Sugar, We're Going... On A Cruise!?
The Cruise Ship of Horrors, Part 1
Patrick ran after Pete and the others as fast as he could, but his best was just not good enough. He couldn’t keep up, and eventually collapsed. He kept his eyes closed, panting for a while, then opened them again. He was alone. Utterly and completely alone. He was in one of the many winding passages of the ship.
Slowly, he got to his knees, and looked around.
“Where am I?” he whispered to himself.
Surprisingly, someone answered. “IN HELL!!!!” yelled a voice, and someone jumped onto Patrick’s back.
Patrick screamed. He screamed long a hard, and tried to buck whoever was on his back, off. But the person – creature? – held on. It was wet, and smelled like the sea. Patrick hoped it was not an octopus. Finally, when Patrick rolled over onto his back, whatever was holding on to him let go. Patrick heaved himself up. But, instead of just running back down the hall, Patty just had to turn around and see who had jumped him like the curious, foolish little boy he was.
What he saw made him scream all over again. He was frozen to the spot with horror. The person standing in front of him was the strange, diabetic man from the dock that Pete had tried to drown. And it looked like it had worked. The man looked dead. He was deathly pale, and dripping with water. He had seaweed hanging from his hair and clothes. His eyes were dark-rimmed and sunken into his skull.
“Help,” squeaked Patrick, and managed to turn around to run. But there was someone blocking his path. It was a boy, shorter then even Patrick, but that was only because he looked to be slouching. He was maybe sixteen or seventeen, but Patrick wasn’t paying attention now to anything but his ears. His earrings. They were… the most amazing thing… big, round, and black, with red stars in the center.
Patrick put out his hand to touch them, but the boy grabbed his wrist and twisted it until Patrick yelled in pain. Patrick then noticed something – the boy was wearing a diabetes bracelet! That meant he had it, too! Patrick struggled to get away, but could not. He started calling out for Andy, Pete, anybody! but the dead-looking-man was suddenly there beside him and covering his mouth.
“Your mommys’ can’t help you, now!” he hissed, “You’re gonna pay for killing me!”
“Butm,” said Patrick, managing to speak around the man’s hand, “Itf wasn’t mef! Itf wast Peteft!”
“Pete? The one who puffs his cheeks out like an idiotic chipmunk?”
“Hef doesn’t do itf on purpose…”
The dead-diabetic shrugged. “Whatever. We’ll get him next, right Freddy?” the man looked affectionately at the boy.
“Whof are choo?” asked Patrick, buying time.
“Well,” said the man, standing up straighter, “I am Bill Bob. And that’s my son, Fred Bob.”
“And you’re gonna DIE for killing my father!” yelled the young diabetic boy.
“Butf…” said Patrick, looking for something else to say to give himself some more time, “You… you… should bef happy you’ref dead…” he said.
“And why’s that?” asked the man, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Is that a THREAT?!”
“Nof…” answered Patrick, quickly, “It’s jusft that… wellf… you’re not diabetfic anymore now, right?” he said foolishly.
The man finally took his hand away from Patrick’s mouth. “DIABETES WAS THE BEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED TO ME!!!” he screamed with rage. Then he started to tell his life story: “When I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes, I lived on the STREETS! When it happened, my mother was forced to get a job so she could FEED ME! Then we got a HOUSE and she got MARRIED to a BILLIONAIRE!!! And my life was GREAT!! And I LOVED taking my shots, thank you very much!” He took a few breathes and said, “And my boy loves ‘em too, right, Freddy?” he patted his son fondly on the shoulder. Fred tried to smile and nod, even though this was a complete lie. He was currently trying to find a cure in his basement. So far he had killed 226 mice, 167 rats and 50 guinea pigs in his efforts. But he had practically all the money in the world since his family was so rich, and he was just a boy.
“He loves pricking his finger and watching the blood flow out…” (Fred flinched) “…he savors the moments when the needle slides into his flesh… it’s such a reward for him to feel the sting of all those sharp needles…”
“No dad,” said Fred, suddenly, deciding it was time to come out with the truth. “That’s you. I actually hate it.”
“…What?”
His father looked angry, disappointed and upset. Because all these years, he had thought he wasn’t the only one that took such pleasure in every one of those shots!
“It’s true, dad,” the boy told his father, and Patrick took his chance at this moment. He kicked the older man as hard as he could in the shin. It was actually surprisingly painful to him. Patrick stood in shock for a moment, because he had actually caused the dead man to double over in pain! It made him feel proud and sick at the same time.
Patrick then took off running as fast as his legs could carry him. The dead guy and his son were behind him, but if you’ve ever watched a horror movie you’ll noticed that zombies move very, very slowly… and yet they always somehow manage to catch up. But Patrick was going around every corner, and losing him very fast. And as for the boy… he didn’t like to run with his earrings on, because it hurt him, they were so heavy.
Just as Patrick thought he was safe, he rounded another corner, and came upon… the mean old lady! Only now she was even meaner, because she had been one of the ones to break her hip from slipping on the skittles, and was now in a wheelchair.
