Prisoner of the Molepeople

Chapter 23 - Graveyard. Again.

The eerie surroundings didn’t bother me anymore. They were only dead people.

Petrified dead people … with angry faces.

Staring at me.

If Brunhilda was right and an angry Duthbert, provoked by a defiant Ann, would fully stoop to murdering me, would I soon take my place in this morbid menagerie? Or would that be a breech of protocol, because my netherworldian corpse would defile this sacred ground? Of course, Captain Moneyshuckles was here … only not really, because his statue was hollow. Was his body still roaming the under-underworld?

I couldn't help but wonder if there really was an under-underworld, a place untouched by even molepeople, where Lenny and I could hide away. After all, if my bodyguards had somehow traveled all the way from an underground Germany to an underground Utah, there must have been more to the underworld than met the eye. The truth was, the possibility of returning to the surface was looking bleaker every day, so why not go lower? Anywhere, no matter how deep and dark, was better than Molemania. Besides, there was something romantic about exploring the center of the earth with the boy I loved.

Provided he still loved me.

Crouching behind a large statue, I glanced over at my bodyguards, who were pushing and shoving at a statue, shouting at each other. I wasn't sure whether they actually expected to find another treasure, or if they'd grown addicted to the joys of obstructing public property and disturbing the dead. In any case, they'd already knocked over two statues, forgetting all about me.

Unable to believe how easy this was, I darted to the next statue … and the next. Through the synthetic fog, I could just make out the silhouettes of corn stocks, meaning freedom was only a dash away.

My bodyguards still had no idea I was gone. It was now or never. One … two …

“Bleh!” cried an evil voice, forcing an involuntary yelp from my chest. But it was only the voice of Count Dracula, right on cue. The Halloween sound track was getting obnoxious. I especially resented the throbbing heartbeat, which seemed to amplify my own. Next would be the ripping chainsaw and the screaming woman

Once again I took a sprinter's stance. One … two …

“What do you think you're doing?” This time the voice was Brunhilda’s. She was standing right next to me, her face as cold as the statues around us. As her hand squeezed my forearm, a bona fide scream escaped my throat. Her grip was to tight, I could feel the blood throbbing in my arm. “I told you I’d kill you if you tried to run away again. Did you think I was joking?”

“Brunhilda, please!” I begged, trying in vain to break free.

Gunhilda approached us, her hands raised to her chin. “Brunhilda, no.”

“Shut up.” Brunhilda raised her fist, ready to pummel me to a bloody pulp. I guess I wasn’t wrong. I would be joining the dead soon.