This is a short story that I wrote for a collection of short stories that I am writing. I hope you enjoy it. Also, I am a novice and I couldn't figure out how to rate this. If I could, I would rate it Pg-13 for some graphic language.
“Grandpa, why can’t I go outside?”
“You can never go outside Susan.”
“But why?”
“Did your mother never teach you not to be so monkeying dumb stupid?”
“She mentioned something about it right before father went crazy and killed her and all my siblings.”
“Stupid girl! You know you weren’t supposed to ever mention that event again.”
Susan lifted up her hand up to her cheek and tried to rub away the pain. Why did Grandpa have to work out everyday? She thought. The fact was she was stuck here with Grandpa Magazine. All Grandpa Magazine ever did was work out and look at the magazines with the ladies with skinny waist but fat lady parts (Susan was especially angry about the magazines because Grandpa Magazine didn’t tell her about them when she was looking for something to read).
Susan was just about to fall asleep with her thoughts about Grandpa Magazine and his magazines when Grandpa Magazine told her that he was going to go back to his room (to read magazines, no doubt). Screw Grandpa, Susan thought. I’m busting out of this place.
Susan then ran up to the door and ripped all the nails out. Grandpa Magazine was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to hear. “Peace Out” Susan called. She faced toward the doorway and took a step out onto the doormat when she heard a crinkling in the bushes. What was that, she thought.
Crinkle…
Crinkle…
Crinkle…
Out of the bushes came a small, fuzzy bunny rabbit that just so happened to also be followed by a horde of zombies. The zombies also happened to be running. Amazingly they also were running straight to Susan.
“Ohh Shit!!!!” Susan yelled. The yell, however, was silenced by a zombie tearing into Susan’s throat. (This action is well known for it's yell stopping abilities)
******
Meanwhile in the FORTRESS OF INSANiTY, there was quite a lot of talk about a recent version of a game we call Call of Duty.
“COD287 is by far the best and I dare say the last COD game ever.”
“It can’t be beaten.”
“Far better than that nasty piece Halo: This Time we’re Even MORE Generic.”
“Well no argument here about that.”
At that moment the King of the FORTRESS OF INSANiTY barged into the room. “What are you guys not doing in this room?”
“We are not doing anything except talking about COD two thousand eighty-seven, sir.”
“Pastry Chef!” said the King.
“Yes, sir?” said the Pastry Chef.
“Make me a Roasted Beast and don’t use any of that nasty pastry stuff this time.”
“But sir you do realize I’m the pastry chef, right? Why not ask the Roast Beast chef?”
“Are you questioning my right to give out orders in my own FORTRESS OF INSANiTY?”
“No sir.”
“Then hop to it!” The Pastry Chef began to walk to the kitchen. “I said crawl fool! Can’t find good help anymore.” (By the way, did I mention that the king is a bit insane?) “My minions, I have just received word from my good pal Grandpa Magazine…”
“Is he the one with the magazines wit’ the ladies sire?”
“Yes, are you using those mnemonic techniques I taught you Jenkins?”
“I am sire.”
“Good flounder! Now where was I… oh yes… well I just received word that Grandpa Magazine’s granddaughter Susan has just been killed by some zombies.” The King left omitted the fact that this meant Grandpa Magazine was no longer a Grandpa.
“What type of zombies?” Asked the ever-inquisitive Jenkins.
“Running Zombies!” The whole room became quite.
“Surely they just move at a slow jog?” asked Lord Tizzelfoot.
“I wish it were so.” Said the King. The King began to ramble on about the dangers of shark infested waters.
“Do you think that it is true?” Lord Tizzelfoot whispered to Jenkins.
“Why would the King lie?”
“Well I’m not saying that he would lie, I’m just saying that he isn’t exactly the King of the FORTRESS OF INSANiTY for nothing.”
“Ohh… good point.” Said Jenkins. Jenkins then began a long thinking technique that the king taught him. First Jenkins would define the problem. Then, he would think about the problem. Then he would go get a good cup of apple cider from the center of the FORTRESS OF INSANiTY head table. Finally, he would just ask himself W.W.A.C.D. (what would a cat do). “It is our investigative duty to this kingdom to go down to Grandpa Magazine’s house.”
