Monday, September 3, 2012

I Can Write a Little

I started these little mini-stories a few years back about a delusional little kid who fancies himself a slayer of all the demonous and drooly monsters out there. I named him Eric. I'm looking to get a collection of Eric the Monster Slayer stories together with illustrations fashioned after pulpy comic covers and 50's style movie posters. Here is one of those episodes for you to (hopefully) enjoy while I get going on some more painting progress to show you later. Here debuts:

Eric the Monster Slayer Destroys a Pack of Werewolves and Makes It Back Just in Time For Dinner
The other day was Saturday, my favorite day and monster-hunting prime time. I was sitting around in my room and reading some old Spawn comic my dad gave me before he was kidnapped by radioactive monkeys and I was getting really into it when I heard this awful, piercing howl. I threw my hands up and jumped to my feet. Werewolves!

“Eric!” called the food wench from downstairs. “Eric, your dinner’s almost ready! Wash your hands and straighten your room up a little bit before you come down, okay?”

Curses! Here I am, keeping the world safe from all the scourge of the planet, and she reduces my talents to simple cleaning? I’ve killed a minotaur, fifteen gremlins, about a thousand zombies, at least two dozen boogeymen, and all kinds of nasty things, but I refuse to clean my lair. I like it messy.


Aw man, they’re getting closer!

I hurriedly tied my cape around my neck, fastened on my mask, changed into my best running sneakers, and bolted down the steps, checking to be sure I had brought the special silver-plated arrows for my crossbow. In the kitchen, the smell of meat loaf stopped me in my tracks. Meat loaf is my favorite. But I knew arguing would get me no closer to saving the world or eating, so I decided to settle for a little negotiation. The wench turned from the oven and looked at me and saw my uniform and she knew I meant business.

“But Mo-om! There are werewolves outside. Can I kill them first and then clean my room?”

My mom’s really weird. Ever since Dad got kidnapped, whenever I ask her if I can do stuff, she always looks over at this photo of their wedding she keeps on our mantel and almost always tells me yes.

“Yeah, Eric. You can go outside and play. But just a few minutes, alright?”


I ran out of the kitchen and to the front door, the delicious scent of meat loaf and potatoes following me.

“Oh, and Eric?” yelled the wench as my hand grasped the doorknob.


“Better hurry before the food gets cold…”

Oh man, she is good. I had no time to lose. I did one last check of my inventory: Crossbow with arrows. Check. Cool black mask to protect my identity. Check. Comfy shoes. Check. Awesome cape. Double check. Now out the front door and time to kick some butt!

Upon emerging outside, I did a quick survey of my surroundings. The sun was going down, but there were still little kids riding around on their bikes, no parents in sight. Excellent bait. They were just asking to be eaten. But only I seemed to know how many dangerous creatures lived out here and fed on little brats just like these. Me and my dad of course. We used to fight monsters together and he taught me everything I know. But ever since he was kidnapped, until I rescue him, the responsibility of protecting the world has fallen to me. And I am really good at it.

I strained my ears for any sign of the enemy, but the only sounds were some birds and the stupid kids laughing and playing. Maybe I’d just imagined the howling…
I thought about turning around and going back inside to the meat loaf, but what if there really were werewolves? Those little bicycle kids would be as good as meat loaf to those monsters if I wasn’t around to stop them. And then Dad would be disappointed in me and I might never find him…


And there they were; three of the meanest, drooliest, toughest wolf-men I’d ever seen. They were watching the little bite-size babies from behind some tall hedges, their fangs gleaming and eyes filled with hunger. It was like slow motion as I watched them lunge to attack and that’s when I broke out of my thoughts and aimed my crossbow at the biggest one, probably the alpha of the pack.

I almost missed my shot when the creature grabbed up a little blonde boy and tossed him off his bike. Blast! I was hoping to leave the children out of this battle.

The next instant, my arrow hit the creature in the heart and it let out one weak little grunt before crashing to the ground and bursting into ashes. The other two beasts watched as their leader fell and turned in my direction as I prepared for another shot. Now they were charging toward me at full speed and the children were watching in suspense, along with their parents, who had finally decided to pay attention to their brats long enough to get them inside safely.

“Don’t worry, I got ‘em!” I said to the bystanders, aiming at the closer of the two wolves. The arrow punctured his shoulder, missing his heart by an inch, but it still slowed
him down enough for me to re-load and dispatch the other. Yes! Another direct hit. A cloud of ash erupted across the lawn a few feet in front of me and through the opaque mist, the last beast came charging at me, my arrow still in its shoulder. Just as I loaded the crossbow, I backed up for my shot, lost my footing, and fell into a shrub, sending my only weapon sailing across the yard. Crap!

Across the lawn, the werewolf was getting closer, its large clawed hands becoming more and more menacing. I struggled frantically to my feet, but something was caught. Stupid cape! I tugged at it with all my might, but stopped when I saw that the beast was closing in. It lunged at full speed, murder in its horrible yellow eyes and as its jaws opened, I knew this was the end. No more killing monsters and saving the world, no more scary movies and comic books, and Dad would forever remain a captive to the mad scientist Dr. Deathly and his radioactive monkey goons.

As the wolf-man raised a claw to deliver the death blow, I leapt away from the hedge, tearing my cape, but I didn’t care. I just didn’t want to be killed, or even worse, become a werewolf myself.

The hulking creature stayed on my heels, swiping at me again and again. I knew it would be suicide to turn around and try to fight with my bare hands. If only I had- the crossbow! There it was, lying just three feet in front of me. Victory was mine! In one fluid motion, I snatched up the weapon, twisted around, and pulled the trigger, sending the arrow straight between the beast’s eyes.

A third cloud of dust swirled about me and I did a little victory dance for the benefit of all the- hey! Where did all those innocent bystanders go? And those kids? I couldn’t believe they didn’t stick around and watch me kill the werewolves… Sometimes it really bothers me that nobody ever seems to be around to see me kill stuff. I tell Mom I do it, but she never seems to care. I guess maybe it’s better that nobody knows. Superheroes never tell.

I never had a better plate of meatloaf.

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