Slugs: A Story

Chapter 9

Theodore Heidenburough eventually made his way home. After recieving hysteric calls from several of his relatives he sat down to take a nap, because naps always gave him ideas.

Eventually he fell asleep and immediately started dreaming.

He was at his Uncle Timothy's farm out in the woods, playing in a stream with Wilson. They were both tiny children and were laughing a lot.

Theodore jumped in the river, splashing Wilson in the face. Wilson laughed again and splashed him back.

"What are you doing there, little ones?" asked his Uncle Timothy.

Uncle Timothy.

Theodore woke with a start. If there was one person who didn't know of Wilson's death, it would be him. Uncle Timothy lived deep in the woods, and so had no wifi. He was one of the few truly unplugged citizens left in the world, and so would have no way to hear the depressing news. Theodore couldn't just call him either. He had no phone or anything, and mail didn't go that far into the woods.

Theodore realized he would have to go tell Uncle Timothy himself.

The next day, Theodore packed a few essentials and drove off. He made sure to get his car fixed up because there would be a lot of offroading.

A few painfully boring hours later Theodore caught sight of his uncle's farm.

It was a moderate sized place. Uncle Timothy had built it in a small clearing, with just enough room for him and his wife, Aunt Margaret. There were a few cows roaming in a tiny grass field in front of the little barn. The barn itself was an extension of Timothy's tiny house. Actually, the entire place was kind of tiny.

At least tinyer than I remember it being, Theodore thought to himself.

He pulled into a gravel driveway on the left side of the house. Slowly Theodore got out of his car and trudged up a dirt path to Uncle Timothy's abode, mournfully pressing the doorbell.

A few muffled voices came from within.

"Oh! Timothy! Somebody's at the door!" sounded a high pitched elderly female voice.

"I suppose I should see who it is," replied a gruff masculine growl.

A second or two later the door opened.

"Well if it isn't our little Theodore!" exclaimed Aunt Margaret.

"Theodore? Theodore?" asked Uncle Timothy.

"Exactly! He's finally come back to see us! And look at how big he is!" she squealed in reply.

"Well, then," said Uncle Timothy, "I suppose I'll come have a look at him."

A large, potbellied man lumbered up to the doorway. He was wearing farm style overalls and a red checkered button-up shirt. His head was bald and his mustache bushy and gray.

He looked at Theodore with his piercing gray eyes. "Well, hello there, son," greeted Uncle Timothy.

"Hi," breathed out Theodore shakily. "It's great to see you both... Unfortunately, I bring very sad news."

"Oh, come on in and tell us, dearie... I don't suppose little Wilson came with you?" asked Aunt Margaret.

"Actually, he's kind of why I came."

The aunt and the uncle exchanged quick looks of concern.

At Aunt Margaret's request, Theodore came into their house and sat down in the cheerfully decorated (and cat themed) living room.

As he plopped down onto their fluffy red couch, Aunt Margaret put her arm around Theodore's shoulder. "Now, honey, tell us what's bothering you. You and Wilson didn't get into a fight now, did you?"

"No," moaned Theodore miserably. "It's even worse than that."

Aunt Maragret and Uncle Timothy looked at him anxiously.

"Wilson... is dead."

There was a sudden crash coming from the kitchen, like the window had been broken. Hoping not to see his relative's reaction to Wilson's death, Theodore went to check it out.

A few seconds later he ran back into the living room screaming.

"Theo," said Aunt Margaret extremely sadly, "There's no reason to freak out. We need to keep calm and-"

Then the felshconsumius maxinmus burst into the room.

It reared up and, roaring, knashed its teeth together in a perfect two part harmony. If you enjoy two part harmonys of death.

Aunt Margaret screamed, causing the beast to lash out. At the last second before it hit her, Uncle Timothy threw himself infront of the slimy projectile. The slug latched its teeth onto his fleshy arm and bit it off.

Uncle Timothy screamed so loudly, and with terror so pure that I cannot write anything down that entirely justifies it.

He flopped onto the floor, the slug on top of him, and soon Uncle Timothy was no more.

While all this was happening Theodore had grabbed Aunt Margaret's hand and pulled her onto the second floor of her house, which happened to be a small corridor with a bedroom and bathroom latching off of it and ending in a ladder to the attic.

Theodore yanked her into the bedroom, and they hurriedly got under the bed.

It took all of their best efforts not to scream when they heard Uncle Timothy's death cry.

Eventually Margaret gave in and screamed anyways. Theodore frantically tried to cover her mouth, but he was too late. He could already hear the slug climbing the stairs.

Theodore got out from under the bed and slammed the door shut, locking it. He pulled Margaret out and opened the window.

"Jump!" shouted Theodore.

"But-"

"Just do it! Your house isn't that tall anyways!"

She jumped.

Theodore soon followed. Miraculously they both made it without any serious injuries, although Theodore had twisted his ankle.

"Run!" he shouted. "Into the woods! Away!"

"What about you?" asked Aunt Margaret.

"I'll be fine! Just go!"

Theodore got up and limped around the front of the house, seeking shelter to nurse his ankle. He spotted the small outhouse where meat was salted and preserved, and began frantically dashing for it.

But the slug was smart, and as soon as it caught sight of a tasty human, it began sliming towards him at its highest speed.