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contest: write a story! the third! (7 BP)
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Big Brother Posted:
THE NEXT male reproductive organENS! |
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| Posted On: 09/04/2008 1:49AM |
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okay since it seems like people were fine with it:
the duration of the contest is extended by two days and each person now has 48 additional hours to finalize their story
hopefully everyone will now get a chance to join in and write something Log in to see images! |
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| Posted On: 09/04/2008 10:57AM |
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It was on Mr Goodwin’s insistence that I had traveled from my native England to the wilds of Transylvania. His client, Count Dracula, had grown weary of his reclusive existence and had expressed an interest in buying property near London and traveling there – via Amsterdam and Berlin – just as soon as everything could be arranged. As a junior lawyer in the firm, I was to sort out the legal issues with the Count and to see that the appropriate dogreat timesents were completed.
Before our final bument up the treacherous mountain pbum to Castle Dracula, the coachman stopped at the village of Rosafarbenes Dreieck to tend to the horses and throw a quick **** into one of the local whores. The night air was chill so I took the opportunity to seek warmth in the local Inn.
The atmosphere inside was warm and convivial with many of the local villagers engaged in friendly conversation. The Innkeeper, a pleasant fellow by the name of Quentin, seated me near the fire and pressed a welcome brandy into my hands.
“What is your destination, mein Herr?” he enquired, politely.
“I have some minor legal business matters to attend to,” I replied, gratefully sipping my brandy, “at Castle Dracula.”
As soon as I mentioned my destination, there was a noticeable change in the atmosphere. The friendly conversation stopped dead and every man in the place stood and turned to face me with looks of shocked horror on their faces. The fire in the grate sputtered and died and cold wind whistled from nowhere.
“Mein Herr,” gasped Quentin. “I urge you not to enter that place! Leave this village and return home as quickly as possible!”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” I protested, bemused by the reactions around me. “You see, I have to …”
But before I could explain the nature of my business, I heard a sudden cry from one of the men near my chair. I spun around to face him and was shocked at what I saw. The blood had drained from his face, his eyes rolled to the back of his head and his entire body seemed to be convulsing.
“Oh, Gott!” he cried. “Oh mein Gott! Gott! Aahngngng!”
His body gave one enormous twitch, he tensed up and then collapsed on the floor with a definite wet-patch in his groin. This seemed to set off a chain reaction and soon all the men, including Quentin, were displaying similar behaviours.
It was at this point that my coachman returned, bumoning up his fly. He looked around at the writhing, groaning, and slightly damp men and rolled his eyes.
“You told them where we’re going didn’t you?” he enquired of me.
“Er, yes …” I replied.
Without a further word, he bundled me into the coach and we were soon on our way once more.
Despite being forced to travel at night, we made good time to the castle. Our path ahead, though treacherous in parts, was well lit by a glorious full moon that appeared to have about it an odd pinkish tone. Fireflies danced in the woods like the fairies of folk-lore and the distant howl of wolves were reminiscent of a duet from Bizet’s “The Pearl Fishers” …
Suddenly the coach lurched to a stop and I could hear the coachman unloading my luggage. I stepped out of the carriage and addressed the coachman.
“Why have you stopped here?” I asked. “We have not yet reached the castle.”
“This is as far as I go,” grunted the coachman, climbing back into his seat and taking hold of the reins. “Follow that side-road. It’s the driveway to the castle. And … good luck.”
With that he whipped up the horses and was gone leaving me alone. I gathered together the few pieces of luggage that I could manage on my own and headed up the steep road towards Castle Dracula.
The moon slipped behind a conveniently pbuming mountain so the details of the castle were difficult to make out in the darkness. I staggered up the broad stone steps and hammered on the heavy oaken door. After a full minute the door eased open. I was aware of a vast dimly lit room of pink marble inside – and a distant voice singing in plaintive tones:
“Somewhere over the rainbow, “Way up high …”
What I could only bumume was a man stood before me, holding the door open. His head was completely bald but appeared to have small pieces of mirror glued all over it and he wore a purple sequined kaftan trimmed with osprey feathers. He had a large ring through his nose and the most singular eyelashes I have ever seen.
“Oh! Yummy!” he squealed. “You must be Mr Barker! How super!”
I tried to suppress my astonishment at this extraordinary vision and managed to stammer out, “Eer, Harker. My name is Harker. Jonathon Harker.”
“Well, sweetie,” gushed the creature before me, “I think I’ll call you Mr Barker ‘cos you just make me wanna woof! But come in, come in! We don’t want a lovely hunka spunk like you exposed to too much of that pixie dust!”
