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Jim, a part-time teacher from Surrey, chose this day to visit the haunted island. It was a foggy day, he couldn’t see two feet in front of him. The damp air promised rain and probably an atmospheric thunderstorm.
His two brothers, his mother, father, wife, his son, best friend, a co-worker, the milkman and that weird poodle-lady had all visited the island before him. Of course, none of them had come back, so he decided to check it out himself.
At night.
The logical thing to do would be call the police. Ten people disappearing on a strange uninhabited source-of-all-evil type of an island would probably call for a major investigation. With ‘copters and armed patrols and sniffer dogs and fingertip searches of the area.
They might even go during the day, when it was sunny.
But, no.
Here Jim was, in a small rickety rowing boat he’d borrowed off the loony fisherman warning him not to go to the island, struggling through the turbulent waters towards the black hulking rock of Death Isle.
He’d remembered a torch, and was quite proud of his forward-thinking. Although he’d found it under his bed and the end bit was rusty and he hadn’t even checked if the batteries worked, it’s the thought that counts.
And he’d even considered a firearm of some sort for a few seconds. An island that had eaten 10 of his closet friends and relatives in the past month and, according to the records, almost 10,000 people all together, was hardly going to be covered in fluffy bunnikins and rainbows. But he’d discarded the thought. His experience told him there was always weapons lying around a haunted island.
It was a fact.
He was pretty sure of it.
The small boat crashed into the rocks as the skies split into a thunderstorm. He’d not seen them, but they must have seen him. The rocks devoured the front-end of the rowing boat, leaving him alone in the back as water lapped around his ankles.
He quickly jumped up and onto the rocks, scrambling to shore as the rest of his transport was battered into wood chips.
He’d never get back now.
A flash of lightning illuminated the haunted mansion and in the silence following a thunderclap screams of torture and evil wails carried down to his ears. On an upstairs window a splatter of blood ran it’s way down the pane and several somethings crawled over the roof.
Jim decided to take a closer look.
From the small cove where the boat had crashed he climbed up the steps carved into the cliffs. He took the torch from his jacket and switched it on.
The batteries were dead.
Dead.
He shrugged and carried on, using the lightning strikes for guidance as they lit the possessed mansion.
Working his way through the a cemetery he noticed most of the graves were disturbed as if something had crawled out of them.
Approaching the house he saw deep, vicious claw-marks on the walls all around.
Touching the door he felt warm blood trickling over his hand.
Opening the door lumps of rotting flesh crawled around his feet.
As he stepped inside giant, deformed flew rushed passed his ears.
Closing the door behind him, politely, he saw the burnt body of a child nailed to the wall through it’s undeveloped skull.
It seemed a nice enough place.
“Hello?” He called into the darkness.
“Is anyone there?”
“I’ve come to take my friends home. And most of my family. Is anyone there?”
Silence echoed in his ears.
He kicked a rotting skull across the floor which left a trail of grey matter as it rolled. The skull looked kinda familiar.
He shrugged and turned towards the stairs.
Something staggered towards him, arms outstretched, groaning.
“Ah! Mary, there you are.” It was his wife, not looking too good. “Darling? What the hell happened to your face?”
She still came towards him and put her arms around him, biting his neck.
“Darling? Not now,” the public display of affection was not very proper, “I have to find the others.”
She groaned and bit deeper, tearing off a lump of flesh.
“Ow! That REALLY hurt. Stop it, Mary, we’ll do this when we get home, okay?” He gave her a wink as she tore off his ear.
Realisation dawned on his face as his nose was ripped off it.
“Oooohhhh, you’re a zombie.” He turned and stepped on a nice, shiny, fully-loaded handgun lying on the floor, picked it up and emptied the clip into his wife’s maggot-infested face. Firing a gun wasn’t nearly as hard as everyone made out.
He shrugged and climbed the stairs.
**
Through the mansion he’d picked up a shotgun, gatling gun, flame-thrower and a nice shiny axe, all of which he could carry in his pockets.
He’d killed a giant spider who’d eaten his brother. A big lump of flesh who was mostly his mum and a little of the milkman. The poodle lady’s poodles had gone a little crazy, but burnt nicely. The mutated plants in the greenhouse stole his dad’s soul. And some weird thingy with lots of red tubes sticking off him, loads of stitches everywhere, several bits missing and a rather tasteless overcoat had been following him around for the last four hours.
He probably would have died by now, but something told him to eat these weird plants he’d found around the place which made him feel better. He sensed told him they were cannabis.
