For the past few months, I've been giving you the first parts from each of my books in the "Trilogy of Horrifically Half-baked Ham" ... TODAY, you get that big toe from They Suck ... which actually includes the Prologue AND Chapter 1!
I hope you continue to enjoy your bits of Frankenfiction!
You find yourself inside a library filled with withering books. In the middle of the room there is a desk covered in papers, a chemistry set, a skull with a curious bunny-shaped candle burning on top of it, a small bubbling cauldron, a plush, fat green dragon, and an amethyst palantir atop a set of pewter talons. The chair behind the desk swivels around slowly to reveal Vincent Von Suckles. He wears a grey and burgundy smoking jacket and a smug goatee that shimmies as he smokes an intricate crack pipe. His calico tabby with large green eyes is stretched languidly across the front of his desk.
“Good evening, and welcome to a tale of terror, sex, gore, laughs and all that good stuff. Allow me to be your guide—as if you have any choice in the matter.” He chuckles before he continues. “I will introduce you to horrifyingly hilarious characters in ridiculous circumstances living in the city of greatest dread—Toronto. That’s right, Toronto, Ontario, Canada, where once there was a mayor as high as I am. But enough about that. This story has nothing to do with the political elite or celebrities of any kind. There are, however, monsters—most of them human and some of them vampire—but not just any old breed of vampire, as you are about to find out. Our tale begins on a Tuesday, in the third person, past tense . . . mwah . . . ha . . . ha . . . ha . . .”
PART ONE: RESURRECTION
Chapter 1: The Necropolis
Rain poured down on a ginger-haired Irish woman wearing a soaked overcoat. She frowned deeply while she huddled under her decrepit umbrella, as if those from the UK were unused to rain.
A small woman in a white smock stomped onto the scene abruptly, sans umbrella. This woman did not need to hide beneath umbrellas. A little rain could not rust her antisocial armour. The nearby gravediggers stopped exhuming and stared dully at her.
“Ms. Oersee,” the woman in the smock snapped with a curt nod.
“Good evening, Dr. Waddle,” the drenched Irish woman replied in her lilting accent.
“My merchandise,” Waddle continued, not bothering to mask her impatience. She avoided eye contact with the ginger lady, as if looking upon a person might cause indigestion.
While Oersee prattled on, she handed Dr. Waddle a vial of clear fluid. Her hand shook, and the clear liquid sloshed in the vial. “I’ve explained the side effects, so please keep them in mind, Doctor. This substance is mainly used as an aphrodisiac or fertility drug by the natives of . . . the Island. Infusing a life force is not its original purpose. Therefore, you may experience—”
“Unexpected side effects, yes, yes,” Dr. Waddle exhorted. She shoved a wad of cash at Ms. Oersee. “Your fee.”
“Cheers,” Oersee continued, “but . . .”
Dr. Waddle turned her back on Oersee and stalked towards the open grave, gripping the vial tightly. The gravedigger, Percy was at the bottom of the hole they had dug. Zeke ceased his impromptu jig when they both noticed Waddle’s approach.
“Hello, ma’am!” Percy shouted from the hole and over the rainstorm in his heavy American hayseed accent. “Here’s that there body you wanted.”
“Yip,” Percy’s cohort, Zeke confirmed as he crawled down the hole to the other side of the revealed coffin, “dead and everythin’.”
An excessively decomposed corpse slumped at the bottom of the now open coffin. Dr. Waddle hovered over the gravesite a moment before uncorking the vial. She was just about to pour out the contents when Oersee skittered to her side and grasped her wrist. Waddle froze at her touch, her eyes alight with incredulity.
“You’re going to try that now?” Oersee exclaimed. “Right here?”
Dr. Waddle knocked Oersee’s hand away. “That’s so clever how you figured that out all by yourself.” She proceeded to pour the liquid from the vial onto the corpse lying right between Percy and Zeke. They shielded themselves from the tiny splashes.
“Don’t forget what I said,” Oersee whispered forebodingly. “Those Islanders who created this potion . . . those Brits, they’re animals!”
Waddle did not acknowledge her. Instead, she addressed her hired hick gravediggers. “Get the body into the truck, you penile ejaculates!” Percy and Zeke obediently hauled the body out of the grave and into the waiting SUV.
“If I may ask, Doctor,” Oersee continued, seemingly bubbling over with questions. “Just what are you trying to accomplish?”
“The greatness of my work will unfold in due time,” Dr. Waddle muttered before heading to her vehicle. She paid no one further acknowledgement of any sort and tossed the vial over her shoulder. It landed atop a grave where the remaining contents spilled onto the ground and seeped into the soil. The stone was marked “Dr.” but the name was illegible, obscured by ivy. Beneath that, “Died a Week Ago” was inscribed.
You know you want to read the rest of this ridiculously blood-stained (and slightly naughty) story…buy They Suck now, straight from the Triple Take online shop!
Don’t settle for just the big toe…own the entire Frankenfiction creature…mwa ha ha haaaaa…