Uncle Fred

Hee-Hee, greetings kiddies, welcome to the FIRST ISSUE OF CREEPS CASTLE!  I am your GHOST-HOST, CREEPS!  Welcome to my home known as CREEPS CASTLE!  Our story starts out with two brothers, who are watched by their rather ROTTEN uncle ha-ha!
It was a windy, October evening, back in 1938, up in Manhattan, New York City, where two boys were inside a small house, playing Cards, together at the dining-room-table. "Your turn Brother" one of the boys said to the other one. "Why thank you Tim!" he replied and put a card down. "Ah man, Ryan!" Tim told his brother. "I won Tim!!" Ryan said and Tim threw down his cards. Ryan tossed his cards down too and a young man and woman walked in, together. "We shall be back boys. Goodbye!" the couple told Ryan and Tim. "Alright have fun Mama and Papa!!" they replied. Their parents took off out the door and Ryan and Tim walked out of the dining room, together.  
Later on, the boys heard someone knocking on the front door, as they were both reading books in their parlor.  Ryan and Tim got out of their chairs and looked out the parlor-window.  They saw a tall figure outside, silhouetted in the moonlight.  "Who is that?" Tim asked Ryan.  "I don't know" he replied.  They answered the door and stared up, at the tall figure.  "Good evening boys, I am your Uncle Fred.  I wanted to come and watch you, while your Father and my Sister your Mother are out" the figure explained to them, in a rather distorted old voice.  "Uncle Fred hi, come on in.  How do you do?" Tim asked him, invitingly.  "Oh, pretty good Timothy, how are you?" Uncle Fred answered and asked.  "Fine" he said.  Uncle Fred made his way to the parlor, very, very slowly.  "Here, take a chair Uncle!!" Ryan insisted.  "Thank you Ryan my boy. Could you please bring me a bottle of Scotch?" Uncle Fred said and asked in his rotted-voice.  "Yes sir" Ryan answered and walked out.  He went into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of Scotch.  "Hey, Ryan, didn't Uncle Fred die eight years ago?" Tim asked.  Ryan handed Uncle Fred the Scotch, as Uncle Fred leaned forwards in the fireplace-light.  "Yes Timothy I did!" he answered, as the boys screamed in horror at Uncle Fred's decomposed-corpse, of rotted-flesh, dirt and worms.  The worms crawled in the skeleton's eye sockets and out of his mouth.  He opened the bottle of Scotch with his decayed, boney-digits, as pieces of flesh and dirt dropped to the floor, with worms squirming about in them.  The zombie of Uncle Fred drank the Scotch down, as he laughed, hoarsely.  
Hee-Hee, well, that old Uncle Fred was just FALLING TO PIECES over watching his nephews.  He sure KEPT AN EYE ON THEM, even without his eyes ha-ha!  Well, luckily Uncle Fred didn't go to the wrong home and make a GRAVE MISTAKE ha-ha-ha!  
Category:20th Century