The Sad Tale of the Rabid Alleycats in the Boney Alley

AND THEN A SKELETON POPPED OUT!!!
Ah- my mistake; I didn’t mean to startle you friend! But that is how every story ends, is it not? Well, what if I told you this is how it began…
Well, actually, my story starts and ends this way. I believe my Year 10 GCSE English teacher obsessed over this thing called a ‘cyclical structure’ for short stories such as this, and by good golly gosh were they right about how a good story always ends with the same trope as its beginning, yes-siree! It’s just strange how this typical story convention could happen to somebody like me.
Well…
I woke up to my phone blaring “da-nana-nana” (for my alarm sound was Bad to the Bone by George Thorogood and the Destroyers – a very excellent song despite its recent notorieties). From the ajar – jammed – garage door, I sneaked under and winced in the brightness of the sun. He didn’t have a proper bed, but I was crashing at my friend’s house for the night, on some impromptu blanket mattress.
At some point I had breakfast, which consisted of some nutritious biscuits and a glassful of tapwater. Then, heading for a stroll outside, I got to wander down the high street undetected.
Among the many shops and markets were all manner of decorations for this little-known holiday called Halloween. I’m sure you’ve heard of it, person. I’m quite fond of it, when the décor comes forth to freak the masses, sometime in July – yes, July – capitalism. Skeletons in 2D, 3D… 4D… often with these plastic-hinge jaws and nasally Skeletor voices going “I have a joke for you!”
At least the monsters, like skellies, zombies, ghosts, were favourites of mine. They were, indeed, as pretty and spooky both as they must be, especially for my red-green colour blindness. Totally gnarly, dude! Perchance.
And speaking of which, the skeletons of the past haunt these streets. That shop used to sell apparatus designed for but also unable to fit inside the human body, now it’s a travel agency. Sometimes I’ll browse the dark alleys, where all the scary, rabid types of dumpster cat live, swearing I saw some patch of cold air or white mist.
It began to rain. I itched my head and rubbed the uncontrollable, shaggy hair on my chin. Walking by the cover of building overhangs, I noticed a couple of people, whose faces were hidden by their lifted hoods, carrying the plastic bones of some poor plastic animal by its uncut price tag.
To avoid them, I quickened to the nearest alleyway, of which one house was lit orange (I think?) by the back door. Hair shop – I believe. Although the back side was actually a living room.
Like a peeping Tom, I decided to peep into the window. Seems they were watching My Little Pony, parents and kids both. I liked the show too, at least back then. So, I thought I could get away with a little peek through the window at the large, flatscreen TV.
Maybe this was a weird mid-late season episode or something, because something felt off. One of them I caught even staring at the DVD box which seemed scratchy and poorly made. The eyes seemed all stabbed out with a rusty compass, with red marker tears for finish.
They tried to turn off the TV, eject the disk, before it was too late to stop the bootleg, yet the show didn’t stop running. It was like analog horror, or Elsagate or something. I cringed away from the window whilst Applejack was blown apart in a gas explosion.
Pinkamena Diane Pie wasn’t the murderer (this time) but was Pinkamena once again, nonetheless. At the loss of so many friends, she turned depressed and reclusive on the rock farm. Then, as she wrote on paper with her pencil in her mouth, these words flashed on the screen:
This is my solace,
Where bad ponies go;
Was I there could she be saved?
There is no hope to know.''
If not Pinkie herself, whatever demon possessed this DVD obviously sucked ass at poetry. Zooming back out from her crinkled paper sheet, the camera revealed a starved, exhausted Pinkie, surrounded by wind-blown masses of scrunched-up poetry. Her body was all ribs, grey around the eyes and black in the soul, life with as little meaning as her poems.
Very out of character. Animated perfectly in the same style as the source material, even so. Wait- Dark Soul? I was the only one to see it emerge from the television, before a zombified, knife-holding Trixie Lulamoon plushie manifested on the other side of the window before my very eyes.
I hissed in surprise to the half-bone, half-skin copy of my favourite comfort pony. Falling to the ground as the black mass, too, had noticed me. It manifested before my very eyes, a skull of pure black flame, black eye sockets with illuminated, black-light pupils. Dark, darker, yet darker. As the alley darkened with the setting of the sun, this demon extended its suffocating smoke over my field of view with me the only creature to know of it’s true shape. And it was dark. Very grim and very dark.
Attempting to put on a brave face against it, I snarled and growled. Still, it relished in my everlasting fear, growing bigger and stronger. Visions of my mangled body by all kinds of deaths flooded my brain: roadkill, beaten, tetanus contortions. Whatever I could conceive, I probably saw in Its grim reflection. A mouse with enough wit and strength to hoist a piano into the air and drop it crashing down on me as I chased it around the house to exterminate it.
At least that was the final image that the dastardly, beastly beast gave me.
The rabid alleycats emerged from their temporary bed behind the dumpster, though, with the same supernatural powers as I – who believed himself to be a chosen one for some cruel fate. Too many people knew at once, too many creatures who distracted the monster from its ideal fear-meal, me.
As screams erupted from the house, blood splattered the windows. Cats mewled, howled in pain as the face-protecting, earthbound spirit disembowelled them one by one.
With nothing to gain or lose, I ran all the way back to the people whom I’d trust the most and hid in the fully open garage.
I sat in the corner, shaking and calling out through the door to the kitchen. Another black cat emerged from the flap to greet me and comfort me. She was like a sister to me.
Then, I noticed a familiar-looking yellow car. Out stepped the two hooded figures, whose smell I recognised. They must have seen me, too, since they started walking our way, the woman with hands behind her back.
AND THEN A SKELETON POPPED OUT!
“This is what happens to bad kitties!”
In terror, I recall the horrors I just witnessed as the cat skeleton was dangling in front of my face once more, by the tag and string.
“Nooooooo,” I meowed.
Category:Trollpasta
Category:Skeletons
Category:And then a skeleton popped out
Category:Animulz
Category:Demins and Debbils
Category:Lost Episodes
Category:Pages with grammar that doesn't suck