Tevun-Krus #34 - GothPunk

THE PLAGUE WALKED AT MIDNIGHT - A Short Story by @MadMikeMarsbergen

It's Halloween. Returning from a night of stealing other kids' candy and egging Rod and Todd, a vampire-costumed Bart drags a sack of sweets—and what looks to be Rod's new remote-controlled drone—through the front door. He dumps his goodies on the floor in front of the TV and begins to sort through the candy.

"Crap, crap, crap, crap, not crap, probably crap, crap..." He finds a razor blade embedded in a Tootsie Roll. "Oooh! Hello..." He pockets the blade. "Crap, crap, definitely crap..."

Homer suddenly kicks the door in, wearing an "I Shot President Trump" T-shirt. "Bart! Look what stupid Flanders had on the curb outside his house!" He groans as he tries to force a four-foot-wide barbecue through the two-and-a-half-foot-wide doorway. Realizing he's chipped the paint off the doorframe, Homer grunts: "D'oh!"

---

In the garage. Bart marvels over the barbecue Homer took from Ned Flanders. A piece of paper has been taped to the front of the hood, reading: WARNING! CURSED BY MUSLIMS. DO NOT USE IF INFIDEL.

Imagining what that could possibly mean, Bart sees himself tricking Rod and Todd into cooking hotdogs on the cursed barbecue by taping a winking-Jesus picture onto it. After praying to it, they end up getting eaten by the barbecue, which then spits out their bones and burps. Imaginary-Bart snickers in amusement.

"Cool..." Bart says, impressed with his fantasy.

"Stupid Flanders." Homer rips away the note and lifts the lid. "Throws away a perfectly good grill because of a stupid make-believe curse." He glances at the note, crumples it and tosses it over his shoulder. "Pffft. Curse shmurse. Heheheh. Stupid Flanders... Boy, since your mom and your sister are at Patty and Selma's, it's just you and me. Whaddya say we cook up some good all-American hotdogs!" He picks up a package of Satan's Choice Grade-Z Lips, Holes & A Whole Lot More. The package features a grinning, devil-bearded man with a pitchfork and a coil of intestines hanging around his shoulders. "Mmm... Grade-Z Lips and Holes..." He starts to drool.

"Homer, my good man, to that I say hell yes! But what about Maggie?"

Homer stares blankly for a moment and shrugs. "Bart, pass me some fuel!"

Lugging a sloshing can of gasoline, spilling gas all over the floor of the garage, Bart says: "Way ahead o' ya, Homer!"

Grabbing the can, Homer empties the whole thing onto the grill and tosses it aside. He lights a match and drops it into the grill. A massive flame jets up and blackens the roof. He raises his hands in triumph. "Woohoo!"

The two begin chanting: "USA! USA! USA!"

Feeling great success in proving Flanders wrong, Homer starts to hop back and forth. "'Oh, look at me! I'm stupid Flanders and I'm afraid of a stupid curse!' Heheheh." Somehow the fire jumps from the grill to the top of Homer's head, burning the two hairs on it. "Ahh!" The fire returns to the grill.

"¡Ay, caramba!"

Then the barbecue speaks in a smoky gasp: "Blas... pheme... me..."

"Quick, Bart! It wants blasphemy!"

"Will this do?" Bart holds up a Left-Handed Holy Bible, which contains a bookmark that says PROPERTY OF NED FLANDERS.

"Gimme, gimme, gimme!" Homer takes the Bible and tosses it into the fire. It instantly incinerates.

"Th... anks..."

Homer empties the package of hotdogs onto the grill. "Boy, how about a super-scary Halloween story? Or are you... chicken?"