touched by immaturity: the necessary sequel

We ran.

(this is a sequel. As with all modern story telling, especially film, it a product is well received and loved, one is compelled to continue giving it until it is hated. such appears to be the case with this story. True to all sequels, it tries it’s best to outdo it’s predecessor.)

As I said, we ran. Out of the basement, through the living room (we awoke Trey and Candace, and they began pitching coffee mugs at us, annoyed with all the noise we were making). We rushed outside and hid beneath the trampoline, where we knew we would be temporarily safe from ghosts and bombs. We held onto each others toes to comfort one another.

Jes had escaped with us, having chewed through the ropes. She would not have her toes held, complaining about something to do with a lightbulb. She wanted someone to hold her hand instead, but that seemed to awkward so Nicole pulled her hair.

For the longest time we panted. (we had run fast, and been hit by quite a few mugs. Some of them full.) Darby was the first to break the silence:

“Wha- wha-wha-wha-wha-wha-…”

“Our thoughts exactly.” We said in inexplicable unison. “What was that?”

We sat there for what seemed an inordinate amount of time, afraid to move (except when we shoved someone who was in one of our respective faces. Which was all the time.) Finally, Caytie said what everyone was thinking,

“We should get out of here.”

“To the Storms van!” I shouted. There was a momentary rush, till Marguerite wisely reminded us that we didn’t have the keys.

“Oh yeah.” I said. “we need someone to go inside and get them. Any volunteers?

There was a long pause, then again in (almost) perfect unison, “Jes.”

“Not me! I am not going back in there!” The aforementioned loudly protested.

“Well aren’t you a rotten coward?” we said with disdain.

Estelle piped in, “Maybe we could make a key that would work.” We sat in amazed silence.

“There’s one problem with that plan.” David finally broke in. “It’s stupid. We won’t know how to make the right kind of key.”

“Yes, but we could make a whole bunch of keys and try them all until we had the right kind.”

We hadn’t considered that. Once again, amazed silence. And we set to work. We borrowed some handy sheet metal we found screwed to the side of the shed and began making big keys, little keys, skeleton keys, live keys, key lime, every type of key that could be imagined. And none of them worked.

“We’re just dumb.” Caytie moaned. “we can’t even find the right key.”

Then, to our amazement, out came Sara. For what reason, we know not (probably to escape the ghost). But she had the van keys in her hands.

“She’s taking the van.” Nicole whispered. “I’ll make her drop the keys. Watch.” She sneaked through the dark behind Sara, and crept up behind her and moaned, “I am the dwead pirate….”

“Shut up, Nicole.” wow. Sara seemed a bit testy; it probably had to do with the fact she had a ghost in her basement. But she still held the keys.

“Give me a pinecone.” Darby said, and we all feared what she obviously intended.

“You can’t do that!” we whisper-shouted. “She’s an adult!”

“She’s MY sister.” Darby reasoned.

“Aim well.”

She did, much to our dismay, in hindsight. “Ow.” Sara screamed (I can’t tell you what it was like, you’d have to hear it.)

Our sentiments immediately switched to her side. “Darby did it! Darby did it!”

“Here, let me hold the keys while you chase her.” Nicole said. With that (after she had acquired the said keys), the entire party, lock stock and teapot (whatever that’s supposed to mean) headed toward the van. Once we loaded up, we caught our breath, drank a quick drop of tea, checked our temperatures, swapped blonde jokes (sorry, Caytie and Jes) reevaluated our beliefs in Pirate Ghosts, accessed Darby’s behavior as “quite bad” and prepared to depart.

“Who will drive?” Estelle gasped. “Any volunteers?”

We contemplated the chirping of the crickets for some time. Since no one else stood up to the plate, I accepted the position. To my utter amazement, there was an immediate shuffle toward the driver’s position by all parties in the van, with the Storms kids getting there first, and then being cordially replaced by Nicole (incidentally, she had the keys).

“Where to?”she asked.

“Quick, quick. Away, away!” we shouted. (we realized that was fun to say in sing-song, so we kept doing it: eventually we had the van segmented by Altos, Sopranos, Bass’s and Tenors, and were all chanting to the driver, “Quick (quick)! Away (away!)”.)

So Nicole acquiesced (the author loves the word). we heard Darby shouting, “You lilly-livered, dirty-rotten traitors!”

“Ha ha! hope you paid your classy insult insurance!” admittedly, we were being a little mean. But the seriousness of the situation (a ghost, remember) forced us to take quick action in departing.

We headed from there toward Milwaukee, a city beset under the control of the Hutts and various Yeti drug-lords. We were hoping to obtain a ship over lake Michigan, where we would stop for the night and return in daytime, fully expecting to grieve over the mangled remains of our world-takeover master plan which we had forgotten to put on any backup disks.

We stopped by a gas station to get coffee. They didn’t have any worth human consumption, but we used their coffee maker to brew some Ethiopian I had remembered to grab, drank a few pots, tried on all their sunglasses, took Jon to the bathroom, (and of course, after that we all had to go).
We finally arrived on the shores of lake Michigan. It seemed lower than before for some reason, and we smelt Earl Grey (it had been Scottish Breakfast, symbolizing another Jacobite insurrection, but that had been suppressed by Prince William dumping vast amounts of worthless magazines on the Scottish population). We looked for a ship we could all fit on, and had a hard time searching amidst the fog from the hot water and the weird light pollution emitted from all the Yeti bars (don’t ask). And to our surprise, Jeremiah was there. He said he had just left them Storms after we did, and that he didn’t believe in Ghosts. We shrugged, and made our way to the docks (not to be confused with Docs. The past misusage of thus phrase has led to a lot of patients being pressed into the Navy and a lot of family practitioners having cargo ships show up at their doorstep for no reason).
But again, something happened. Out of nowhere, we heard the ominous thud of heavy footfalls. Then we saw a figure slow emerge from the fog. It was draped in some type of jacket, but the lighting was horrible. It was…short, actually, but that was the horror of it: we hadn’t expected that. The apparition spoke in slow, raspy tones:
“You have a debt to pay…..(that means all of you). You owe Darby Jones your soul….s. Time’s up. I’m coming for you.”
We all blinked about twenty times. And then, “What a night we’re having!”
We ran. Nobody wanted to face the dreaded whats-his-name of Lake Michigan any more than the dwead pirate Robert. But we were willing to take our chances with the latter. We ran, wondering what debts we had forgotten to pay, and Alio and Juliet tag-teamed on driving us home (they weren’t afraid to drive fast). And we spent the remainder of the night death-clutching our pillows, having seen enough to convince us that THIS world didn’t need taking over right now…not with out more pie charts.

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  1. #1 by hannah on July 16, 2011 - 8:39 pm

    Cackling all through. But not as good as the last one. You better make part three good if you’re gonna keep your following.

  2. #2 by CharRG on July 17, 2011 - 10:10 am

    Haha. Interesting……

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