“Oh sure I guess. If you think that would be wise.”
******
Grandpa Magazine was just cleaning out his house when Lord Tizzelfoot and Jenkins arrived.
“Where are you heading?” Asked Jenkins.
“I’m packing up and moving to the FORTRESS OF INSANiTY. It is no longer safe out here with the zombies and whatnot.” As he said this he slammed a luggage case (most likely full of you-know-what). “The King has offered me a place to stay. I figured it would be good for business too.”
“Well that was nice of him. I’m not sure where we can fit you and all your stuff though.” Said Lord Twizzelfoot.
“So Grandpa Magazine, why weren’t you killed by the zombies?”
“Oh… well I was in the other room. I just didn’t hear her open the door. Poor Susan, I loved her like a Granddaughter.”
“I would hope so.” Said Jenkins. “Where is your restroom, by the way?”
“Around the back. It is an outhouse, and NO I’m not going to clean it before I leave.”
“That is okay. As the King always says, ‘leave the stink for the next person’.” Jenkins then walked around the house.
Lord Twizzelfoot began to look around the house lifting up everything that wasn’t rooted to the ground. Finally, he went back to the cart Grandpa Magazine was loading up.
“So Grandpa Magazine how did you become the sole guardian of the girl?”
“Well you see her father went a bit crazy and killed all her mother, two brothers and her sister. Hey, a bit ironic I just realized. The only reason she wasn’t killed was because she was locked up in her room listening to Weird Al.”
“Oh that is ironic. So was the father your son or was the mother your daughter?”
“Um… It was the mother.”
“Grandpa Magazine, you are under arrest for the murder of that very family you just mentioned.”
“Why?”
“Because I know that it was your fault that faithful day when Susan’s father went crazy. You were down on your luck. No one wanted to buy a magazine from a guy that was named Magazine . It just isn’t very exciting. You needed a title. Doctor? Too hard. Lord? Impossible for a humble magazine to become one. Grandpa? Yes, that has a ring to it. Grandpa Magazine, that fellow wouldn’t wrong you. So you poisoned the father’s Apple Cider, you knew he liked a little wang to it anyway. You knew that the poison would make him irate. After the family was wiped out you adopted the girl and thereby adopted your title. The girl didn’t know any better, she obviously wasn’t the smartest apple.”
“How did you know?!?” Yelled Grandpa Magazine.
“It was a bit obvious when you think about it.”
“But you knew stuff about the incident that was impossible to find out just now.”
“Oh… were they? There is one thing that you forgot. You forgot to kill the father or as we know him as the King of the FORTRESS OF INSANiTY. Everyone knows that he likes a little wang to his apple cider.”
“Fine! I did it! Are you happy? I did it! And I would do it again too. Cuz’ I sold a whole lot of magazines.”
“Poor pathetic Grandpa Magazine couldn’t sell a magazine so he COMMITED MURDER.”
“What did I miss?” Jenkins had finally returned from the bathroom.
“Handcuff this man Jenkins!” Lord Twizzlefoot ordered.
Jenkins walked up to Grandpa Magazine and placed his trusty handcuffs around Prisoner Magazine’s wrist. “Ohh, by the way, I met some nice fellows out back. We had a nice chat. They were psychologists I do believe.”
“Really?” asked Lord Twizzelfoot
“Yes, they kept on talking about brains.”
“Ohh did they? Wait… did these men happen to have rotten flesh?”
“They …” At that moment a running zombie took a chomp into Jenkins neck.
Lord Twizzelfoot began to run. I must get out of here, he thought. In the back of his mind he heard Prisoner Magazine having his brain eaten while he was still alive.
Lord Twizzelfoot still kept on running then he remembered that these were running zombies. He looked over his shoulder and saw that the zombies had not only kept pace with him but were now actually gaining on him.
“I hate running zom…”
The End
