I wrote this one as a writing exercise. When given the prompt, "Dust bunnies" this is what I produce
Circa 2006.
Part One: The House and Emilio: Wherein we meet our Hero and his Home.
Dust bunnies flew haphazardly through the house, pushed aloft by an unethral wind. This wind could only bode terror to the denizens of Quiddich Yard, New England. The house that this wind blew through was old, abandoned and weak. The wind whistled through the bone-like tendrils of dying trees in the yard, a yard thick overgrown with weeds. The porch was falling down, its support beams rotted through by the harsh New England elements. Wind gushed through the trees; to a casual observer the waving limbs would almost seem alive as if waving happy greetings to the dark clouds coursing over the horizon. Another gust. The once boarded windows now sagged openly, probably broken by teenagers brave enough to enter the creepy old manor to have sex away from the prying eyes of distrustful parents. Another gust bent the lone piece of beauty present in this dark scene, a red rose growing up through the rotted porch flush with the side of the house.'
The front door, creaky on its old hinges did what it did best; it creaked open in a most stereotypical manner revealing the tattered remains of what used to be a spectacular pair of pants. These pants were worn over a pair of incredibly dirty, and incredibly hairy legs. These legs belonged to a man. He called himself Emilio, he called himself that because he couldn’t recall his birth name any better than he could recall his shoe size. The latter problem didn’t hinder him though, a pair of fine rabbit skin thongs adorned his feet. Emilio tended to be protective of his feet since he nearly lost his toes to the Devil in a poker match, plus New England weather tended to be a bit nippy so rabbit skin was nice and warm.
He stretched, yawning loudly as he looked up at the sky. The chem-trails were flying high today, that was good. It meant the house would feel good and not eat his socks again. Emilio trotted happily over the few remaining solid boards on the porch, down the stairs and out back to a carefully tended patch of hibiscus. He knew in the back of his mind that the tropical plant really shouldn’t grow in the bitterly cold weather of Quiddich Yard but that didn’t bother him. He knew that the house made allowances for those who took care of it. He hummed along with the tiny blues band playing on the hydrangea as he began his daily routine of gardening and house repair. He knew that it liked the feeling of someone who cared. Inside the house (at least the house that Emilio saw) was gloriously decorated with deep earth tone furniture, soft muted lighting, and thick green rugs that felt delectable to the toes. Though, sometimes it went away when he felt funny, like that one time he tripped and fell down the stairs bumping his head on the banister. Emilio recalled coming in and out of consciousness, seeing the walls melt away into a derelict old house. He felt odd for days after; furniture had kept disappearing and the Persian throw rug came alive. It had purred around the house all afternoon, eating rats and trying to fight with the bear skin rug upstairs. Emilio had quickly determined that was the weirdest thing to happen to him in a long time, even weirder then that time Count Chocula tried to barter his garter for a candy bar.
Thunder rumbled nearby, breaking Emilio from his musings. He nodded, satisfied with his new row of Golova trees. If they survived the coming storm he would have yummy fruit for his tummy come spring. He figured they would survive, the house tended to see to that.
Part Two: The Coming of Shadow Hunter: Wherein we meet another character.
The months passed by quickly for Emilio, many quiet days spent in the garden and many quiet evenings in front of a hearty fire with a glass of port made him content with his hermitic lifestyle. One day his idle routine was interrupted by the violent crash of the front door being broken off of its hinges by a funny little man in arctic camouflage wielding a massive arsenal of Nerf brand weaponry and twin bandoleers of coked up Daschunds.
“Holy crap! Who the hell are you?!” screeched Emilio in fright.
“My name is Shadow Hunter. I am your brother.’ The strange little man replied.
“Good lord!” Emilio said, reaching for a sniffer of port.
“What are you doing in this decrepit place brother?” Shadow Hunter asked.
“Decrepit place? What do you mean decrepit? How can my beautiful home be…
care for some port?”
“Port? Brother, you hand me nothing but an empty cup.”
“Not possible, I can smell the fiery brew but if you believe it is not there all the more for me,” Emilio knocked back the port before continuing, “ Well then, if you truly are my brother I feel that I must ask you why you are here.”