He easily hefted my luggage inside, closed the door behind us and skipped – quite literally – across the entry foyer, beckoning for me to follow.
“Are you Count Dracula?” I asked hesitantly, trotting to keep up with him.
“Oh! good heavens! No!” he chuckled gaily. “I’m Brucie, the Count’s common-law secretary.”
By this time we had reached a huge purple silk padded door, the frame of which was decorated with gilded cherubim who all appeared to be playing leap-frog.
“No. This,” exclaimed Brucie, throwing the doors wide open, “This is Count Dracula!”
The room beyond those doors was extraordinary! Spinning mirrored balls threw tiny flecks of dancing light over every surface. Large portraits, of what I could only bumume were the Count’s family, hung against rose-pink wall panels that were framed by more of the gold figures I’d noticed before.
A large banquet table was set up in the center festooned with exquisite crystal, cutlery and crockery, huge platters of every food imaginable and the most sumptuous floral displays I had ever seen. The air was alive with laughter, animated chatter and the occasional scream of delight from the forty-or-so people seated around the table.
At the far end of the table, standing on a raised platform draped in gold lame and pink froth, was a tall slender man wearing a sequined turban and cape of finest gossamer. Beneath the cape he appeared to be completely naked except for a sequined undergarment that left very little to the imagination.
And he was … singing …
“People … “People who need people … “Are the luckiest people in the world …”
I stood transfixed, my mouth gaping open at this extraordinary sight. The men around the table (for nary a woman was there) were dressed in the most outlandish costumes. A sailor was whispering something in the ear of a nun – a nun with a moustache … An army cadette was screaming with laughter whilst being tickled by a burly construction worker. A huge muscled black man wearing only a boot gazed silently into the eyes of a man dressed as Marie Antionette who was gabbing on and on and on about who-knows-what.
The turbaned singer reached the end of his song and everyone in the room, as if on cue, stopped their chatter and laughter immediately and stood to applaud and cheer the singer.
Some threw flowers.
Some threw what appeared to be individually-wrapped mints.
One guest even threw a studded leather codpiece which the singer caught in mid-flight, brought to his nose and sniffed luxuriantly …
With the applause, cheers and wolf-whistles still continuing, the singer turned to face me directly. He lifted the collar of his gossamer cape and gazed seductively at me over its edge. The noise died down to complete silence as everyone followed the singers gaze to turn and stare at me.
“Hello, gorgeous…” said the singer.
The crowd erupted with laughter – although I failed to see the joke.
“How do you do,” enquired the singer, stepping down off his platform and strutting down the length of the room towards me. “I see you’ve met my faithful handyman …”
The crowd again erupted into laughter. I still didn’t get it.
“You must be Mr Farker,” he asked, holding out his hand. The light sparkled from the jeweled rings on his fingers.
“Harker,” I corrected gently. “My name is Harker.”
“Oh,” he replied, sounding slightly disappointed. “No matter. I’ll call you Farker anyway. Because you just make me want to fark ….”
The crowd erupted with more laughter. I was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable.
“I have business with Count Dracula,” I explained in what I bumumed to be the most reasonable of terms. “I’m sorry if I interrupted your … party.”
“Nonsense,” responded the singer, smiling brightly. “You, Mr Farker, are our guest of honour. This castle is so remote that we seldom get to enjoy fresh mea …fresh company. Drink? “I’m afraid, Mr Farker, that I am unaware of your preference in beverages. We can, of course, cater to your every whim. A ‘crème de Menthe’ perhaps? No, you don’t strike me as that sort of man … How about a ‘Long Slow Screw Against the Wall’? Hmmm … perhaps later. How about a blokey beer? Eh? Woofy-woof-woof! Or maybe …. Yes! The house specialty!”
Brucie suddenly reappeared at my side with a gold salver with a gold goblet containing what appeared to be coconut cream.
“The specialty, Master,” said Brucie, bowing before the singer.
“Master?” I ejaculated. “You mean, you’re Count Dracula?”
“Well, of course I am, silly,” roared the Count, tearing off his turban to reveal a surprisingly cliché widow’s peak. And you’re Jonathon Barker-Farker – the woofing fark lawyer!”
Every face in the room was turned towards me … grinning, leering, licking lips.
“Lawyers,” continued Count Dracula, downing the goblet of coconut cream in one hit, “have been screwing me over and sucking me dry for years – now it’s my turn!”
