It was the morning of the second annual Monsters and Related Ghouls convention. Last year's convention was a smashing brouhaha. The buzz it created promised to make the previous year pale in comparison.
A raucous applause broke out when the venue doors opened and the M.A.R.G. representative, a vile looking, yet refined, were-shark appeared. He quickly took his seat, cleared his throat, and asked for the first patron to make his way to the table.
"Name?" asked the bespectacled convention greeter.
"Wockenfuss."
"Wockenfuss...wockenfuss," said the greeter, while shuffling through name tags. "I'm sorry, but I do not seem to have a Wockenfuss." Looking up, the greeter was treated to a most unorthodox site. The monster before him looked like the bright yellow baby of Barney the Dinosaur and Mr. Snuffleupagaus; not at all intimidating.
"Do you have your invitation?" asked the representative.
"Um, I left it at home," replied the Wockenfuss
"Next!"
"No, wait," interjected the Wockenfuss. "You know me."
"I'm afraid I've never heard of you. Can you prove your credentials?"
"Sure," said the Wockenfuss.
"And what is your specialty?" asked the greeter.
"Children's urban legends."
"Go on," said the exasperated greeter.
"I whisper my name to curious children while they sleep so that when they wake up they come looking for me. Then I eat 'em."
"And how many children have you eaten," the greeter asked.
The Wockenfuss began counting on his fingers. "Um, one," he finally answered.
"One?"
"Really it was his hat," the Wockenfuss began to explain. "But I almost got him."
"Move it, ya loser," yelled an impatient goblin.
"I know Cthulu," said the desparate Wockenfuss. "Well, I saw him once."
"Miss Irene," the greeter yelled to a security siren. "Could you please escort Mr. Wockenfuss off the premises?"
"No, I'll leave," said the Wockenfuss. "This convention will probably stink anyway."
He walked sadly away from the other eager conventioneers when he was approached by a small child.
"Excuse me, sir," said the child. "Have you heard of the Wockenfuss?"
The Wockenfuss sighed heavily. "Go away, kid," he said. "I'm not in the mood."
VOCÊ ESTÁ LENDO
Monkeys Fighting Badgers
ContoA collection of various small works I've done over the last two years. These are short stories either waiting to be turned into full books or that were done for writing exercises and challenges that don't really fit anywhere else, but ones I thought...