In a small hidden room, behind a bookcase he’d moved by putting a medallion into a statue then moving it around a room, then turned a clock around to half two before putting the number 9635 he’d found on a bloodstained wall into a keypad at the lab, allowing him to get a small knife from behind a portrait which was inserted into a hole uncovered by lighting a fire in the hearth. Then he’d put some books back on the shelf in a certain order and it swung open for him.
In the room beyond his son was covering under a desk.
“Tommy?” Jim questioned, “How’d you get in here? I’ve spent the last few hours mucking about with photographs to get in. How’d you?”
The small boy looked very uncomfortable at the questioning. He just stood up and walked off.
Jim ran after him.
Tommy led him to the dining hall, a massive room with a lengthy oak table stretching down the middle covered in rotten food. The weird thingy that had been following him was sat at the end, munching on someone’s arm.
“Hello there,” Jim said, “Were you lost or something? Because I’ve got my son here, and everyone else seems to be dead, so we’ll be going now, okay?” The thingy looked very confused.
“Have you not been reading the notebooks? Looking at photos? Reading history books? The lab-experiment notes?” The thingy asked in a scrawly, deep, evil voice he’d obviously been practising.
“Erm .... nooo. I was more concerned on getting my family out of here than reading about some dead people and what’s been going on here.”
The thingy sighed, almost impatiently.
“Well, you should have done.” He stood, “Then you would have found out who owned this island, and who went mad, and who created me, and how I killed everyone here, and how I kill everyone else that comes here.” He sighed again, “It’s really quite interesting, you know.”
“Why do you kill everyone, then? For fun, or what? You should probably see someone about that.”
The thingy clenched his fists and his exposed heart beat faster.
“Because that’s what I do. I’m evil, the creation of a mad scientist. It’s my job or something.” He growled, “And I’ve just worked out how to do .... THIS!”
The floor shimmered and Jim stepped towards the door.
A swirling mass appeared and sucked the table into it. It looked a little like a mouth, a black gaping mouth with bad breath.
“Behold!” Shouted the thingy, “The gate to the underworld! Now I will unleash true evil on the world and rule it with my hell-brother! Ha-HA! No-one shall live!”
“Except me.” Jim stepped forward, pulling a rocket launcher from his pocket. “I’ll kill you.”
A bloody battle ensued, Jim’s firepower versus the thingy’s evilness. Around the vortex they fought as it spun into oblivion. They both gave their all into the battle, Jim determined to destroy the evil around him.
The thingy grabbed Tommy from beside the door and ripped out his heart and a few other bits, then rotted his flesh a little and made him un-dead and groan evilly. Jim torched him.
“Meh, never liked the little gimp.”
The thingy was appalled at Jim lack of family values and threw himself back into the fight, full-power.
There was a loud crash from the upper floors of the mansion; both the fighters stopped and looked up. It sounded like something had smashed through the roof and kept going.
A large lump of metal fell through the ceiling and crushed the thingy under it’s weight. Blood and guts splatters up the walls, an eyeball rolled away. It was most definitely dead.
“Oh,” Jim said, a little shocked, walking around the hell-mouth to inspect the killer object. It looked a little like an old boiler; kind of missile shaped. Maybe it was and just fell through the rotting floorboards.
The thing was covered in dust, he blew and wiped some off the side.
A large sticker revealed itself, showing “DANGER - HIGH RADIATION”.
The object was very hot.
A timer counted down in red the delayed charge.
“Crap,” he muttered, “A bloody nuke. Why didn’t I think of t--”
His body was ripped apart and decorated the far wall a nanosecond before it, too, was ripped to bits.
The hell mouth shrivelled up and disappeared. Evil don’t like radiation.
**
“WOO-HOO!” Shouted the general. “Direct hit! Good work, men!”
He shook the officer’s hand, “Yeah! I knew those possessed wales were a bit too much.”
The mushroom cloud dissipated at the sun broke over the horizon, promising a warm and friendly day; still, cool water lapped around the rocky crater.
His two brothers, his mother, father, wife, his son, best friend, a co-worker, the milkman and that weird poodle-lady had all visited the island before him. Of course, none of them had come back, so he decided to check it out himself.
At night.
The logical thing to do would be call the police. Ten people disappearing on a strange uninhabited source-of-all-evil type of an island would probably call for a major investigation. With ‘copters and armed patrols and sniffer dogs and fingertip searches of the area.
They might even go during the day, when it was sunny.
