unsuspecting youngster to the house and do unspeakable things to them.  Then, he'd threaten them with, "I'm a shark!  I have to move to breath!  I'm always around!  Don't you dare tell anyone what happened as I'm always moving somewhere close and will make you pay!"
Courtesy of

Yeah, I know, I couldn't get a normal owner if I begged for one.

One night, while web surfing, an ad popped up on his screen for a fishing boat cruise. It was cheap and supplied both the excitement of shark fishing.  

I could see his excitement as he examined his financial resources.  His credit card was about full, but he could just make it when he added in the little money he'd saved up.  He called the number, set the date, maxed out his credit card for the deposit, and sat back from the keyboard with a smile on his face.

I'd never seen fat man more excited.  He actually fed and watered me that night.

The day to leave came quickly.  He had packed for weeks and bragged to everyone on the web about his upcoming trip.  

What an overweight ass!

He was going to leave without me on the day of departure.  I slipped out a window screen (I'd cut with my claws) hopped into his car and hid under the five thousand empty McDonald's bags in the back floorboard.  He got in the car, started it up, and put in gear our trip to the coast.

I was miserable.  There were actually gnats in most of the empty food containers that wouldn't leave me alone.  I ignored them to a point, but when they flew in my ears or nostrils, I got edgy.  
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He drove way too long without stopping.  My bladder was badly in need of relief.  Finally, not thinking any smell could permeate the stench of rotting fast food remnants, I let loose onto an empty fries carton.  

Wrong move!  Fat man turned around as his nostrils flared sniffing the air.  That's when he saw me and started screaming, "What the hell are you doing here!"

You'd think he'd have been happy I'd come along. Obviously, he wasn't.

It was then I heard this sickening thud.  What looked like a small body floating in the air passed by the side window.  I was thrown against the back of the front seat as fat man hit the brakes and skidded dangerously to a stop and fell into a Big Mac box in the recoil.  

He jumped out of the car and slowly walked the direction we had come from.  I jumped up in the rear deck and saw this lady on the side of the road clutching a child.  Davie boy seemed to be saying something, but all I could make out from inside the car was her sobbing and screaming.
Courtesy of

He seemed to be getting more and more nervous.  The lady gently lay the child on the side of the road, glared at fat man while saying something, but I couldn't make it out.  

He kept saying something she didn't like and I could tell she was getting more and more irate.  Finally, she jumped at him and grabbed his hair.  She started saying something and circling her hand around his head.  Almost seemed like she was in a trance.  

This was more than Davie boy could handle.  He turned and quickly waddled back to our car. Without wasting a second, he punched the accelerator and we sped away! 

I looked back and could just make out the lady.  She seemed to be smiling through her tears as she held a mass of Davie boy's hair in her fingers.

"Damn woman... oh, I'm scared of curses... rotten kid in the road... told her it was her fault, not watchin' her kid... told her I was just going shark fishing... what was her kid doing in the highway anyway... oh, God, what if she got my license number... I don't care... put a curse on me, yeah right... move down highway / move like sharks... damn it, it was an accident... crazy lady pulled out my hair... move like sharks...  I'm going fishing..."

Fat man rambled on like that for an hour.  Then complete silence.

We reached the coast that evening.  Davie boy seemed to be having a hard time breathing.  He got up, went inside the Motor Inn lobby, and returned.  He drove down to a far building, Pulled out his backpack, and closed the door.

"Hey, I've been in this car all day!  I need a drink and something to eat!"

Courtesy of

After an hour or so, he finally returned.  He drove to McDonald's, got enough food for three people, and returned to the Inn.  I meowed loudly as he was getting out.  He held open the door just long enough for me to jump out.  I ran to beat him into the room.  

I rushed to the bathroom, found the commode, and had a fresh drink before he could get there.  Hey, a girl's got to drink what she can.

Thirst satisfied, I returned to see him stuffing his face.  He was the only person I knew that could devour a Quarter Pounder in three bites.  I meowed a couple of times to get his attention.  Regretfully, he pulled off a small piece of burger and tossed it on the floor.  

Selfish bastard!

It was then he started gasping for breath.  I figured fat man was finally having a heart attack.  But, when he stood up and started to pace around the room, his breathing returned.  

Sitting back down by his food, it was only seconds before he started gasping again.  Again, when he stood up and started walking, his breath returned.  

This was repeated over and over, until he didn't sit back down.  Pacing, he started talking to himself.