“A simple enough question to answer. I am here to beg for your help, for there is a vampire loose in Quiddich yard.” Shadow Hunter began pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace.
“Prey?”
“I hunt old people in homes with Nerf guns for kicks. The toothless grimaces of terror send me into hysterical laughter. I find the fact that the nurses don’t believe them pretty damn funny too.”
“That’s messed up Hunter.”
“It may be messed up, but I am insane and at least I don’t suck them dry. He is eating my prey and it’s pissing me off!”
“Obviously this is distressing you greatly, therefore I shall help you destroy this foul creature defiling this planet’s elderly.”
“Splendid! Many thanks to you my kin.”
Shadow Hunter and Emilio embrace, the deal is sealed.
Part Three: At the Races: Wherein our Hero’s encounter the Villain for the first time.
Shadow hunter came to me several weeks after the beginning of our hunt saying, “emilio come quickly, I’ve tracked the vampire to the horse races after noticing an unusually large amount of bookies with all of their blood sucked out.”
“Was that a joke?” I asked.
“No, but let us depart!” he cried.
We roared along the interstate, overly loud music wrapping us in a comforting blanket of sound
The air was cool and sweet; I could smell the coming autumn shower.
“Supermodel babies,” Hunter muttered, shaking his head.
“What?”
“Nevermind, just give me your money.
“You must be kidding, right?” I asked, astonished. “I am a bum, I have no money.”
Hunter looked at me as if I’d just grown a third head to accompany the other two.
“How can we go to the races without betting on a horse? We would be damn conspicuous, “ he said.
“ I’d think that a two headed man accompanying the walking tweaker artillery is going to look fairly conspicuous at any rate. As a matter of curiosity, how do you manage to afford enough cocaine to keep the Dachsunds vibrating?”
“I don’t buy, I excrete through my skin. We are Columbian you know.”
“Oh. That would tend to explain things.”
We arrived at the races alive and well. Hunter hopped out, stopping only long enough to toss me the kets and say “Get some popcorn, I’ll meet you in the stands.”
I did as he said, afterall, he did seem to have things under control. I said as much to him upon our reunion in the stands.
“I know dude, I always have things under control. Keep an eye out for a tall guy in a bright green, pinstripe fedora and mauve trench coat,” he replied.
“That’s a very clashing outfit for a vampire to wear. I thought they were of better taste then that,” I said.
“Agreed, but who would notice an outfit like that in such a cesspool of ill taste as this?” Hunter threw out his arm in an all-encompassing sweep. He did have a point; I really couldn’t see an outfit here that could possibly considered in good taste.
“Oh there he is, “I said, pointing to the distinctive hat. As if on que, the indicated figure slowly turned and I locked eyes with what can only be described as fury incarnate. As I stood transfixed, Hunter sprang into action. Whipping off his coat in a slow motion movement that would have made an action hero proud, he bared his twin bandoleers and pooch cannon.
“ I am Cazador de la sombra de Colombia! Release my brother you foul demon, and prepare to face thy doom.” He roared. It was such a stark proclamation of fact, one with such force, conviction, and confidence behind it that all became still, sensing that there would soon be a far more entertaining battle taking place.
The entrancing spell that gripped me to the very core broke like glass, leaving me with the very unsettling feeling of having my arms run through a meat grinder. The vampire snarled, a sound that put me in mind of a trillion kittens being slaughtered all at once, then vanished into the crowd.
“Huzzah!” I shouted, jumping for joy.
“No cries of joy yet my brother, he will be back,” Hunter said.
I stared at the ground.
“True, but in the mean time I could go for some Chinese take out. How about you?
“Si, Si that would be splendid.”
Part Four: The Finale: Wherein the brothers discuss copyrighted material.
Three weeks after the races, Shadow Hunter and Emilio sit in a late model Oldsmobile outside of a small nursing home in east Texas. It is evening, but there is something muggy and oppressive in the air which makes Emilio uneasy.
“Damnit Hunter, it’s freaking’ hot in here,” he says, sweating profusely.
“I know man, I know but we need to hold out a little longer. We didn’t track this bastard all the way to Mudcreek, Texas only to chicken out,” Hunter replies.
“Ugh, that guy had better show up real soon or I’m going to have to dump this slurpee down my pants or melt.”
