"This looks like a good spot." Frank's father said as he pulled the minivan into the camp ground. Frank's mother reluctantly agreed. "I really wish we could have stayed at the resort instead," she said, "vacations don't usually include carnivorous insects and strange canned meat products." "There ain't nothing wrong with spam, honey. And I packed but spray, besides, this will be good for Frank. He's turned into a weetie, honey." He has not! Don't say that!" They turned to the back seat. Frank sat sleeping, his half dissolved lollipop stuck to his striped shirt. With his love for video games and big Macs, he was, in fact, a weetie, a pretty plump one at that. His dad thought a week of tent camping would toughen him up. He imposed a no-electronics rule for the entire week, which was met with resistance not only be his son, but his wife as well. "Seriously, dear, these games are helpful for him, what if he wants to be a programmer or a web designer when he grows up?" Frank's father failed to see how flappy bird would benefit his son's education. They woke Frank up, and he sat with his mother in the car while his dad set up the tent and got a fire going. Soon they were all sitting around it, smelling the chunks of spam that were roasting on Frank's skewer. "Honey, but spray is flammable. If you put anymore on I'm afraid you'll spontaneously combust." Frank's dad said "oh, please," she said, drenching herself with more of the poisonous liquid, "I won't be getting malaria because my dead beat husband decided to take us camping." Frank's dad sighed. "Okay, Frank you don't want to burn it." "Alright dad." Frank said, pulling the spam out of the fire and blowing on it to cool it off. After a few minutes he took a bite. "It's not that bad, mom." He told her. " whatever, dear." She said, nibbling at a ricecake. The rest of the night went surprisingly well. (Maybe Frank wasn't bored enough yet.) They settled down for the night, and after everyone was comfortably in their sleeping bags, (or uncomfortable on their air mattress in Frank's mother's case) Frank said, "I have to go to the bathroom." "Well then get up and go." His dad said.
"Get up and take him."
"The bathroom is fifty feet away, the kid can walk himself."
"He's scared!"
"I'm not scared," Frank said, "I'll be right back"
And he left the tent without further argument, he stumbled to the bathroom and struggled to open the heavy metal door. He squinted into the darkness at the non-flushing camp toilet. He heard a faint rustling noise coming from it, and, inching closer, saw the gleam of sharp, white teeth. He groped for the door handle as the creature emerged from the darkness and lunged. He felt the slimy fur of the toilet badger on his neck. He screemed, and flung the thing off of him. He pushed the door open, and teeth sunk into his legs as he ran blindly down the gravel path, his panic causing him not to realize that he was running in the opposite direction of his parents tent. The toilet badger kept a death grip on his leg as he was knocked t o the ground, and then lifted hundreds of feet into the sky by a giant pair of wings. His heart thumping, Frank saw the red, glowing basketball size orbs that were the creative's eyes. He gazed at the huge dusty wings and the insect like legs that held him. He felt his night shirt being slowly eaten away from his body. Soon his chest was bare, and the toilet badger moved from his legs to the tender skin covering his rib cage. Moth man then started on Frank's socks, hanging him upside down, and paying no attention to his polyester shorts. Soon Frank was dangling by his left leg as moth man finished off his second sock. The badger was sinking his claws and teeth deeper and deeper into Frank's abdomen. And as his sock slipped off, Frank let out a final blood curdling screem as he fell
Points: 12
Reviews: 27
Donate