"Okay, when I walk I can breath... when I stop, I can't breath... doesn't make sense... walking I can breath... sitting I can't... like Great White Sharks... they have obligate ram ventilators... have to keep moving to take in water for oxygen through the open gills... stop moving and they die... lady on the side of the road... what did she say... move like sharks... move like sharks... curse... move like sharks..."
Courtesy of

And again, on and on he went.  But, as crazy as it sounded, each time he'd stop moving, he couldn't breath!  If this kept up, I wasn't going to get any sleep at all.

An hour later, he was panting and his face a wretched red color.  His body wasn't in shape to take the constant back and forth walking.  He opened the door and walked down the street.

I never saw him again.

Looking around the room, I calculated my next move.  I had fresh water, part of a leftover hamburger, and a clean bed to sleep in.  

That was a good night!

Final Words

"So, what happened?"   I had to know.

Gabriela smirked and said, "Cops caught up with him walkin' down the highway.  Tazered him when he wouldn't stop as ordered.  He suffocated before he ever got to jail.  I heard about it from the cleaning maid the next day."

"Was he cursed?" I inquired.

"Well, the pervert had no conscience.  So, yeah, he was cursed.  The lady was driving a truck that had "Monica LeVeau... Great Great Granddaughter of Marie... Voodoo Extraordinaire”  written on the side of the trailer it was towing.  I‘d say killing her kid might have given her a reason” she hissed.

“So, all of your owners have died a violent death” I stated with relief.

Gabriela smirked and asked, “Do you consider suffocating violent?” .

Then, somewhat contented with her tormenting of my curiosity, she lay down for a nap.  

“Gabriela, have any of your owners ever lived a normal life?”

"Maybe I'll tell you next time.  Storytelling always wears me out."  She replied.

Rolling over, she stretched a little and settled into a deep sleep.  

When will I ever get the answer?

©Copyright RCRUMPLE2012. All Rights Reserved

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Halloween Tales From A Demon Cat, Part 3

(*Parts #1 & #2 of this series are currently on under rcrumple)

©Copyright RCRUMPLE2012. All Rights Reserved

 "Do you want to hear about my third owner?"

It was my Demon Cat, Gabriela screeching in a low tone behind me.  She had told a tale that had got us moderated at our last writing site, (although both Gabriela and I looked at it as a demonstration of the double standards so often utilized at that site) so we moved here in order to keep her tales coming.  

I didn't want to hear it, but after all the trouble she had gone through to move here, I decided I might as well give her a chance to tell another story.

"Would you mind making this one a little more gentle than the last?"

She looked at me with her gleaming eyes and whispered, "Do you want a fairy tale or the truth?"

"I want the truth, but remember, we've already had problems elsewhere.  The last thing we need is to get into trouble on this site, too" I reminded her.

"You will get the truth and live with it.  If you can't take the truth, then don't write the story" she stated with an evil smirk.

I turned to my keyboard, exhaled, and started typing


In my humble opinion, my third owner was probably the worst owner a cat could have.  In fact, there were times I wondered if I was actually his pet, or if he kept me around as only a mouse killer.

He and his wife owned a farm out in the middle of nowhere  It was a huge farm that had been busy and profitable at one time, but that was before my owner started hitting the bottle. 

I spent most of my time around the barn area.  There were plenty of mice there to eat, so I wasn't hurting for food.  Besides, his wife would put out a small bowl of milk for me in the evening, along with some meat scraps leftover from their dinner table.  She was such a kind woman with love to share with every living creature. 

She'd spend much of her time tending to the plants around the house.  She loved to help plants grow strong and tall, and was good at it!  One evening, I even watched her stand up to her drunken husband as he tried to cut down an old tree that had been split down the center after it had been struck by lightning.

I thought the ass was going to cut her in half with the chainsaw.  Luckily, she talked him out of it by promising to cook his favorite meal for dinner, and letting him buy another bottle of whiskey on Friday.  I think it was the whiskey that saved her more than the dinner.

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One night, I had just finished my meal, and I heard them arguing about something.  Another under the influence display of intelligence by him, I was sure.  I just hoped she'd be okay.

I'd seen him beat her without care several times before.  She'd nurse her bruises for a few days and then act as if nothing had ever happened.  I could never understand why she took it. 

Listening tonight, it sounded like he really hit her hard.  It sounded as if she'd been thrown into a table as dishes smashed against the floor and a dull thud followed.  That was followed by footsteps walking back and forth and his voice mumbling something about "Damn, clumsy woman, you ain't gonna die and put me in jail.  You ain't gonna do it!"

A little later, just as it was getting dark, he left the house and went to the tool shed.  There, he got a pick and shovel and went out to the split tree.  I followed, as curiosity seems to plague me, and watched as he'd swing the pick into the frozen ground around the tree's roots, loosen up the soil, and then shovel the loose clods of dirt into a neat pile. 