The crowd erupted. Sneff edited this message on 09/04/2008 9:09PM |
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| Posted On: 09/04/2008 8:52PM |
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iRAWR Posted:
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| Posted On: 09/04/2008 9:02PM |
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Ok, I know this will sound crazy but hear me out. Mike and I were just kickin’ it back last Saturday in his basement. His parents were away for the weekend on some second honeymoon—aka “Saving our Marriage”. We were bored. You know how Saturday’s are for fat virgins. Most of our time is spent playing online MMOs in between bouts of uncontrollable sobbing. The monotonyWell, Mike had this crazy idea. He turned to me as some forum flickered out of site on his monitor. “Dude, it’s my turn to cry. It’s your turn to play, fabulous person.”
I looked away from the ShamWOW commercial on his $1 black and white, flea-market find, TV. I had realized that the shamWow guy, no matter how very special, had a better life than I did. I was tired of crying. I replied, “**** this. I want to do something different. Let’s do drugs.”
“My Dad has some LSD in the drawer with his condoms.”
“How the **** do you know that?”
“STFU, do you want some LSD or no?”
“Fine, I’ll take it.”
He got up and left me alone. Several minutes later I heard him come down the stairs with a pill bottle and a case of beer. “Got to wash this **** down with something.” He said smiling. He tossed me a beer and handed me a pill.
“Let’s do it at the same time,” I said.
“What the hell man? Are you scared?”
“No, I’m not scared.”
“Yes, you are.”
“**** you. I don’t see you popping that **** any faster than me.”
“Fine we’ll do it together on three, you ****ing woman's genitals. One, two, three.”
We both took the tiny pill and with one quick swallow, it was gone. We waited in silence for several minutes. Nothing seemed to be happening. Then almost as I spoke, I said “Oh shi-”. The images of the TV began to swirl and shake in a violent gold, blue light. Suddenly, what felt like a bolt of electricity shot through my body. Suddenly, I was 12 again. I was outside playing in my parents’ yard with my dog Fuggy. God I love my dog. He was looking at me intently and dancing about playfully as terriers do. I picked up the orange frisbee. “You want me to throw your toy? Do ya? Huh? Huh?” Fuggy grew even more excited with every second as I waved his toy about. “Ok, boy! Go get it!” I threw the frisbee. It landed several feet away from me because I throw like a girl. ****. Anyways, Fuggy didn’t seem to care. He ran over and spent several seconds mulling around the bushes the frisbee had landed under. Finally he picked it up. Then suddenly out of ****ing no wear, this huge bum monster truck leaps over the bushes and crushes Fuggy.
“SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY!” roared the TV as I was suddenly jolted back to the couch. Mike was sitting rigidly with his arm outstretched. He was holding the remote and flipping between two channels—one showing an ALPO dog food commercial and the other an advertisement for a Monster Truck Rally. “God dammit, fabulous person. Stop that.” He didn’t. I shoved him several times and he didn’t move. He was in a trance of some sort. I needed to find some way to wake his bum up. If I failed, I could be in some serious trouble. I stood up and picked up the conveniently located baseball bat. I swung as hard as I could at his head. With a loud “THUNK”, he fell to the floor. His bum raised in the air. Log in to see images!
My Log in to see images! swelled. I had defeated him. I wanted to boast my victory—to humiliate him. I spent several hours repeating the process, savoring the victory from each battle.
Suddenly the world shook about me. I felt a bolt of electricity shoot down my spine. Suddenly, Mike was standing in front of me, and yelling. “WHAT THE **** DID YOU DO TO MY GRANDMOTHER?”
He looked at me like Log in to see images!
I looked at him like Log in to see images!
He looked back at me like Log in to see images!
And I looked at him like Log in to see images! |
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| Posted On: 09/04/2008 10:57PM |
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SuperMonkeyMan Posted: |
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| Posted On: 09/04/2008 11:05PM |
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There once was a vampire named bum Ketchup. He loved another vampire named Rock. bum decided to go up and talk to Rock. As bum neared Rock, Rock bashed bum’s skull in. Rock then proceeded to **** bum.
I hope I win with my story. |
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| Posted On: 09/05/2008 8:30AM |
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Tihs was a hard storey to rite.