“Where ‘ya think you’re goin’, punk?” she asked him, softly and meanly. Patrick turned around to run again, but a whole group of mean old ladies had him surrounded! What now?! Will Patrick escape? Or will the dead diabetic catch up with him and team up with the old ladies to kill him?!
To be continued… >_>
Slowly, he got to his knees, and looked around.
“Where am I?” he whispered to himself.
Surprisingly, someone answered. “IN HELL!!!!” yelled a voice, and someone jumped onto Patrick’s back.
Patrick screamed. He screamed long a hard, and tried to buck whoever was on his back, off. But the person – creature? – held on. It was wet, and smelled like the sea. Patrick hoped it was not an octopus. Finally, when Patrick rolled over onto his back, whatever was holding on to him let go. Patrick heaved himself up. But, instead of just running back down the hall, Patty just had to turn around and see who had jumped him like the curious, foolish little boy he was.
What he saw made him scream all over again. He was frozen to the spot with horror. The person standing in front of him was the strange, diabetic man from the dock that Pete had tried to drown. And it looked like it had worked. The man looked dead. He was deathly pale, and dripping with water. He had seaweed hanging from his hair and clothes. His eyes were dark-rimmed and sunken into his skull.
“Help,” squeaked Patrick, and managed to turn around to run. But there was someone blocking his path. It was a boy, shorter then even Patrick, but that was only because he looked to be slouching. He was maybe sixteen or seventeen, but Patrick wasn’t paying attention now to anything but his ears. His earrings. They were… the most amazing thing… big, round, and black, with red stars in the center.
Patrick put out his hand to touch them, but the boy grabbed his wrist and twisted it until Patrick yelled in pain. Patrick then noticed something – the boy was wearing a diabetes bracelet! That meant he had it, too! Patrick struggled to get away, but could not. He started calling out for Andy, Pete, anybody! but the dead-looking-man was suddenly there beside him and covering his mouth.
“Your mommys’ can’t help you, now!” he hissed, “You’re gonna pay for killing me!”
“Butm,” said Patrick, managing to speak around the man’s hand, “Itf wasn’t mef! Itf wast Peteft!”
“Pete? The one who puffs his cheeks out like an idiotic chipmunk?”
“Hef doesn’t do itf on purpose…”
The dead-diabetic shrugged. “Whatever. We’ll get him next, right Freddy?” the man looked affectionately at the boy.
“Whof are choo?” asked Patrick, buying time.
“Well,” said the man, standing up straighter, “I am Bill Bob. And that’s my son, Fred Bob.”
“And you’re gonna DIE for killing my father!” yelled the young diabetic boy.
“Butf…” said Patrick, looking for something else to say to give himself some more time, “You… you… should bef happy you’ref dead…” he said.
“And why’s that?” asked the man, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Is that a THREAT?!”
“Nof…” answered Patrick, quickly, “It’s jusft that… wellf… you’re not diabetfic anymore now, right?” he said foolishly.
The man finally took his hand away from Patrick’s mouth. “DIABETES WAS THE BEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED TO ME!!!” he screamed with rage. Then he started to tell his life story: “When I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes, I lived on the STREETS! When it happened, my mother was forced to get a job so she could FEED ME! Then we got a HOUSE and she got MARRIED to a BILLIONAIRE!!! And my life was GREAT!! And I LOVED taking my shots, thank you very much!” He took a few breathes and said, “And my boy loves ‘em too, right, Freddy?” he patted his son fondly on the shoulder. Fred tried to smile and nod, even though this was a complete lie. He was currently trying to find a cure in his basement. So far he had killed 226 mice, 167 rats and 50 guinea pigs in his efforts. But he had practically all the money in the world since his family was so rich, and he was just a boy.
“He loves pricking his finger and watching the blood flow out…” (Fred flinched) “…he savors the moments when the needle slides into his flesh… it’s such a reward for him to feel the sting of all those sharp needles…”
“No dad,” said Fred, suddenly, deciding it was time to come out with the truth. “That’s you. I actually hate it.”
“…What?”
His father looked angry, disappointed and upset. Because all these years, he had thought he wasn’t the only one that took such pleasure in every one of those shots!
“It’s true, dad,” the boy told his father, and Patrick took his chance at this moment. He kicked the older man as hard as he could in the shin. It was actually surprisingly painful to him. Patrick stood in shock for a moment, because he had actually caused the dead man to double over in pain! It made him feel proud and sick at the same time.
Patrick then took off running as fast as his legs could carry him. The dead guy and his son were behind him, but if you’ve ever watched a horror movie you’ll noticed that zombies move very, very slowly… and yet they always somehow manage to catch up. But Patrick was going around every corner, and losing him very fast. And as for the boy… he didn’t like to run with his earrings on, because it hurt him, they were so heavy.
Just as Patrick thought he was safe, he rounded another corner, and came upon… the mean old lady! Only now she was even meaner, because she had been one of the ones to break her hip from slipping on the skittles, and was now in a wheelchair.
“Where ‘ya think you’re goin’, punk?” she asked him, softly and meanly. Patrick turned around to run again, but a whole group of mean old ladies had him surrounded! What now?! Will Patrick escape? Or will the dead diabetic catch up with him and team up with the old ladies to kill him?!
To be continued… >_>