He repeated that for over an hour.  I got to give him credit for effort.  He never stopped once for a breather.  Made me want a nap just watching him.

Finally, he climbed out of the hole he'd dug and returned to the house.  After a few minutes, out the front door he walked, carrying his wife.  She hung limply, her arms dangling and swinging back and forth.  When he reached the hole, he stretched her body out over it and just let it drop. 

I wanted to leap and claw his eyes out.  The hair on my back raised, my tail fluffed and I started my moaning style of meowing.  I probably should have kept quiet.  My anger caused the shovel to come flying my direction.  I sprang out of its path just in time as the blade dug into the ground where I'd been standing. 

It didn't take long for him to shovel back the dirt.  When the hole was filled, he stomped on it to pack it down tight.  Finally, he took his tools and stored them in the shed and returned to the house.

I didn't see much of him the next few days.  My milk and leftovers were a thing of the past, so I concentrated on catching mice just to stay alive. 

Just after the first snow, the widow from down the road came by.  I heard my owner telling her that his wife had gone up North to take care of an ailing sister.  He finally got agitated at her questions and sent the widow on her way. 

The next day, the widow came back.  This time, she told him she wasn't going to take "No" for an answer and wanted the phone number that would get her in contact with his wife.  He shut the door in her face.  For five minutes, she screamed and beat against the door in defiant anger. 

Then it happened!

The door flew open and he burst out causing the widow to go flying backwards off the porch.  I could see she was stunned when she hit the frozen ground.  Probably not as much as when my owner grabbed a wooden planter off the porch rail and slammed it down on her forehead.  Not just once, but three times he raised it high and brought it down hard.  Her face changed it's shape under each impact, until you couldn't distinguish one feature from another.

Did I tell you my owner was a bastard?  Well, if I haven't.....

Next, he picked up the widow, carried her to the split tree, came back and got the tools, and before you know it, had dumped the widow's body atop the rotting corpse of his dead wife. 

Practice makes perfect.  

During the next Spring, the rains came.  Endless and without mercy the water poured from the heavens. Even my barn home was soaked.

One night, lightning burst from above and shattered the rain's tempo as it hit the old split tree.  Bark flew everywhere as smoldering wood was quickly drenched by the downpour. 

Being close to the house, my owner decided to take a look at it.  Stumbling out the door in a drunken daze, he looked at the menacing limbs hovering just above the porch. 

That was when he did something really stupid.

Out from the tool shed he came with the chain saw.  Revving up the motor, he approached the tree with only one thought in mind.  It was time to cut off the limbs that endangered his porch.

He raised the chainsaw as high as he could, but was just shy of reaching the branches that needed cutting.  With the motor still running, he climbed onto the tree's split center.  That was when strange things began to take place.

Try as he might, he couldn't position himself to cut the limb.  It seemed each time he almost got within range, the branch would swing away just enough to make his effort ineffective.  Over and over he tried, but was only successful in failing to make the first cut. 

As the rain beat down on his angry face, he decided just to cut off the half of the tree closest to the house.  Raising the chainsaw high above his head, he started to bring it down hard against the trunk.  But, that didn't happen.

Instead, a branch had caught his arm and was holding on tight.  Another branch wrapped his torso under his arms and began a tugging like motion.  He struggled hard, but the tree held on, slowly pulling him away from his weapon. 

I know I heard the voices of the owner's wife and the widow. It sounded like, "Been drinking again, haven't you?  You know you shouldn't mess with tools when you're drunk.  How's if feel to be the one about to die?  Come join us!  We've much to show you... about death!"

His screams got louder and louder and the words got louder and louder and the chainsaw's motor got louder and louder!  The rain was pounding down on my head and all the noise was killing my brain.  I turned and ran to the barn for shelter and relief. 

Just as I reached the door, the thunder boomed and the lightning flashed!  The ground shook and the sky exploded as the tree was hit for a third time by the swords of the God. 

When I finally looked back, I was shocked.  His neck was caught in the V of two branches, and held his body off the ground.  From atop his right shoulder down almost to his groin, he'd been chewed open by the chain saw and split. 

Just like the tree.

A Final Word

"Just couldn't make it less violent, could you?" I asked.

"If you want kid's stuff, go watch Big Bird and Sesame Street before Romney takes them away" she replied.

"So, I'm going to ask you again, have all your victims died violent deaths?"  I felt as though my future might well be in jeopardy.

"Guess you'll have to find out next time.  I hear a mouse in the kitchen!"  And off she ran.

She'd done it to me again.  Was she hiding something, or, was it all a game?  Maybe she'll give me an time. 

©Copyright RCRUMPLE2012. All Rights Reserved

©Copyright RCRUMPLE2012. All Rights Reserved