Onse apon a time, tehre wer 2 vampiers woh were grils. But tihs was along time ago wehn, grils werent aloud to be vampiers. They had protets and evreything but noone woud lissen. SO, evreyon thot they wer wiches and tryed to cach them and bern them. The 2 gril vampiers wer scarred so, tehy taked abot what too do. They desided the bets thing to do was to go to slepe for along time until it was teh futur then they coud be gril vampiers. So they went in there cofins and, went too slepe. They slepped for a long time, I thikn about 1 thousend years. Wehn they wok up, their hare was realy long and, it had al terned gray. Thats becaes, they got realy old wile tehy slepped. “O deer, my wings are aslepe” said the frist va mpier. “I gess I layed on tehm for to long ‘Mine to.” Said teh other vampier. She shok them out a bit but they were realy num and achey. “Lets just wak arond Said teh first vampier” ‘OKa thats a god ideea.” So teh tow vampiers waked arond and saw how teh werld had chanjed. They wer realy hapy becaes, they saw taht girls coud now be watever tehy wanted, even vampiers. But they wer a litel sad becease, tehy fond out that grils stil dident’ get asmuch mony as boys for teh same job. so They comed there long gray hair and waked in a raly to fite for eqwal rites. THE EDN And thats my storey about FEMINETS AMBULATORY GRAY VAMPIERS. It was hard to rite. I had to ask my Dad wat Ambularoty menes LOL. |
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| Posted On: 09/05/2008 3:25PM |
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Once upon a time Flamebate wasn’t filled with 4chan’s bottom rung downs patients, and it was actually fun to participate in. Then the operator said that the call was coming from inside the house!
The end. |
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| Posted On: 09/05/2008 3:32PM |
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zigzagoon Posted: |
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| Posted On: 09/05/2008 4:31PM |
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Enoby Posted: |
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| Posted On: 09/05/2008 4:39PM |
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enire Posted:
That was the one I actually wanted to change my vote to. XD There was just something magic about it |
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| Posted On: 09/05/2008 4:49PM |
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I AM The SKA BOSS Posted:
Thanks Log in to see images!
Maybe I’ll write that story someday. |
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| Posted On: 09/05/2008 4:51PM |
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enire Posted:ok this once i guess, dont derail it too much though Log in to see images! zigzagoon edited this message on 09/05/2008 5:26PM |
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| Posted On: 09/05/2008 5:12PM |
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Sneff Posted:
A++!
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| Posted On: 09/05/2008 5:14PM |
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one day left now i think! |
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| Posted On: 09/05/2008 5:39PM |
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My story bears a pbuming coincidental resemblance to Sneff’s, but in a story contest about Vampires, Dracula and castles and whatnot are bound to overlap in the entries.
I started writing my story when the contest started, so don’t accuse me of plagerism, or anything.
Oh, and Ebony? Go **** yourself. That is all. King Krimson edited this message on 09/05/2008 5:49PM |
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| Posted On: 09/05/2008 5:48PM |
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My village is small, but old. Inevitably, in these places, the odd supernatural tale would pop up. Willow the wisps sighted over the lake, werewolves inhabiting the woods surrounding us, a coven of moth men living in the mountain caves. But, in this village, the most popular tale was that of the Vampire living in the castle on top of the mountain. Eventually, what was once seen as a tall tale became absolute fact in the eyes of my neighbours. Most of the villagers started to fear the castle as if the antichrist himself lived there. I didn’t believe the stories, though I still cannot fathom what possessed me to try to prove them wrong.
It was not easy getting to the castle; every horse driver I spoke too refused to drive me there out of some foolish sense of superstition. Horses, apparently, are useless when confronted with vampires. They’ll just stand there and whinny, or whatnot. In a country with a reputation such as this, it makes me wonder why they don’t just trade the horses in for cars. At the very least, the townsfolk wouldn’t be short of glue for a long time. Eventually, I decided that the best way to reach my destination was to walk up the steep incline leading towards the castle. I would then knock on the gnarled wooden doors, stay the night, owner willing, come back down the slope and tell every one of my night in the perfectly safe, vampire free castle. Well, that was the plan, anyway.
What really happened was I climbed the steep incline and knocked on the door. Things kind of spiralled from there. The door was greeted by a, uh, ‘strangely’ dressed man. By ‘strangely’, I mean that the only thing he was wearing was a pair of nipple rings and some leather trousers, in which he had his thumbs firmly entrenched. “Ah! A villager! Hov simply delightful! To vhat to I owe this unexpected, yet not unvelcome, visit?” “Are… Are you, um, the head of the house?” I stammered nervously. “Of course I am, you big silly!” He joyously exclaimed. “I am Count Vladimir Boris the third. But you can call me Vlad, big boy!” Then he winked at me.
Vlad invited me inside the castle to dine with him. Not being one to back down, I followed him into the castle, fool that I am. After walking down several oddly dressed hallways, and pbuming numerous disquieting paintings, we arrived at the spacious dining hall. “Of course, as a guest of honour, you vill be seated at the head of the table.” Vlad told me. He then placed his hand on my shoulder. “And after dinner? Vell, I’m sure we can have some… fun together.” He whispered into my ear.
I was starting to feel more than a little disturbed.
