BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH.2 - EAT, HOPE, PREY

BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH.2 - EAT, HOPE, PREY
By Nathan Nixon

Sally looks at you and places her hand on your slightly discoloured jaw. “Doc, we've got to get out of here. Our kind isn't happy with either of us. You playing doctor for these humans, and me, being a mix breed; they’re gonna kill us if we don't leave town.” You raise your arm and place her hand in yours, removing her grip from your face. Her grip releasing, creates small sounds of suction popping. You look deep into her eyes, noticing her deep bulging green pupils. Slant, much like some sort of reptile. You watch as Sally changes her eyes at will, turning them brown to look more human.

 “There's a reason I left home Sally,” you console her. “This has more to do with me than you think.”

There's a loud boom downstairs, as one of the creatures kicks in the churches double doors. “We can talk about it later, right now we've got to save our slimy skins!” she yells.

You see a small window over-looking the roof of the church. You draw your gun from its holster with your right hand, and wrap your left arm around Sally's waist. Charging toward the window, you use the butt of the gun to break out every shard of glass. The creatures from back home surround the church outside. Riding up on what appears to be mutated horses. God knows what experiments they've been doing on these earth creatures. They close in on the church as you coax Sally to start out through the window. Still being the gentleman you are, you turn your head as she raises her dress to move her legs through the tiny opening, leading to the church rooftop. You point your laser gun in the attackers’ direction and begin firing. Sally starts to run across the church roof, slipping, she begins to slide in her Victorian style boots. She falls and lands on her bottom near the edge of the roof. From there, she removes her boots and stands barefoot. Her alien feet suction to the rooftop, much like a lizard of some sort. She now begins to run. You climb out the window and

chase in behind her. Lasers fly overhead as the creatures from back home, shoot in Sally's and your direction. You whistle loudly calling your steed. Now your horse runs toward your direction, waiting on the ground below.

 “Jump on the horse Sally!” you yell out over the sounds of lasers and bullets. Down on the ground you see the sheriff firing at the attackers, a pistol in each hand. Sally leaps from the roof and lands on your trusty steed. Then, suddenly... you hear a sound you haven’t heard since you left home.

Vrmmmmmmmm.

It's the sound of a teleporter. You turn to find a seven foot tall creature standing on the roof behind you. He's sporting an old familiar grin; a long dirty black duster jacket, and a black cowboy hat. His teeth razor sharp, and his eyes piercing into your soul. You recognize him.

 “It's been awhile.” he snarls, as he grabs you by your throat.

“So, they sent you, huh? The so-called greatest bounty hunter in the universe.”

 “Nothing so-called about it. I am, indeed, very much what they say.”

Tentacles begin to inch out from behind his coat, growing and sprouting. “After all I managed to track your ass down, didn't I? I even brought a few soldiers with me to help take you in. This is a nice little set up you got here. Little warm, but plenty to eat. I do enjoy some human flesh.”

Just then you hear a loud bang, and the bounty hunters head explodes. His carcass drops to the ground, as green slime explodes all over your face. His body loses its grip on you, and what's left of him falls off the church roof and onto the ground below. The sheriff is standing below, blowing the smoke off of his hot pistol. 

 “Greatest bounty hunter in the universe, my ass! Doc, get down here! You get this lady somewhere safe. I'll hold them off!”

 You jump off the roof and land between your horse and the carcass of the bounty hunter. Sally motions you to hurry. “Sheriff, you’re going to need my help,” you exclaim.

More of the creatures from back home make their way up the street. “No time for that, Doc, this woman needs to be taken somewhere safe! I can hold my own just fine.”

You nod in agreement, and climb up on your horse in front of Sally. Taking the reins as she holds onto you for dear life, her hands suctioned to you. The two of you ride off, leaving the town, with a dust trail behind. The sheriff stays, firing bullets and dodging lasers. He knows he won’t survive, but at least he'll go down with a fight. Unknown to him, the body of the bounty hunter begins to move. Slowly he grows back another head. He stands up, placing his hat back on. The sheriff turns to find the seven foot tall creature towering over him. “No need to cook him with your lasers boys, I'll eat this one raw!” the monster yells, before sinking his teeth into the Sheriffs throat, shredding him to pieces.

Way outside of town you continue riding with Sally, making your escape. Suddenly, the moment is interrupted by the familiar sound from back home.

Vrmmmmmmmmm

A flash of blue light appears, and in its center stands the world’s greatest bounty hunter.

The horse stops dead in its tracks, throwing you and Sally onto the ground. You begin to confront the attacker.

“You, you were dead! The Sheriff took your head clean off!”

 “I was never much like you or the others. Much like this little creature here,” he said, extending his tentacles and wrapping them around Sally. She began to scream, as he wrapped his slimy arm around her mouth, silencing her. “Nah, humans and your kind aren't the only intelligent beings in this strange universe of ours. I'm born from something greater. I can't die, unlike that puny snack of mine that you two called a sheriff!”