“It’s not a guy Emilio, it’s a vampire and we need to kill him.”
“Then why are we sitting here in the car?”
“If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times Em. If we rush in there we will be dead faster then you can say ‘Condoleezza in the can’.
“Wait shut up! What was that?”
Emilio leans closer to the windshield, pointing at an indistinct figure lurking in the shadows.
“I think that’s our boy Em, only vampires will shun the front door. They always think that it’s booby trapped for mummies.”
“I am…speechless, for that made no sense what so ever.”
“It’s alright dude, you don’t need to understand. Is that holy water ready?”
“It has been for the past week and a half, are the Dachsunds coked up?”
“Of course, would you like a bump before we go on?”
“Why yes I would, thank you kind sir.”
The brothers arm themselves with an assortment of religious symbols, knives, crucifixes, and small woodland animals. They wait, watching for more movement in the darkness. Twenty minutes pass uneventfully.
“Cough.”
“Did you just say ‘cough?”
“Si.”
“Why?”
“I think that he is gone.”
“Why?”
“’Cause there is black blood dripping on top of the car.”
“Damn.”
“Didn’t you just get a new paint job?”
“Yeah... Let’s find some sticks and poke the grimey bastard down.
The mangled body of the vampire lands on top of hunters car, denting the top.
“Phew, what a stench. Wonder what killed him,” Emilio says jumping back in a futile attempt to avoid the smell.
“:Yech, a mummy got this vampire.”
“Whaa? How can you tell?”
“Mummies gum people to death. I would be willing to bet that we will be seeing an old black dude in a wheelchair and a guy who looks like an incredibly old Elvis trying to torch a vampire soon.”
“Isn’t that the ending of that Bruce Campbell film Bubba Ho-Tep?”
“Yeah, weird isn’t it. Our target is dead, want to pop some popcorn and watch the show unfold?”
“Sure, I got bets on Elvis killing the mummy.”
“Oho you think your clever? Remember that you’re not the only one who’s seen that movie.”
The brothers chat amicably, their work is done and now it is time to enjoy the finer things in life, like watching Elvis beat the hell out of an 8,000 year old dead guy.
Part One: The House and Emilio: Wherein we meet our Hero and his Home.
Dust bunnies flew haphazardly through the house, pushed aloft by an unethral wind. This wind could only bode terror to the denizens of Quiddich Yard, New England. The house that this wind blew through was old, abandoned and weak. The wind whistled through the bone-like tendrils of dying trees in the yard, a yard thick overgrown with weeds. The porch was falling down, its support beams rotted through by the harsh New England elements. Wind gushed through the trees; to a casual observer the waving limbs would almost seem alive as if waving happy greetings to the dark clouds coursing over the horizon. Another gust. The once boarded windows now sagged openly, probably broken by teenagers brave enough to enter the creepy old manor to have sex away from the prying eyes of distrustful parents. Another gust bent the lone piece of beauty present in this dark scene, a red rose growing up through the rotted porch flush with the side of the house.'
The front door, creaky on its old hinges did what it did best; it creaked open in a most stereotypical manner revealing the tattered remains of what used to be a spectacular pair of pants. These pants were worn over a pair of incredibly dirty, and incredibly hairy legs. These legs belonged to a man. He called himself Emilio, he called himself that because he couldn’t recall his birth name any better than he could recall his shoe size. The latter problem didn’t hinder him though, a pair of fine rabbit skin thongs adorned his feet. Emilio tended to be protective of his feet since he nearly lost his toes to the Devil in a poker match, plus New England weather tended to be a bit nippy so rabbit skin was nice and warm.