The walls of the hall were flanked by portraits of what I could only bumume were relatives of my bizarre host. In the middle of the room was a large, empty table. Evidently, we were eating alone. “Do not think that my castle is empty, my friend. Far from it. My other guests are… otherwise disposed at the moment. All the more time to get to knov each other, hmm?”
I was seated at the table by a regal looking butler. Vlad, not surprisingly, sat to my side, seriously invading my personal bubble. Then again, Vlad could be a whole room away from you and you’d still feel uncomfortable. He just had that kind of aura. “So.” He said, his foot creeping up my leg. “Vhat brings you to my humble abode?” “Well, um, the other villigers said that this castle was owned by a vampire. I, ah, I wanted to prove them wrong.” To say that I was concerned at this point would be a mbumive understatement.
“But vhat is there to prove vrong? I AM a Vampire!” “Oh.” It was at this point that my fears were realised.
I looked nervously around the room, and decided to stare at the paintings. Maybe my demonic host would think that I was admiring the art. There were three portraits in particular that caught my eye. One was of a crowned figure dressed entirely in red and black, and holding a sword drenched in blood. I didn’t want to think about the symbolism of that one too long. The second was a painting of a pale girl dressed in modern, gothic looking clothes. Her expression wasn’t pleasant, and I got the feeling that the young woman who posed for the portrait held a very high opinion of herself, and would not suffer those who she considered inferior. The third, and by far the largest and most extravagant, was a picture of my host himself. It was a very accurate representation, and I found myself admiring the artwork despite myself. Even the frame was expertly crafted, and laced with what I bumumed to be real gold. The Count clearly didn’t do things in halves.
After a while, the butler came back with several items of foodstuff carried on a trolley. As he pbumed me, apparently to place a roast hog on the table, he whispered something into my ear. “You should leave. It isn’t safe here for your kind.” He told me.
I had already figured as much, but the butlers warning compounded my feelings of dread. I had to escape from the castle as soon as I could. I didn’t know what my host did with his ‘guests of honour’, but I doubted that I would be left alive to tell the tale. And I was fairly certain that it would involve sodomy.
The actual meal went by without further incident. The count made further salacious remarks, and I fervently wished for the meal to end so that I could make good my escape plan. And if I couldn’t leave this place of veiled horrors, at least I would take my captor with me.
Vladimir led me upstairs to the main bedroom, and then locked the door. Feeling that my live would be further endangered if I did nothing, I arrange my fingers into the shape of a cross. “The power of Christ compels you!” I yelled. The fiend who was facing me scoffed. “Sveetie, please. Do you really believe those old vifes tales? Christ does not care vhat goes on vithin these valls. In fact, you could say he evened sanctioned it! Besides, I am only shoving you room. I vasn’t going to hurt you.”
In my desperation, I grabbed the nearest chair and smashed it upon the ground. Choosing the sharpest shard from the remains of the chair, I plunged it into the foul creatures’ heart. “Vell. Some guest you turned out to be.” The ungodly creature said in a tone of what can only be described as mild annoyance. “Ah, vell. If you really vish to leave, I suppose you’d better. Ve Vouldn’t want you feel uncomfortable now, vould ve?”
The beast then unlocked the door, in a clever display of defeat. It feigned indifference, but I knew that that was just a clever façade. I rushed past him, and ran down the hallways until I came across what I thought to be the exit. Instead, what I found chilled me to my very core. I had found the counts other guests. They were dressed in leather, and were gyrating and writhing to some otherworldly tune. “Hey there! Why don’t you join us?” One of the men yelled out. “Yeah! It’s always nice to see a new face… and a new body.” Shouted another. Several of them even whistled at me in a demeaning manner.
I ran from the shocking sight as fast as I could, until I eventually found the true exit. As I rushed from the castle that I knew would forever haunt my nightmares, I heard the voice of the Count yell out these words. “Feel free to visit anytime!”
I know that that voice will forever be etched into my mind. But the most shocking part of my tale is yet to come. As I slowed down to catch my breath, sure that I wasn’t being followed, I noticed a sign. Upon that sign was an arrow pointing towards the castle, and the most dreadful words my eyes had ever seen.
The sign read: “YMCA, THIS WAY!” King Krimson edited this message on 09/06/2008 1:08PM |
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| Posted On: 09/06/2008 5:29AM |
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kewl
hmm i think the time is up, is everyone who wanted to write finished?
i am a little busy at the moment but i’ll make a poll soon, i will accept last minute entrants for the time being |
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| Posted On: 09/06/2008 6:38PM |
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**** wrong edit Impenetrable Formation edited this message on 09/06/2008 8:14PM |
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| Posted On: 09/06/2008 7:47PM |
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