She drove at a breakneck speed. Her sister sat in the backseat, reclined against him, eyes rolled up in awe. She turned the corner on two wheels, the screech of the tires raising demons from hell.
Halloween, an old car, her doting sister Cinderella, as stupid a princess as ever, wrapped up in the arms of a 57 year old vampire wannabe.
"HE'S 57!!!" She shouted as the car righted itself. "It's true!" her sister cooed.
"I'm sorry. 57!! and still dressed up as a vampire!"
She punched the gas on the straightaway. The green clock said 5am.
"Vampires are...
First communion with the devil that is my Daddy. In order to understand, you've got to start at the end and look back over your shoulder into the madness with a mirror, handheld and cracked.
My tombstone reads "murdered" and my family is convinced that is the truth but the truth reads like one novel to some and a short story to others and the weather girl reads it yet again a different way. It was Christmastime in Savannah and he was drunk again, or still, as it were, and there was the gun and then the fight spilled out...
"Wine. Please." Mycroft replied, when I gestured to the still warm tea pot. I summoned Mrs. Hudson and passed on the request. She eyed Sherlock's intruder with continued suspicion, having clearly not banished the crazed Scottish farmer he'd just been representing.
As she left, my companion chuckled quietly, "'My croft.' A lovely pun, given you were attempting to represent a crofter… from the Islands off the west coast I believe…" His speculation clearly hit the target. "But why the obvious mistakes, dear brother? There is more to this than is straight forwardly apparent."
He'd gone again. Inside that wonderful mind...
When the truck pulled up into the yard, I looked up from breakfast. It was a large truck, sort of a cross between a utility van and an ice-cream dispensary, and its tires bobbed over the curb, causing it to lurch from side to side. It drove right over our sapling, sideswiped the large maple, crunched into the center of our magnolia bush, and finally stopped over top of the fire hydrant, knocking it out into the intersection. I could see the driving compartment fill up with water, and pretty soon thereafter the windshield split off from its frame and...
I jumped. I left the rope ladder up in the treehouse. I'm scared. Leaving it will stop me from not going to Mummy. I'm not crying. I am a big boy. I will go to Mummy, even if she is still mad, and walking like Daddy.
Maybe she will hit me like Daddy and I will tell people I fell downstairs and tomorrow she will buy me candy and Daddy will come home.
She is near Mr. Grant's shop. Most of the other angry people have given up looking for me, or where looking in other places, or have fallen...
WHAP!! The sniper rifle cracked harshly then a second later an echoing crack sounded back across the valley. A few hundred feet below a crawler's head exploded.
Daniel smoothly reloaded and set his eye back to the scope. "Clear for now. They'll be confused by the sound, but look lively. Your boy's on the High Street heading into trouble."
Off to the edge of his vision, a runner… Runner Five? Runner Eight? broke cover, trailed by Peter. They reached Luke just as he turned the corner where a lone Zom was shambling by the corner shop.
***
I see Mummy....
she watched for him. the curtains engulfed her as she pressed her nose to the glass, eyes intent on the driveway. As his car pulled up, she smiled. before he could say anything, she plowed into him and smothered him with kisses. he laughed as she settled into the familiar position against his chest. she missed him too much to put into words. well, excluding the words "she watched for him."
Holmes pulled up his chair, muttered to himself for a second then cleared his throat.
'We have your bizarre first appearance as a Scottish small holder, otherwise known as a Crofter, if I am not mistaken. At first I thought this was a silly pun on your name, dear brother. "M' small holding' being rendered as "My croft".'
Mycroft nodded.
"Yet, you knew I would see through your disguise even if Watson was fooled." He turned to me and smiled apologetically. I dissembled, but had to admit he was correct. " And we must not forget the excellent Western lilt...
"You toddled around your aunt's spacious yard in your pastel dress with lacy white ruffles, matching bloomers showing beneath. When you found one egg, you carried it so carefully. When you found another, you gently picked it up, and held an egg cupped in each tiny palm, then smashed them together." My grandfather chuckled as he looked at the picture of me hunting Easter eggs on Aunt Lois' farm. He loved to tell that story, and loved to see the adoration for me that shined in his eyes as did told it. I miss him.
"I'm dead. Really dead. Not in the "there'll be a twist at the end and I'll be saved" kind of way. Just dead."
His eyes flickered open squinting in the unaccustomed sunlight. He started to rise but remained immobile. Panic began to set in. It was then that he noticed the girl slumped against the wall face ashen white. She glanced up at the ceiling and his eyes followed hers. He saw the skylight and his struggles became frantic. She was smiling now. "A trap. The bitch must have dosed herself up with ", he thought. those dammed odourless garlic...