But, no.
Here Jim was, in a small rickety rowing boat he’d borrowed off the loony fisherman warning him not to go to the island, struggling through the turbulent waters towards the black hulking rock of Death Isle.
He’d remembered a torch, and was quite proud of his forward-thinking. Although he’d found it under his bed and the end bit was rusty and he hadn’t even checked if the batteries worked, it’s the thought that counts.
And he’d even considered a firearm of some sort for a few seconds. An island that had eaten 10 of his closet friends and relatives in the past month and, according to the records, almost 10,000 people all together, was hardly going to be covered in fluffy bunnikins and rainbows. But he’d discarded the thought. His experience told him there was always weapons lying around a haunted island.
It was a fact.
He was pretty sure of it.
The small boat crashed into the rocks as the skies split into a thunderstorm. He’d not seen them, but they must have seen him. The rocks devoured the front-end of the rowing boat, leaving him alone in the back as water lapped around his ankles.
He quickly jumped up and onto the rocks, scrambling to shore as the rest of his transport was battered into wood chips.
He’d never get back now.
A flash of lightning illuminated the haunted mansion and in the silence following a thunderclap screams of torture and evil wails carried down to his ears. On an upstairs window a splatter of blood ran it’s way down the pane and several somethings crawled over the roof.
Jim decided to take a closer look.
From the small cove where the boat had crashed he climbed up the steps carved into the cliffs. He took the torch from his jacket and switched it on.
The batteries were dead.
Dead.
He shrugged and carried on, using the lightning strikes for guidance as they lit the possessed mansion.
Working his way through the a cemetery he noticed most of the graves were disturbed as if something had crawled out of them.
Approaching the house he saw deep, vicious claw-marks on the walls all around.
Touching the door he felt warm blood trickling over his hand.
Opening the door lumps of rotting flesh crawled around his feet.
As he stepped inside giant, deformed flew rushed passed his ears.
Closing the door behind him, politely, he saw the burnt body of a child nailed to the wall through it’s undeveloped skull.
It seemed a nice enough place.
“Hello?” He called into the darkness.
“Is anyone there?”
“I’ve come to take my friends home. And most of my family. Is anyone there?”
Silence echoed in his ears.
He kicked a rotting skull across the floor which left a trail of grey matter as it rolled. The skull looked kinda familiar.
He shrugged and turned towards the stairs.
Something staggered towards him, arms outstretched, groaning.
“Ah! Mary, there you are.” It was his wife, not looking too good. “Darling? What the hell happened to your face?”
She still came towards him and put her arms around him, biting his neck.
“Darling? Not now,” the public display of affection was not very proper, “I have to find the others.”
She groaned and bit deeper, tearing off a lump of flesh.
“Ow! That REALLY hurt. Stop it, Mary, we’ll do this when we get home, okay?” He gave her a wink as she tore off his ear.
Realisation dawned on his face as his nose was ripped off it.
“Oooohhhh, you’re a zombie.” He turned and stepped on a nice, shiny, fully-loaded handgun lying on the floor, picked it up and emptied the clip into his wife’s maggot-infested face. Firing a gun wasn’t nearly as hard as everyone made out.
He shrugged and climbed the stairs.
**
Through the mansion he’d picked up a shotgun, gatling gun, flame-thrower and a nice shiny axe, all of which he could carry in his pockets.
He’d killed a giant spider who’d eaten his brother. A big lump of flesh who was mostly his mum and a little of the milkman. The poodle lady’s poodles had gone a little crazy, but burnt nicely. The mutated plants in the greenhouse stole his dad’s soul. And some weird thingy with lots of red tubes sticking off him, loads of stitches everywhere, several bits missing and a rather tasteless overcoat had been following him around for the last four hours.
He probably would have died by now, but something told him to eat these weird plants he’d found around the place which made him feel better. He sensed told him they were cannabis.
In a small hidden room, behind a bookcase he’d moved by putting a medallion into a statue then moving it around a room, then turned a clock around to half two before putting the number 9635 he’d found on a bloodstained wall into a keypad at the lab, allowing him to get a small knife from behind a portrait which was inserted into a hole uncovered by lighting a fire in the hearth. Then he’d put some books back on the shelf in a certain order and it swung open for him.
In the room beyond his son was covering under a desk.
“Tommy?” Jim questioned, “How’d you get in here? I’ve spent the last few hours mucking about with photographs to get in. How’d you?”
The small boy looked very uncomfortable at the questioning. He just stood up and walked off.
