Read Online How to Rescue a Dead Princess by Jeff Strand - Free Book Online
Authors: Jeff Strand
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Fraught with agony. Very yucky.
Which is why they were known as the Griping Dead.
They complained incessantly. “How's it going, Charlie?” “How do you think? It sucks!”
“Same here.”
They picketed Grysh's mausoleum. They organized protests. They signed petitions. They scrawled nasty phrases on Grysh's front door ("Grysh is a big dumb-head").
None of it worked. They remained her prisoners.
So they were a little irritable when Randall and Sir William stepped outside the Realm of Mystery into the graveyard.
They began to lumber forward, arms outstretched, moaning. Randall and Sir William watched them for a moment, then exchanged a glance.
“Slow, aren't they?” Randall remarked.
“Very.”
“How come we didn't notice them when we were peering through the gates before?”
“Well, this is a magical place. Perhaps there's an illusionary enchantment covering the entire location, preventing us from noticing its prowling re-animated corpse guards?”
“Maybe we need to be a little more perceptive.”
The zombies continued to move closer.
Sir William sighed. “We've only got a few minutes before they reach us. If we were to trip on some protruding dirt molecules and break an ankle or something, there's a slight chance they could get here before one of us could carry the other to the mausoleum. We shouldn't waste any more time.”
“Good idea.”
They began walking toward the mausoleum, weaving their way around a couple of the nearest zombies, making sure they allowed for a good three inches of leeway to prevent giving the creatures a chance to grab them.
Randall noted some interesting tombstones:
“ Well, it's about time !”
“ Here lies Grandpa. He'll be dead any minute now .”
“ Poor Sam Trotter,
kissed my daughter,
set himself up,
for a slaughter .”
“ You toucha my bones, I breaka your face .”
“ Here lies a leper named Shaun,
Took last place in the king's marathon,
He started the race,
And fell flat on his face,
When he found both his feet to be gone .”
They continued to casually move through the graveyard.
“They're getting away!” said one of the zombies.
“Let's circulate another petition,” said a second one.
Randall and Sir William reached the entrance to the mausoleum, ducking underneath the outstretched arms of one of the flesh-eaters. “Should we knock?” Randall asked.
“That might alert her to our presence,” said Sir William. “I think we should just burst in. Prepare yourself. I'll kick the door open on the count of ... uh, one.”
“Oh, great,” muttered Randall. “This bag's been leaking.” He pointed to a trail of ashes that led through the graveyard over to the Realm of Mystery. “You think those are important parts?”
“We haven't got time to sweep it up,” said Sir William. “Let's just burst in, and worry about that later. Ready? ONE!”
He kicked the door open. Had he known that the door swung out rather than in, the pain would have been significantly reduced. Both of them leapt into the mausoleum, then cringed at the ghastly sight that burned its way into their eyes.
The witch Grysh was bathing. Water poured down upon her from out of nowhere, and vanished as it hit the floor. The sight of the water on its own would have been rather impressive, but adding the witch to the visual stew turned it into pure horror. She was not a pretty lady, and on this occasion was having a particularly bad face day. Her eyes were crossed, a sight made worse by the fact that they dangled from their sockets. Her skin looked like it was about eight sizes too large. She had more body hair than seemed appropriate for a woman of any age. Her breasts were in serious danger of tripping her.
She snapped her fingers, and the water vanished. “I've been expecting you,” she said. Her voice did not possess a musical lilt by any stretch of the imagination.
“You ... you have?” asked Randall.
“You're Gaggles and Boo-Boo, right?”
Sir William
Which is why they were known as the Griping Dead.
They complained incessantly. “How's it going, Charlie?” “How do you think? It sucks!”
“Same here.”
They picketed Grysh's mausoleum. They organized protests. They signed petitions. They scrawled nasty phrases on Grysh's front door ("Grysh is a big dumb-head").
None of it worked. They remained her prisoners.
So they were a little irritable when Randall and Sir William stepped outside the Realm of Mystery into the graveyard.
They began to lumber forward, arms outstretched, moaning. Randall and Sir William watched them for a moment, then exchanged a glance.
“Slow, aren't they?” Randall remarked.
“Very.”
“How come we didn't notice them when we were peering through the gates before?”
“Well, this is a magical place. Perhaps there's an illusionary enchantment covering the entire location, preventing us from noticing its prowling re-animated corpse guards?”
“Maybe we need to be a little more perceptive.”
The zombies continued to move closer.
Sir William sighed. “We've only got a few minutes before they reach us. If we were to trip on some protruding dirt molecules and break an ankle or something, there's a slight chance they could get here before one of us could carry the other to the mausoleum. We shouldn't waste any more time.”
“Good idea.”
They began walking toward the mausoleum, weaving their way around a couple of the nearest zombies, making sure they allowed for a good three inches of leeway to prevent giving the creatures a chance to grab them.
Randall noted some interesting tombstones:
“ Well, it's about time !”
“ Here lies Grandpa. He'll be dead any minute now .”
“ Poor Sam Trotter,
kissed my daughter,
set himself up,
for a slaughter .”
“ You toucha my bones, I breaka your face .”
“ Here lies a leper named Shaun,
Took last place in the king's marathon,
He started the race,
And fell flat on his face,
When he found both his feet to be gone .”
They continued to casually move through the graveyard.
“They're getting away!” said one of the zombies.
“Let's circulate another petition,” said a second one.
Randall and Sir William reached the entrance to the mausoleum, ducking underneath the outstretched arms of one of the flesh-eaters. “Should we knock?” Randall asked.
“That might alert her to our presence,” said Sir William. “I think we should just burst in. Prepare yourself. I'll kick the door open on the count of ... uh, one.”
“Oh, great,” muttered Randall. “This bag's been leaking.” He pointed to a trail of ashes that led through the graveyard over to the Realm of Mystery. “You think those are important parts?”
“We haven't got time to sweep it up,” said Sir William. “Let's just burst in, and worry about that later. Ready? ONE!”
He kicked the door open. Had he known that the door swung out rather than in, the pain would have been significantly reduced. Both of them leapt into the mausoleum, then cringed at the ghastly sight that burned its way into their eyes.
The witch Grysh was bathing. Water poured down upon her from out of nowhere, and vanished as it hit the floor. The sight of the water on its own would have been rather impressive, but adding the witch to the visual stew turned it into pure horror. She was not a pretty lady, and on this occasion was having a particularly bad face day. Her eyes were crossed, a sight made worse by the fact that they dangled from their sockets. Her skin looked like it was about eight sizes too large. She had more body hair than seemed appropriate for a woman of any age. Her breasts were in serious danger of tripping her.
She snapped her fingers, and the water vanished. “I've been expecting you,” she said. Her voice did not possess a musical lilt by any stretch of the imagination.
“You ... you have?” asked Randall.
“You're Gaggles and Boo-Boo, right?”
Sir William
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