You climb to your feet, racing to rescue Sally from the Bounty Hunter. He drags her across the dirt into his clutches. He then extends another tentacle in your direction. Quickly you draw out your laser gun. You fire your weapon at the arm that's dragging Sally. It cuts the tentacle in half, leaving her bound on the ground. Angry, he directs his attention toward you. Extending another tentacle, he knocks your weapon to the ground. You now find yourself defenseless. He shoves his slimy appendages down your throat, choking you. Everything around you begins to fade. Slowly it grows darker and darker, your last sounds being your own choking, and Sally's screams.

HARDWOOD BLOOD CH.2 - LET CURLY GO NUTS

BLOOD ON THE HARDWOOD CONCRETE CH.2 - LET CURLY GO NUTS

Written by Annie Evett

You stand up and swallow the bile in your throat. The Globetrotters continue to stare slack-jawed at the naked man on the ground. You wave your hands at them, attempting to break the horrified spell the flasher’s junk cast over them. You grin and correct yourself. Not enough to be junk, gotta be litter or dregs.

Curly demands to be let loose on the man. You push him back. “Just leave him. He’s not our man.”

Twiggy hoots and rotates a ball around his trunk. “He ain’t even a man.” You all laugh.

The man groans and rolls to an unsteady crouch.

“Stay down, you pervert.” Curly ricochets a ball towards his head.

The little man catches the ball, and his beady eyes glitter murderously at Curly as his lip twists in an uncomfortable grin. “Caught me unawares once, but not again, Fred.”

You notice Curly’s normal jovial behavior suddenly drop as he stares at the man on the ground. 

Wilt smooths his moustache and spins a ball on a finger. “Caught ya with your pants down, too. Not that anyone would notice.” You notice everyone laughing except Curly. 

Goose slaps Wilt on the back as he calls over to the flasher. “Slink away, you weirdo. Come on fellas. We are wasting time.”

You notice Curly bouncing his ball from hand to hand, flicking it deftly behind his back.

With a flurry of heavy material swishing like a cape, the flasher leaps to his feet and crouches low, growling animalistically, his long coat settling around him.

Curly’s grin is wider that the harbor. “Now this is what I’m talking about. You lot, go. I want to have some fun here. I’ll sort out this perv.”

Twiggy and Wilt nod and stretch their elongated limbs out toward you. “Yeah, come on man–the murderer will be blocks away. Chief ain’t goin’ to be real pleased if we dust up a citizen and leave a murderer on the loose.”

The rest of the team begin jogging down the alley way. You are left between the flasher and Curly’s big smile.

“I got this.” His grin never leaves his face. “You run along. Let me at him.”

You frown. Curly’s mouth, stretched into that plastic smile, is near cracking his face. Something ain’t right about the scene.

Curly kicks a trashcan over and bounces his ball at the lid. It spins up and scatters across the cobblestoned pavement, knocking the flasher to the ground again.

You grab Curly’s arms. “Come on Curly, snap out of it. He’s just a pervert. We got a killer on the loose. Let’s go.”

You feel a tight grip around your ankle before you are tipped, overbalanced. That last slice of lasagna has done it. You land on your swollen belly; the bile that had threatened to erupt before makes a loud and theatrical appearance. Unfortunately, it doesn’t have the grace to majestically burst like a fountain away from your body. It gurgles and weeps in hot lumps down your chin, seeping into your collar, pooling in an armpit.

You try to ignore it and turn your head to face the leering mug of the flasher. Curly leaps on top of him and begins to swing punches at his face. You try to sit up but slip in your own vomit. The flasher bucks and twists, unsettling Curly’s position, forcing him to the ground beside your second-hand lasagna. The flasher fluidly stands and forces his coat back to display his naked glory to the two of you.

The coat theatrically sweeps upward again as the flasher fumbles inside it. Too late you see slender stiletto knives being withdrawn from their secret spaces in the hemline. Your mouth is still full of chunky tomato paste and badly chewed lasagna sheets. Curly’s face crumples in disgust, but is immediately replaced with a look of blank shock. One of the knives appears in his chest as seeping claret begins to color his shirt. 

A dull pain spreads across your chest. You think it strange, as you expected it to be sharp and hurt more. Your mouth empties the remains your stomach had retched up, and you now taste the acrid thin flavor of blood. 

The flasher strides over to you, places a foot on your chest, and pulls out the knife. He looks at it momentarily and plunges it into your throat.

THE END.

Oops...Return to Chapter 2

HARDWOOD BLOOD CH.2 - DANGLY BITS

BLOOD ON THE HARDWOOD CONCRETE CH.2 - DANGLY BITS

By Debbie Davis

You eye the dead girl. Should you call the chief? Why are you even debating this? He’s useless as the day is long. There’s no time. The only back-up you need is right here with you. You’re unsure how much help Sweet Lou is going to be. His skin has taken on a horrible shade of green, like split pea soup mixed with the Chief’s pit juice. Sweet Lou looks like a nancy about to cry. In fact, you’re fairly certain you see tears pooling in his eyes.

Curly points a finger longer than your . . .. “He’s getting away!”

“Follow me, boys!”

You give chase, almost slipping on the intestine-littered sidewalk. It reminds you of that time you and the Chief went boxing together. You’d been surprised that he didn’t disintegrate in front of your very eyes. His perspiration was like Niagara Falls, and you almost slipped then, too.

