In honour of yesterday being Halloween, I thought I would recount for you a tale of abject terror, horrifying intrigue and no small amount of toilet activity. I would like to say that there were no animals harmed during the events of this fateful night, but quite frankly…anything is possible.
It was a entertaining night at the bar, the locals were enjoying themselves and partaking of many delicious beverages. Much merriment was being made and the barkeep was in good spirits. As with all Halloween stories, the tranquility and merriment were to be replaced with horror. Our heroes were not to know what was to transpire. Noone could know, if they had…people may have been spared, the bar could have been closed and signs painted on the doors to ward off the evil that was about to leave a trail of destruction through this almost spiritual bar.
When the beverages had started to take hold and peoples guards were well and truly down, she arrived.
Much has been made of witches in childrens tales and moving pictures, but nothing could truly prepare us for what we saw. Some likened her to golums ugly sister, but our heroes instinctively knew her for what she was…the Sick-ed Witch of the North. Rumour has it that she was once a beautiful woman, known throughout the land for her beauty and ability to charm young knaves into acting out her every whim. This storyteller, dear reader, knows better.
She began her trail of destruction and debauchery by beginning what I believe the the modern, liberal person would refer to as a Swingers Party. Wife swapping a’plenty, with nary a wife to be found. Entranced by this, certain young knaves were taken in by her witchly ways. Our heroines, KH and MK were able to resist and sought sanctuary with myself, good reader, for I was there this fateful night. I offered little protection beyond kind words and the elixir of forgetfulness, but know this my friends, this can be enough.
Whirling through the bar like a sex fuelled hurricane, the witch would stop, grab herself a new knave and suck the life from them through their lips. Her spells were short lived fortunately, leaving a path swept with the bodies of confused knaves wondering just how that happened. Her fateful cry of “I want to f*ck you!” will haunt me to my deathbed, and beyond, of that I am sure.
After some time it seemed to quieten, perhaps she had gone, left the revellers to continue her destructive ways somewhere else. The patrons relaxed once more and all seemed well with the world.
Until the scream.
When the scream came it stopped everyone, rooted them to the spot with fear and panic. Surely no human could make such a bloodcurdling sound. Z emerged from the “little knaves room”, but he did not seem himself, something was clearly wrong. When approached it was clear, that aswell as being made to vomit repeatedly, he was blind!
The witch had trapped her final prey and had begun her incantations to allow her to live for another year, there was nakedness, there was fumbling, groping and dare I reveal to you …. sexual organ movement. Z may never be the same, although we quickly rallied Mr Jager and Ms Meister to heal him as rapidly as possible…time will tell if his recovery is successful.
To this day, mention of the witch causes fear and panic induced bowel movements. Others simply weep for what they were forced to endure.
What of myself dear reader?
I simply visit my private “little knaves room” upstairs….and no, I did not ask for her number.