He stretched, yawning loudly as he looked up at the sky. The chem-trails were flying high today, that was good. It meant the house would feel good and not eat his socks again. Emilio trotted happily over the few remaining solid boards on the porch, down the stairs and out back to a carefully tended patch of hibiscus. He knew in the back of his mind that the tropical plant really shouldn’t grow in the bitterly cold weather of Quiddich Yard but that didn’t bother him. He knew that the house made allowances for those who took care of it. He hummed along with the tiny blues band playing on the hydrangea as he began his daily routine of gardening and house repair. He knew that it liked the feeling of someone who cared. Inside the house (at least the house that Emilio saw) was gloriously decorated with deep earth tone furniture, soft muted lighting, and thick green rugs that felt delectable to the toes. Though, sometimes it went away when he felt funny, like that one time he tripped and fell down the stairs bumping his head on the banister. Emilio recalled coming in and out of consciousness, seeing the walls melt away into a derelict old house. He felt odd for days after; furniture had kept disappearing and the Persian throw rug came alive. It had purred around the house all afternoon, eating rats and trying to fight with the bear skin rug upstairs. Emilio had quickly determined that was the weirdest thing to happen to him in a long time, even weirder then that time Count Chocula tried to barter his garter for a candy bar.
Thunder rumbled nearby, breaking Emilio from his musings. He nodded, satisfied with his new row of Golova trees. If they survived the coming storm he would have yummy fruit for his tummy come spring. He figured they would survive, the house tended to see to that.
Part Two: The Coming of Shadow Hunter: Wherein we meet another character.
The months passed by quickly for Emilio, many quiet days spent in the garden and many quiet evenings in front of a hearty fire with a glass of port made him content with his hermitic lifestyle. One day his idle routine was interrupted by the violent crash of the front door being broken off of its hinges by a funny little man in arctic camouflage wielding a massive arsenal of Nerf brand weaponry and twin bandoleers of coked up Daschunds.
“Holy crap! Who the hell are you?!” screeched Emilio in fright.
“My name is Shadow Hunter. I am your brother.’ The strange little man replied.
“Good lord!” Emilio said, reaching for a sniffer of port.
“What are you doing in this decrepit place brother?” Shadow Hunter asked.
“Decrepit place? What do you mean decrepit? How can my beautiful home be…
care for some port?”
“Port? Brother, you hand me nothing but an empty cup.”
“Not possible, I can smell the fiery brew but if you believe it is not there all the more for me,” Emilio knocked back the port before continuing, “ Well then, if you truly are my brother I feel that I must ask you why you are here.”
“A simple enough question to answer. I am here to beg for your help, for there is a vampire loose in Quiddich yard.” Shadow Hunter began pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace.
“Prey?”
“I hunt old people in homes with Nerf guns for kicks. The toothless grimaces of terror send me into hysterical laughter. I find the fact that the nurses don’t believe them pretty damn funny too.”
“That’s messed up Hunter.”
“It may be messed up, but I am insane and at least I don’t suck them dry. He is eating my prey and it’s pissing me off!”
“Obviously this is distressing you greatly, therefore I shall help you destroy this foul creature defiling this planet’s elderly.”
“Splendid! Many thanks to you my kin.”
Shadow Hunter and Emilio embrace, the deal is sealed.
Part Three: At the Races: Wherein our Hero’s encounter the Villain for the first time.
Shadow hunter came to me several weeks after the beginning of our hunt saying, “emilio come quickly, I’ve tracked the vampire to the horse races after noticing an unusually large amount of bookies with all of their blood sucked out.”
“Was that a joke?” I asked.
“No, but let us depart!” he cried.
We roared along the interstate, overly loud music wrapping us in a comforting blanket of sound
The air was cool and sweet; I could smell the coming autumn shower.
“Supermodel babies,” Hunter muttered, shaking his head.
“What?”
“Nevermind, just give me your money.
“You must be kidding, right?” I asked, astonished. “I am a bum, I have no money.”
Hunter looked at me as if I’d just grown a third head to accompany the other two.
“How can we go to the races without betting on a horse? We would be damn conspicuous, “ he said.
“ I’d think that a two headed man accompanying the walking tweaker artillery is going to look fairly conspicuous at any rate. As a matter of curiosity, how do you manage to afford enough cocaine to keep the Dachsunds vibrating?”
“I don’t buy, I excrete through my skin. We are Columbian you know.”
“Oh. That would tend to explain things.”
We arrived at the races alive and well. Hunter hopped out, stopping only long enough to toss me the kets and say “Get some popcorn, I’ll meet you in the stands.”
I did as he said, afterall, he did seem to have things under control. I said as much to him upon our reunion in the stands.
“I know dude, I always have things under control. Keep an eye out for a tall guy in a bright green, pinstripe fedora and mauve trench coat,” he replied.
