SuiteDisney
<font color=CC66CC>Short Post Man cracks me up!<br
- Joined
- Nov 25, 2001
- Messages
- 4,731
Ted Lawrence awakened from a deep sleep. What was that
noise? He could have sworn he just heard music coming
from somewhere. But that was impossible. He was alone in
the house.
There it was again, coming from outside the bedroom door.
Familiar music that he couldn't place.
It certainly wasn't coming from his stereo since there
wasn't anything remotely like it in his extensive
collection of cassettes and compact discs. He preferred
rock but this was something else entirely.
Suddenly, there was an outburst of laughter as if a big
party was in full swing downstairs. Loud voices and hoots
echoed off the walls as the volume increased.
He clutched the sheets in fear, hauling them over his head
to try to block out the noise coming from the empty house.
Could he be dreaming? Was this all a figment of an
overworked imagination?
No sooner had he asked himself these questions when the
bedroom door flew open, embedding the knob in the freshly
painted wall.
He nearly jumped out of the sheets, and his skin, at the
same time. What was that? His heart seemed to be looking
for the easiest path out of his chest.
"Who's there?" he asked timidly
No answer. The racket continued unabated downstairs.
I've got to be flipping out, he thought. Maybe a nervous
breakdown. That had to be it. The house was empty and he
was alone. But the music continued nonetheless.
Um-pum-pum, um-pum-pum.
Trembling, he inched his way out of bed and moved toward
the door. Laughter erupted as he crossed the floor. He
whipped his head around to make sure no one was behind
him.
Downstairs, accordions and drums blasted an incessant beat
into his terrified brain as he edged out into the hallway.
Nothing. No lights, no flickering shadows. He had to be
losing his mind. That annoying beat, repetitious and
boring. An odd beat with the accent on the last half. Most
unusual.
He felt his way to the top of the stairs, not daring to
turn on any lights for fear he might see something he
really didn't want to confront.
He peered into the darkness. Still as death, he thought,
and quickly wiped the unfortunate choice of metaphor from
his mind.
He made his way quietly down the stairs and reached for
the switch. As his fingers searched, something cold and
slimy clamped itself over his hand. He reeled back in
horror as something laughed in his ear.
Then something glowing flashed in front of his face and
flew up the stairs. A cold, thin tendril wrapped around
his ankles and slithered up his leg.
He was cemented to the floor. His eyes were wide with
terror as the laughter and the music reached ear-splitting
levels.
Then it dawned on him. Of course. He had been so stupid.
He should have stayed in bed, maybe then he would have had
a chance.
But now it was too late. A scream erupted from his
tortured lips as he slipped to the floor.
Um-pum-pum, um-pum-pum. That beat again! It was pounding
mercilessly into his very soul.
He watched in dread fascination as one of his feet began
to jerk back and forth in time to the music.
They were inside his body now.
He tried to form the word but could barely move his lips.
"Polka-geist!"
noise? He could have sworn he just heard music coming
from somewhere. But that was impossible. He was alone in
the house.
There it was again, coming from outside the bedroom door.
Familiar music that he couldn't place.
It certainly wasn't coming from his stereo since there
wasn't anything remotely like it in his extensive
collection of cassettes and compact discs. He preferred
rock but this was something else entirely.
Suddenly, there was an outburst of laughter as if a big
party was in full swing downstairs. Loud voices and hoots
echoed off the walls as the volume increased.
He clutched the sheets in fear, hauling them over his head
to try to block out the noise coming from the empty house.
Could he be dreaming? Was this all a figment of an
overworked imagination?
No sooner had he asked himself these questions when the
bedroom door flew open, embedding the knob in the freshly
painted wall.
He nearly jumped out of the sheets, and his skin, at the
same time. What was that? His heart seemed to be looking
for the easiest path out of his chest.
"Who's there?" he asked timidly
No answer. The racket continued unabated downstairs.
I've got to be flipping out, he thought. Maybe a nervous
breakdown. That had to be it. The house was empty and he
was alone. But the music continued nonetheless.
Um-pum-pum, um-pum-pum.
Trembling, he inched his way out of bed and moved toward
the door. Laughter erupted as he crossed the floor. He
whipped his head around to make sure no one was behind
him.
Downstairs, accordions and drums blasted an incessant beat
into his terrified brain as he edged out into the hallway.
Nothing. No lights, no flickering shadows. He had to be
losing his mind. That annoying beat, repetitious and
boring. An odd beat with the accent on the last half. Most
unusual.
He felt his way to the top of the stairs, not daring to
turn on any lights for fear he might see something he
really didn't want to confront.
He peered into the darkness. Still as death, he thought,
and quickly wiped the unfortunate choice of metaphor from
his mind.
He made his way quietly down the stairs and reached for
the switch. As his fingers searched, something cold and
slimy clamped itself over his hand. He reeled back in
horror as something laughed in his ear.
Then something glowing flashed in front of his face and
flew up the stairs. A cold, thin tendril wrapped around
his ankles and slithered up his leg.
He was cemented to the floor. His eyes were wide with
terror as the laughter and the music reached ear-splitting
levels.
Then it dawned on him. Of course. He had been so stupid.
He should have stayed in bed, maybe then he would have had
a chance.
But now it was too late. A scream erupted from his
tortured lips as he slipped to the floor.
Um-pum-pum, um-pum-pum. That beat again! It was pounding
mercilessly into his very soul.
He watched in dread fascination as one of his feet began
to jerk back and forth in time to the music.
They were inside his body now.
He tried to form the word but could barely move his lips.
"Polka-geist!"