As you pick up speed, you wish you hadn’t loosened your pants after consuming the three-meat lasagna. Right now, they’re trying to make an escape much like the trenched henchman. That bastard is fast; fortunately, your pants are not.

You wave your gun in the air frantically. “Not on my watch, you lousy good for nothin’!”

The man in black weaves through the alley. The pavement is uneven, and you’re having a hard time keeping up. To make matters worse, he’s looking back and overturning trash cans, complete with mice, to trip you up. You take pause as you notice the trash can from directly behind Gino’s is home to a particularly large swarm of rodents, and you feel the bile rise in your throat, the lasagna on the verge of making a second appearance.

Who is the nancy now? You think to yourself. Who is the nancy now? You give yourself a mental slap and get your head back in the game. You launch yourself up and over, hurdling the trash cans with so much ease that you surprise yourself. Your gut doesn’t slow you down nearly as much as it should, even though it jiggles a little like Chief’s jowls when he talks.

The darkness of night descends upon the alley, offering the fast bastard even more camouflage. The weather changes suddenly too, as you feel the air around you shift in a windstorm. Wait! That’s not the wind! It’s a tornado. A tornado of red and blue and stars and stripes. A tornado of limbs. A tornado of badass. Skilled hands like surgeons, powerful legs like workhorses. It’s the boys you know you can always count on. It’s the Globetrotters! Sweet Lou’s nancy moment has passed, and now you can only see a steely look of determination plastered on his face.

It’s this moment your brain chooses to send a signal to your body, a friendly reminder that you are no longer the young beat cop you used to be. Age has caught up with you and she hasn’t been kind. She’s been a sultry bitch. Your feet slow, your breathing becomes labored. You’re wheezing and can’t catch your breath.

You stop and put your head between your knees, just for a moment. Just until everything stops spinning. You can still see the bandit ahead and the Globetrotters closing the space between them with formidable speed.

“Get him!” You shout to no one in particular, waving your gun again. “Get the murderer!”

Curly stops. “I’m not playin’ anymore,” he yells. You look up in time to see him raise his arm over his head, armed with the deadly force of his favorite weapon: His basketball. He pitches the thing with no effort at all. From its current trajectory, the cop in you knows the trenchcoat killer is going down. Hard and fast. Still trying to catch your breath, you can’t help but wonder why Curly didn’t just do this in the first place.

The ball sails through the air. When it makes contact, you’re pretty sure Curly killed him. He falls to the ground, the only noise his head cracking on the pavement.

You summon the last of your energy and surge forward to catch up with the Globetrotters. Curly is now strutting like the hero he knows he is. “Nice job, kid,” you say, even though Curly probably isn’t that much your junior.

The man who fled is lying face down. You take off your fedora and bring it to your chest, bowing your head. Murderer or not, you’ve still just seen his life slip away. You are about to order a moment of silence until you see his chest moving ever so faintly. The bastard is alive!

You let out a scream, then recover by clearing your throat. “He’s alive!” You say.

Twiggy flips the man over with his foot.

You scream again.

In your worst possible nightmare, you couldn’t have imagined this. You’ve seen the Chief in the shower at the station before and you were sure nothing could be more terrifying than that. You were wrong. You make a mental note to find a therapist.

Underneath the grandeur of the trenchcoat, the man is naked. Naked as the day he was born. You inadvertently notice something else hasn’t changed much since the day he was born either. You squint and try to adjust your eyes. The last thing this fellow needed was a ball to the head. He’s got enough problems.

“You think it’s real?” Curly asks.

You shake your head. “I’m not sure. How could nature, how could God, be so cruel to one man?”

“Naw,” Twiggy shakes his head. “It can’t be real. It’s like part of it is missing.”

As much as the size—or lack thereof—of the man’s manhood—or lack thereof—intrigues you, you can’t waste any more time talking about it. “Someone has to pat him down,” you announce. “Check for the murder weapon.”

The Globetrotters look at you like you’ve lost your mind. Like you look at the Chief when he attempts to tell you about his relations with his lady friends. You roll your eyes and sigh. “You’re a bunch of nancys! The whole lot of you!”

Twiggy steps forward in a threatening stance until you point your gun. “Don’t test me, Twig. Not today.”

“You’re the cop,” he says, “you pat him down.”

The bile is back in your throat. Obviously he’s got nowhere to conceal a weapon aside from the coat, so it can’t be all that bad. You force the bile down and inhale sharply. “I’ll do it.” You mutter something else about nancys under your breath as you check the man’s pockets. You check a second and a third time just to be sure.

There is no weapon. “He’s clean. He’s got nothing,” you say.

It appears your killer has made a stealthy escape. The man who ran is merely a flasher. A meager, meager flasher.

Curly’s temper erupts. “All that for nothing! Nothing! I’m gonna kill him myself.”

Should you...

A. Allow Curly to let loose on the little man, sure that you’re doing him a favor?


B. Instruct the Globetrotters to haul the flasher into the station, then go back to the crowd to look for evidence of the real killer’s whereabouts?


C. Bring the flasher into the station yourself and call it a night?