A little Gothic story

The main attraction at The Festival of Horror was garnering rave reviews in the press.

-Prepare to scream.

-More beastly than Brand, more Galloway than Merrick.

-Your tingling spine will porcupine.

-One level below Hell and almost two.

Reading these haunting words of fear the terror aficionados, Wart and Acne, looked forward to the show. It was a long time since they were scared. The last time was the first time they saw Saw.  They were greeted at the door by a six-fingered man, obviously he hails from Coatbridge.

Moving down the corridors of doom they were subjected to, what would be to other people, many unsettling sights. In their favour the fearless Wart and Acne were troopers and could knock spots of anybody; the ghastly apparitions left them nonplussed. A bearded lady was nonchalantly dismissed by Wart saying he had squeezed worse on a date.

Further on a formidable looking lion had its jaws in a man’s head. Calmness personified the lion tamer smelt the animals breath as incisors hovered inches away. Acne decided to warm things up and went behind the lion. He let fly with a size 10 boot right between the lion’s legs kicking him in the, you could say, lion’s den. Both lion and lion tamer didn’t budge.

“That thing must be stuffed.” Acne grumbled

“Or it could have steel underpants on.” speculated Wart.

Nothing in the festival’s vault was alarming them. Even the loin clothed hulk lying on a bed of nails failed to impress, although Acne vowed to buy a crib like this for his children. It’ll stop the kids jumping on the bed.

Then they came to the main attraction. As they neared the final room, a chill hung in the air. Sitting on a chair was an ordinary looking man. Wart and Acne shook their heads in disappointment and then they saw…it. They screamed, they shrieked, they shouted for help and then they ran. I’m talking about like a huge ran. The biggest ran you could ever do. A panic ran. The type of ran were the knees are hitting you in the chest. And little wonder. Sitting on a chair was an ordinary looking man with a cold sore on his lip.

3 thoughts on “A little Gothic story”

  1. Hello Ara,

    And good to be here. Thanks for your earlier nice words; I’m dead chuffed.

    Cold sores, huh? Thank heavens for Zovirax. I don’t know who invented it. Probably some Scottish guy. It always is. 🙂

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