Read Online The Pickled Apocalypse of Pancake Island by Cameron Pierce - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cameron Pierce
Ads: Link
encroaching on the door.
"Everything is fine," I insisted. "How's the Cuddlywumpus?"
"Infected."
"I'm sorry."
"Just go away, and take the pancakes with you."
"Trust me, Fanny. I wouldn't lie to you."
"You already have."
"Well I'm not lying this time. I ruined happiness, I know. But listen, it's not as bad as you think. Trust me on this. I'm from the armpit of the universe. I know how bad things can be. Maybe these aren't the pancakes you're used to. Maybe they're not singing and dancing. Maybe they're less yummy than they used to be, but they're still pancakes. They just have a little of me in them, and don't you love me?"
"You remade my home, my life, everything I've ever known, in your own image."
"Isn't that what love's about?"
"You ruined everything."
"You keep saying that, but you're failing to see that it's not all bad. In fact, it may not be bad at all. These pancakes are spooky, but they're not evil. They're still your kin. Come on, give me a chance. Open the door. I want to see you. I want to hold you. Let me try to fix this."
"Go away, Gaston."
"I can fix the Cuddlywumpus."
The pancakes crowded close to me. I turned and batted them away. I gave them a look that said don't say a word. I hoped their infected brains understood.
On the other side of the door, I heard Fanny speak to the Cuddlywumpus, and the Cuddlywumpus speaking back. At least the damned thing was alive. I pressed the right side of my head to the door. I resolved to be silent and wait for their talk to end.
Nothing doing.
The pancakes around me began to mutter.
"I feel so sad," said a pancake, muffled by the soggy crowd.
"I feel lonely," said another.
"I feel bad about the way I feel," a third said.
"Me too!" said the crowd.
I spun around and raised a finger to my lips. I shushed the pancakes. My hand shook and fell away from my lips when I saw what ailed them. They'd regressed further, into a pickled state so severe that the last of their happiness oozed from their porous flesh. Happiness turned to pus. Yellow and rancid.
"We're dying," they said.
"Be quiet. You're not dying," I said. I guessed the pickling had given them knowledge of a lot of grim stuff they'd been unaware of.
The kitchen and hall were clotted with their disintegrating bodies.
"Gaston, are you there?" Fanny said.
"Yes, I'm here."
"Thank you for your patience."
"Just open the door."
The pancakes were crying softly now.
"Open the door," I said.
The dungeon door swung open. I heard Fanny scuttle down the stairs. I stepped forward and stood on the top step. No glow emanated from the phantom machines. No ear-tipped tentacles writhed curlicues in the air.
"Fanny?" I said.
"Down here."
"Fanny?"
"Shut the door."
"I need a light."
"The Cuddlywumpus needs the dark."
"Can you turn on the syrup machines, just for a moment? When I'm down there, you can turn them off again."
"The machines are dead."
She wasn't going to reason with me. In the weak light coming through the crack of open doorway, I saw that the dungeon was filled with balloons.
The balloons obscured the hulking form of the Cuddlywumpus.
"Shut the door," Fanny said.
I gripped the railing in my left hand and turned to close the door with my right.
A pancake slipped in sideways before the door closed.
I stepped away from the door and tried to grab hold of the pancake before it scurried past, but the door swung open behind me. The door knocked me off balance. I teetered for a moment.
" Haaaaappppiiiinnnessssss. . . ." the pancakes moaned, as they surged into the dungeon.
I tumbled end over end.
Splayed out on the dungeon floor, I tried to stand, but the pancakes were coming down the stairs and they trampled me.
Fanny Fod screamed.
I threw wild punches. My fists tore through the groaning pancakes. Their syrupy guts piled up around me, forming a barricade that blocked the horde from trampling me any further.
I caught sight of Fanny. She stood beneath the Cuddlywumpus. The pancakes
"Everything is fine," I insisted. "How's the Cuddlywumpus?"
"Infected."
"I'm sorry."
"Just go away, and take the pancakes with you."
"Trust me, Fanny. I wouldn't lie to you."
"You already have."
"Well I'm not lying this time. I ruined happiness, I know. But listen, it's not as bad as you think. Trust me on this. I'm from the armpit of the universe. I know how bad things can be. Maybe these aren't the pancakes you're used to. Maybe they're not singing and dancing. Maybe they're less yummy than they used to be, but they're still pancakes. They just have a little of me in them, and don't you love me?"
"You remade my home, my life, everything I've ever known, in your own image."
"Isn't that what love's about?"
"You ruined everything."
"You keep saying that, but you're failing to see that it's not all bad. In fact, it may not be bad at all. These pancakes are spooky, but they're not evil. They're still your kin. Come on, give me a chance. Open the door. I want to see you. I want to hold you. Let me try to fix this."
"Go away, Gaston."
"I can fix the Cuddlywumpus."
The pancakes crowded close to me. I turned and batted them away. I gave them a look that said don't say a word. I hoped their infected brains understood.
On the other side of the door, I heard Fanny speak to the Cuddlywumpus, and the Cuddlywumpus speaking back. At least the damned thing was alive. I pressed the right side of my head to the door. I resolved to be silent and wait for their talk to end.
Nothing doing.
The pancakes around me began to mutter.
"I feel so sad," said a pancake, muffled by the soggy crowd.
"I feel lonely," said another.
"I feel bad about the way I feel," a third said.
"Me too!" said the crowd.
I spun around and raised a finger to my lips. I shushed the pancakes. My hand shook and fell away from my lips when I saw what ailed them. They'd regressed further, into a pickled state so severe that the last of their happiness oozed from their porous flesh. Happiness turned to pus. Yellow and rancid.
"We're dying," they said.
"Be quiet. You're not dying," I said. I guessed the pickling had given them knowledge of a lot of grim stuff they'd been unaware of.
The kitchen and hall were clotted with their disintegrating bodies.
"Gaston, are you there?" Fanny said.
"Yes, I'm here."
"Thank you for your patience."
"Just open the door."
The pancakes were crying softly now.
"Open the door," I said.
The dungeon door swung open. I heard Fanny scuttle down the stairs. I stepped forward and stood on the top step. No glow emanated from the phantom machines. No ear-tipped tentacles writhed curlicues in the air.
"Fanny?" I said.
"Down here."
"Fanny?"
"Shut the door."
"I need a light."
"The Cuddlywumpus needs the dark."
"Can you turn on the syrup machines, just for a moment? When I'm down there, you can turn them off again."
"The machines are dead."
She wasn't going to reason with me. In the weak light coming through the crack of open doorway, I saw that the dungeon was filled with balloons.
The balloons obscured the hulking form of the Cuddlywumpus.
"Shut the door," Fanny said.
I gripped the railing in my left hand and turned to close the door with my right.
A pancake slipped in sideways before the door closed.
I stepped away from the door and tried to grab hold of the pancake before it scurried past, but the door swung open behind me. The door knocked me off balance. I teetered for a moment.
" Haaaaappppiiiinnnessssss. . . ." the pancakes moaned, as they surged into the dungeon.
I tumbled end over end.
Splayed out on the dungeon floor, I tried to stand, but the pancakes were coming down the stairs and they trampled me.
Fanny Fod screamed.
I threw wild punches. My fists tore through the groaning pancakes. Their syrupy guts piled up around me, forming a barricade that blocked the horde from trampling me any further.
I caught sight of Fanny. She stood beneath the Cuddlywumpus. The pancakes
Similar Books