Jim ran after him.
Tommy led him to the dining hall, a massive room with a lengthy oak table stretching down the middle covered in rotten food. The weird thingy that had been following him was sat at the end, munching on someone’s arm.
“Hello there,” Jim said, “Were you lost or something? Because I’ve got my son here, and everyone else seems to be dead, so we’ll be going now, okay?” The thingy looked very confused.
“Have you not been reading the notebooks? Looking at photos? Reading history books? The lab-experiment notes?” The thingy asked in a scrawly, deep, evil voice he’d obviously been practising.
“Erm .... nooo. I was more concerned on getting my family out of here than reading about some dead people and what’s been going on here.”
The thingy sighed, almost impatiently.
“Well, you should have done.” He stood, “Then you would have found out who owned this island, and who went mad, and who created me, and how I killed everyone here, and how I kill everyone else that comes here.” He sighed again, “It’s really quite interesting, you know.”
“Why do you kill everyone, then? For fun, or what? You should probably see someone about that.”
The thingy clenched his fists and his exposed heart beat faster.
“Because that’s what I do. I’m evil, the creation of a mad scientist. It’s my job or something.” He growled, “And I’ve just worked out how to do .... THIS!”
The floor shimmered and Jim stepped towards the door.
A swirling mass appeared and sucked the table into it. It looked a little like a mouth, a black gaping mouth with bad breath.
“Behold!” Shouted the thingy, “The gate to the underworld! Now I will unleash true evil on the world and rule it with my hell-brother! Ha-HA! No-one shall live!”
“Except me.” Jim stepped forward, pulling a rocket launcher from his pocket. “I’ll kill you.”
A bloody battle ensued, Jim’s firepower versus the thingy’s evilness. Around the vortex they fought as it spun into oblivion. They both gave their all into the battle, Jim determined to destroy the evil around him.
The thingy grabbed Tommy from beside the door and ripped out his heart and a few other bits, then rotted his flesh a little and made him un-dead and groan evilly. Jim torched him.
“Meh, never liked the little gimp.”
The thingy was appalled at Jim lack of family values and threw himself back into the fight, full-power.
There was a loud crash from the upper floors of the mansion; both the fighters stopped and looked up. It sounded like something had smashed through the roof and kept going.
A large lump of metal fell through the ceiling and crushed the thingy under it’s weight. Blood and guts splatters up the walls, an eyeball rolled away. It was most definitely dead.
“Oh,” Jim said, a little shocked, walking around the hell-mouth to inspect the killer object. It looked a little like an old boiler; kind of missile shaped. Maybe it was and just fell through the rotting floorboards.
The thing was covered in dust, he blew and wiped some off the side.
A large sticker revealed itself, showing “DANGER - HIGH RADIATION”.
The object was very hot.
A timer counted down in red the delayed charge.
“Crap,” he muttered, “A bloody nuke. Why didn’t I think of t--”
His body was ripped apart and decorated the far wall a nanosecond before it, too, was ripped to bits.
The hell mouth shrivelled up and disappeared. Evil don’t like radiation.
**
“WOO-HOO!” Shouted the general. “Direct hit! Good work, men!”
He shook the officer’s hand, “Yeah! I knew those possessed wales were a bit too much.”
The mushroom cloud dissipated at the sun broke over the horizon, promising a warm and friendly day; still, cool water lapped around the rocky crater.
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Hurrah!
> An island that had eaten 10 of his closet friends?
I'd have left them there! Thanks for the funny read.
I'd have left them there! Thanks for the funny read.
yey jim!
Or maybe:
"Jim...........*whispers sexually* you're so soft."
"Jim...........*whispers sexually* you're so soft."
It's too late now, I'm not doing another one.
*Thinks of doing another one*
No!
Damnyou boyo.
*Thinks again*
Maybe.
More innuendo, I feel, is needed
*Thinks of doing another one*
No!
Damnyou boyo.
*Thinks again*
Maybe.
More innuendo, I feel, is needed
And:
"Jim.....I've had yer mum"
"Jim.....I've had yer mum"
I did think about it.
*Lies*
*All lies*
*Lies*
*All lies*
This line should have made it into the final draft:
"Hello Jim, can I feel your balls?"
"Hello Jim, can I feel your balls?"
Polystyrene.
Thankee.
Yes, a GAD would be nice.
Waitaminute.
B'stards....
Yes, a GAD would be nice.
Waitaminute.
B'stards....
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