egghead
and bacon
The ghoul lost count of how many times his face was smashed against a fleshy brick wall. But thankfully, before his brains had completely liquified, his torturer grew bored with the little game. Opening its maw wider than any mouth should be able to be, the oversized salad presented what looked to be some kind of opening—a throat?
Before either men could vocalize their fear, a fine yellow-ish mist sprayed out from the hole. Glen attempted to hold his breath, figuring it to be toxic, then realized he didn’t have any left. He gave up and sniffed at the air.
Surprisingly, the creature’s breath smelled pretty good. Fragrant and sweet, not too overpowering. He figured it could almost be soothing if it wasn’t emitting from a giant man-eating plant that was moments away from sampling a taste.
The vines tugged, lifting him above and over a beartrap waiting to bite.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Glen shouted last minute. “Pick the other guy first!”
His plea went unheard. Without warning, a mighty jaw clamped down on the zombie, swallowing him whole. The same was done to Vincent immediately afterwards, so they both shared the same experience of sliding down a long tube and splashing into a slimy pond of digestive enzymes.
A million questions passed through Glen’s mind. What do they do now? Why does this plant have a stomach? Why did this have to be the way it ends, for real this time?
In spite of the darkness, he tried to feel his way around. “Ugh, now I know how a meatball feels.”
—
As if unable to go a single minute without doing it, the redhead roared her trademark stinky laugh. “Aww, scared of the widdle butterflies?” she teased.
With the full intent of tormenting the entomophobe, Rachel reached up towards her shoulder to scoop up one of the critters. Instead her hand touched something fuzzy, smooth, and wiggly all at once. Confused, she glanced down.
What was scuttling over her back weren’t butterflies; it was a hoard of creepy crawlies ranging from centipedes to spiders. The sight of them alone made her entire body freeze. Even when they started wiggling into her hair and the fabric of her dress, she didn’t move.
A screech threatened to erupt, but it was choked back down and replaced with a strangled giggle. “H-Hey, rustbucket. A little help here?”
Before either men could vocalize their fear, a fine yellow-ish mist sprayed out from the hole. Glen attempted to hold his breath, figuring it to be toxic, then realized he didn’t have any left. He gave up and sniffed at the air.
Surprisingly, the creature’s breath smelled pretty good. Fragrant and sweet, not too overpowering. He figured it could almost be soothing if it wasn’t emitting from a giant man-eating plant that was moments away from sampling a taste.
The vines tugged, lifting him above and over a beartrap waiting to bite.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Glen shouted last minute. “Pick the other guy first!”
His plea went unheard. Without warning, a mighty jaw clamped down on the zombie, swallowing him whole. The same was done to Vincent immediately afterwards, so they both shared the same experience of sliding down a long tube and splashing into a slimy pond of digestive enzymes.
A million questions passed through Glen’s mind. What do they do now? Why does this plant have a stomach? Why did this have to be the way it ends, for real this time?
In spite of the darkness, he tried to feel his way around. “Ugh, now I know how a meatball feels.”
—
As if unable to go a single minute without doing it, the redhead roared her trademark stinky laugh. “Aww, scared of the widdle butterflies?” she teased.
With the full intent of tormenting the entomophobe, Rachel reached up towards her shoulder to scoop up one of the critters. Instead her hand touched something fuzzy, smooth, and wiggly all at once. Confused, she glanced down.
What was scuttling over her back weren’t butterflies; it was a hoard of creepy crawlies ranging from centipedes to spiders. The sight of them alone made her entire body freeze. Even when they started wiggling into her hair and the fabric of her dress, she didn’t move.
A screech threatened to erupt, but it was choked back down and replaced with a strangled giggle. “H-Hey, rustbucket. A little help here?”
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