We exit the carriage in haste, having no idea what Rasthrum just said means. I keep the shuriken in the folds of the rags I have for pants. I see Rasthrum pocketing the stones inside of his jacket. Bee beckons a lazy See out. Mr. Om looks like he’s about to faint, and regrets not having a prosthetic arm; he’s the only one of us who’s met the witches before, after all.
‘Shut your mouth!’ Rasthrum snaps at Es, who was humming right up till this moment.
Es mumbles four words that aren’t susceptible to my ears, but I can still make a pretty good guess as to what they are: I don’t wike you.
I creep up beside Rasthrum. ‘Hey, what are we acting so uptight for?’
He doesn’t reply verbally. Instead, he points.
In the distance, what appears to be a tall, walking stick with four movable digits attached to its main body makes its way toward us. The stick is dawdling, and the wind is blowing so fast in our direction that it delivers a whistle and a scent to our noses.
'Hm, chocolate,' Aar sniffs.
‘Shhh.’ I fixate my eyes on the distant stick figure, slowly coming our way.
Hearts bated. Tension insurmountable. (That’s a word, right?)
Then -
‘Mr. Wacko?!’ Aar exclaims.
I pinch my eyes as the figure comes ever so close, and voila! There he stands! Mr. Cellomann from Mr. Cellomann's Sweet Sweetshop. He’s dressed just as wackily as he was back when we met him at the store, and his make-up is just as intact.
‘Aha!’ he shouts as he approaches, looking directly at Mr. Om. ‘If it isn’t my nephew Thatcher!’
'I am not your nephew!’ says Mr. Om.
Mr. Cellomann giggles like a mischievous raccoon. See growls hungrily, probably reminded of the man's gems-hat that he ate.
'What are you doing here?’ Rasthrum asks, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
Mr. Cellomann sighs a wacky sigh. ‘Straight to the point, eh? Fair enough, then. Just know I didn’t want to do this. They forced me.’
‘Wha - '
But before any of us can say or do anything, Mr. Cellomann raises a ball of fist and a powdery white substance coats my eyes . . . I hear the words 'Sleep' uttered in a wacky voice, and I fall to the ground, a strange guzzling sensation in my stomach, confused and unconscious.
Yes, I know this one's abrupt and baffling. Don't worry, don't worry.
YOU ARE READING
Sort of Dead
Humor**This book features short, fun, snappy chapters** **Perfectly fine as a standalone** [Caution: may pack a couple of gutpunches.] "First things first: this is the story of how I die. Over and over again." __________________________________ Marra is...
