The Frog at the Top of Frosty Mountain

Ink

"Wakey, wakey!" Said a voice The Author didn't want to hear. He opened his eyes and sat up in the living room of a cabin with a very dorm room look. There were posters of rock bands and scifi movies on the wall, a TV with a video game console hooked to it and bean bags on the floor with notebooks on top of them. And in the middle of all this chaos, sat Sharon.

Sharon had exchanged her tight dress for a tight red shirt and black leather pants. She sat with a glass of brandy in her hand, and studied The Author with much interest.

"What do you want?" The Author asked nervously.

"It's simple." Sharon said. "You owe me. You were all lost out in the middle of that road with no idea on where to go, and I found you. I pointed you in the right direction, even gave you a lift. The way I see it, you owe me. And seeing as though you owe me, I can only think of one thing you can do for me in return."

"What's that?"

"You can be my tattoo practice. I'm a Tattoo artist, just started a couple of weeks ago. I need people to practice on before I start charging for my work."

"But, I don't want to get a tattoo."

The Author thought tattoos were fine, but he never dared to get one himself. He was horrified of needles, even the thought of one made him want to faint. There was also the problem of tattoos being permanent. He was terrified of changes, let alone permanent ones. He was scared of regretting whatever he got tattooed.

"Oh, you don't understand." Sharon said diabolicaly. "You don't have a choice. You owe me, and I can ask for whatever I want from you."

"Not this, anything but this! Please!"

The Author tried running, but he felt both his feet leave the ground. He was floating in the air, and when he looked at Sharon, he knew exactly why.

Sharon had changed. She was no longer the disproportionate woman that could only be created through plastic surgery. Here was a very pretty looking woman in her mid-20s, wearing a band T-shirt and not too tight jeans. In her hand, she held the source of her power: a magic wand.

"You're a witch!" The Author exclaimed.

Sharon laughed a high pitched evil laugh, typical of a witch, then flung her magic wand. She sent The Author flying across the room, then set him down on a tattoo table.

The Author tried once again to escape, but the table held on to him with a super glue strength. He could not move. He struggled as much as he could, but when he heard the buzz of a tattoo needle, he knew that it was over.

"PLEASE! YOU DON'T HAVE TO DO THIS!"

"I do actually." Sharon said as she introduced the needle onto The Author's skin.

The Author screamed during the next 40 minutes. He was in utter pain, and it was only his desire to reach Frosty Mountain that permitted him to fight back against it.

When it was over, The Author looked at his bicep and saw that Sharon had tattooed a Bullfrog on it.

"This is only the beginning!" Sharon said in triumph. "It was only the first of three, you have two more tattoos to go."

The Author almost threw up at the thought of more pain. He resumed his attempts at escape as the sound of the needle started again.