“That’s a very clashing outfit for a vampire to wear. I thought they were of better taste then that,” I said.
“Agreed, but who would notice an outfit like that in such a cesspool of ill taste as this?” Hunter threw out his arm in an all-encompassing sweep. He did have a point; I really couldn’t see an outfit here that could possibly considered in good taste.
“Oh there he is, “I said, pointing to the distinctive hat. As if on que, the indicated figure slowly turned and I locked eyes with what can only be described as fury incarnate. As I stood transfixed, Hunter sprang into action. Whipping off his coat in a slow motion movement that would have made an action hero proud, he bared his twin bandoleers and pooch cannon.
“ I am Cazador de la sombra de Colombia! Release my brother you foul demon, and prepare to face thy doom.” He roared. It was such a stark proclamation of fact, one with such force, conviction, and confidence behind it that all became still, sensing that there would soon be a far more entertaining battle taking place.
The entrancing spell that gripped me to the very core broke like glass, leaving me with the very unsettling feeling of having my arms run through a meat grinder. The vampire snarled, a sound that put me in mind of a trillion kittens being slaughtered all at once, then vanished into the crowd.
“Huzzah!” I shouted, jumping for joy.
“No cries of joy yet my brother, he will be back,” Hunter said.
I stared at the ground.
“True, but in the mean time I could go for some Chinese take out. How about you?
“Si, Si that would be splendid.”
Part Four: The Finale: Wherein the brothers discuss copyrighted material.
Three weeks after the races, Shadow Hunter and Emilio sit in a late model Oldsmobile outside of a small nursing home in east Texas. It is evening, but there is something muggy and oppressive in the air which makes Emilio uneasy.
“Damnit Hunter, it’s freaking’ hot in here,” he says, sweating profusely.
“I know man, I know but we need to hold out a little longer. We didn’t track this bastard all the way to Mudcreek, Texas only to chicken out,” Hunter replies.
“Ugh, that guy had better show up real soon or I’m going to have to dump this slurpee down my pants or melt.”
“It’s not a guy Emilio, it’s a vampire and we need to kill him.”
“Then why are we sitting here in the car?”
“If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times Em. If we rush in there we will be dead faster then you can say ‘Condoleezza in the can’.
“Wait shut up! What was that?”
Emilio leans closer to the windshield, pointing at an indistinct figure lurking in the shadows.
“I think that’s our boy Em, only vampires will shun the front door. They always think that it’s booby trapped for mummies.”
“I am…speechless, for that made no sense what so ever.”
“It’s alright dude, you don’t need to understand. Is that holy water ready?”
“It has been for the past week and a half, are the Dachsunds coked up?”
“Of course, would you like a bump before we go on?”
“Why yes I would, thank you kind sir.”
The brothers arm themselves with an assortment of religious symbols, knives, crucifixes, and small woodland animals. They wait, watching for more movement in the darkness. Twenty minutes pass uneventfully.
“Cough.”
“Did you just say ‘cough?”
“Si.”
“Why?”
“I think that he is gone.”
“Why?”
“’Cause there is black blood dripping on top of the car.”
“Damn.”
“Didn’t you just get a new paint job?”
“Yeah... Let’s find some sticks and poke the grimey bastard down.
The mangled body of the vampire lands on top of hunters car, denting the top.
“Phew, what a stench. Wonder what killed him,” Emilio says jumping back in a futile attempt to avoid the smell.
“:Yech, a mummy got this vampire.”
“Whaa? How can you tell?”
“Mummies gum people to death. I would be willing to bet that we will be seeing an old black dude in a wheelchair and a guy who looks like an incredibly old Elvis trying to torch a vampire soon.”
“Isn’t that the ending of that Bruce Campbell film Bubba Ho-Tep?”
“Yeah, weird isn’t it. Our target is dead, want to pop some popcorn and watch the show unfold?”
“Sure, I got bets on Elvis killing the mummy.”
“Oho you think your clever? Remember that you’re not the only one who’s seen that movie.”
The brothers chat amicably, their work is done and now it is time to enjoy the finer things in life, like watching Elvis beat the hell out of an 8,000 year old dead guy.