Ethan's Gang : Unholy War : Book I

Chapter 3 - Stomping the Fat Guy

     They walked into the house through the kitchen, and Ethan paused at the cupboard.  “Now,” he said, “Let’s see if we can eat without something drastic happening.”

     Randy and Willy grinned, and then the three of them shared an apple pie.

     The next morning, a gurgling laugh of dementia disturbed Ethan’s sleep.  He opened one eye and peered about the chamber in the dim predawn light.  He saw Willy’s hair—the rest of him was under the sheet.  He saw Randy’s toes… the rest of him was under the sheet.  He saw Shawn-Bo’s entire head.  Guess where the rest of him was. 

     The three boys were apparently sleeping…so who was chuckling insanely!?  The culprit soon revealed itself—a 78 year old bald Hungarian woman with a wooden leg came bouncing obscenely out of the closet… on a pogo stick!!

     “Yarrr!” Ethan shouted, lurching in disgust. 

     “Wa ha ha ha!” The woman gurgled insanely, bouncing.  ShawnBo’s eyes opened.  Willy rolled over.  Ethan leaned over Boo ( he was also in the bed ) and lifted a weapon from the nightstand.  It was a hefty .44 Special revolver with a four inch barrel.  He pointed the piece at the maniac on the pogo stick.

     Boing!  Boing!  Boing!

     Wham!  Bam!  Blam!

Bullets struck the madwoman in the torso.  She shrieked once, then began tot bounce towards the window, as if to crash through it before dying. 

     “Oh no you don’t!” Ethan said, firing the gun twice more, punching holes in the maniac’s skull.  Brains splattered the wall and the corpse tumbled down the stairway instead of out the window.  The pogo stick followed. 

     Boo and Shawnbo were giggling. 

     Randy and Willy were wiggling. 

     The sun spilled across the land and Ethan laughed in the sudden dawn, illuminated brazenly in yellow light, surrounded by his bratlike teenage friends.  Then all five of them made it with each other in the soft, warm bed on that cool, good morning. 

     Later, as the sun warmed the day into the upper 70’s, Ethan and his friends were outside, picking up bones off the lawn and tossing them down an old well.  It was good to keep the place free of excess body parts, so they wouldn’t always be tripping over skulls and stuff like that when they played football in the back yard.   When they went back into the house, Ethan pointed at the stairway and screamed, like Bruce Springsteen.  However, Clarence Clemmons didn’t crash through the window playing a saxophone—Rather, the 18 boys who shared Ethan’s house went rushing up the stairs in a backwards avalanche of flying legs and pounding feet.  Ethan rushed after them, then past them, coming to a stop outside the door to the first bedroom.  He paused, standing at attention, as Ollie saluted him weirdly and said “The troops are ready, my master.”

     Ethan laughed, then kicked open the bedroom door and shouted “There is a fat man in this room!  TRAMPLE HIM!!”

     “Huh? A fat man!?” Shawn asked, then peered into the room.  There was—no surprise—a fat man in the room—hog-tied in the middle of the floor, blindfolded, and with duct tape over his mouth!   Ethan had found the man hiding in a hay stack behind an old barn near the Secret Victorian House earlier that day, and now provided the swine as a toy for his boys.

     The boys were delighted.

     They attacked. 

     “MMmmbbll-PPlllpffphh!!” the victim screamed in panic as they rushed into the room and swarmed over him, kicking and stomping his prone form with juvenile exuberance.  With each passing second, more and more of the 18 boys crowded through he door into the room, adding their feet to the brutal crushing of the doomed man.  He was engulfed and destroyed.