Frakenbourrough's News


2011-02-16 07:27:48 by Frakenbourrough

Happy two days after Valentines Newgrounds, I got you some mummies.

Too Many Mummies

The electronic warbling of the phone cut through the thick silence of the room. It went quiet for a moment, as if waiting to be answered. The air was still, the anticipation palpable. The phone broke the silence with its harsh noise again. This time it was acknowledged with a groan from the dirty pile of blankets on the bed. Slowly they rose, taking a vaguely human form. As the phone called again the covers were pulled off to reveal a drowsy, unwashed man. One of his hands groped its way over the coffee table to grab the phone while the other ran through his dirty blonde goatee. Grabbing the phone, he flipped it open and pressed it to his ear, his head drooping sleepily.
"Reggie? Reggie is that you, are you there man?" the voice on the other end was frantic and laced with fear. Reggie would've found something to be extremely wrong if he was alert enough to pay attention.
"Ugh." He grunted.
"Oh thank god," some of the edge was taken off, though it was still noticeable. "I need you to get over here right now man. I need your help."
"Yeah no problem," Reggie snorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just call me up at.." His eyes darted over to the digital clock, "... eleven in the morning and expect me to come running. What am I, your stack of flapjacks?"
"You don't understand-"
"Lemme guess, you don't remember her name? Try something starting with an N, that's what it usually-"
"GET SERIOUS!" the man on the other end screamed. "This is big, like, you don't understand how important this is."
"Jeez," he groaned, only annoyed by his friend's urgency. "if you're gonna be that way about it, what is it?"
The man on the other line was consumed by frantic babbling. Reggie closed his sagging eyes and waited for it to end. And waited, and waited. This is the price of friends, he thought. Sometimes it was just too much to put up with other people's problems. That's why he lived the easy life. Sure he wasn't going to go anywhere or do anything big, but hey, when you've got everything you needed why throw it all away?
He caught a few splashes of their extremely one-sided conversation. Something about a nurse, problems with his mom, and 'come over right now' repeated about twenty times. It probably did have to do with his mother and a nurse. The old bat was always in and out of hospitals trying to find some miracle way to cure a disease she'd invented for attention. Maybe she punched out a nurse? It wouldn't have been the first time.
"All right," he said when he noticed the only thing he could hear was breathing, and that his friend's rant had stopped. "I'll be over in about fifteen minutes."
"Okay thanks," the voice exhaled in relief. "You don't know how much this means to me."
There might have been more coming but Reggie hung up the phone. "It had better mean alot; there goes my entire day." He considered something else before adding, "And my smile."

The old beige Commodore turned into the parking lot. Reggie drove down the rows of equally depressing cars until he reached the edge of the asphalt. It was as good a place as any, he reasoned; pulling up onto the newly planted grass. Getting out, he looked up at the generic apartment complex. It looked exactly like his, down to the seemingly dead flowers lining the cracked cement walk.
The Autumn wind blew his long blonde hair out behind him as he walked forward. He climbed the stairs, idly wondering if he'd still be able to climb them as a geriatric old man.
His thoughts were cut short as he almost ran smack-dab into the door. The tarnished faux-brass numbers read 564, and there was what looked like the imprint of a man's head in the wood. This was definitely the right place. Sighing, he reached up to grab the knocker. Before his hand was even halfway there however the door was jerked open.
"Hey Jim, no hug?" He asked.
Jim rolled his eyes in irritation. "When I said that stuff over the phone I really meant it. Don't act like this." Jim seemed a little agitated, but not as badly as when they were talking earlier. He'd get over it eventually, it was nothing new.
"Sure, whatever." Reggie muttered as he brushed past his shorter, stockier friend to get inside. "So what happened with your mom?" He asked.
Jim turned around, angrily comprehending what had happened . "On the phone, you weren't listening to a single thing I said, were you?!"
"Pfffff, no." Reggie chuckled to himself as he turned right where the paste white hallway wall ended. "But really man how many times has crap like this happ-" He froze as he took in the entire room.
He instantly counted twelve, they weren't hard to miss. Mummies. Stinking, undead, toilet paper covered mummies. They stood around nonchalantly as if waiting to be seated at a cushy restaurant; all were in various stages of hideous rot. As he gawped one turned to look at him, opening its fleshless jaw impossibly wide. The room grew chilly around him and there was the sound of air being sucked into the desiccated monster's gaping maw. In the background several of the others began to chant in a guttural and incomprehensible language.
"Dude," Reggie laughed, "I think this one's like, trying to suck out my soul." Jim whimpered and began to hyperventilate as Reggie coolly looked back at him, an idiotic smile on his face. After a few seconds the mummy stopped, realizing its effort was a futile one. Turning, it shuffled off to paw at some empty cans left on the kitchen counter. "Trippy..." Reggie said, waving a hand in front of his face.
"It-it....that...thing," Jim finally managed to spit out, "it was going to, I dunno, suck your soul or spirit or something out." He was trembling, his back pressed against the wall as close as humanly possible.
"It's harmless Jim. I mean, if it could've done anything to me right there it would've. You saw though, little guy's about as dangerous as a kitten." Little was an inaccurate word, as each of the horrors stood over seven feet tall. The realization hit Jim's face like a drunken midget thrown off a Ferris wheel. He opened his mouth to speak, but found himself at a loss for words. "See? You've been worrying too much. Just go..." he drifted between the mummies before flopping down on the couch beside and especially soiled one, "..with the flow. What's up Imhotep?" The only response was a dry, hacking cough.
"I guess you've got a point," Jim cautioned, "but why are they here?"
Reggie shrugged, snatching the remote out of Imhotep's stiff hands. "What are you going to do with 'em?" he asked. He settled on some station with a droning narrator that was broadcasting an aerial view of the pyramids; it was fitting.
Exhaling in exasperation, Jim said, "That's why I brought you here, I figured you'd know what to do."
"Have you tried luring them away with brains?"
"That's zombies."
Reggie paused to think, "Aren't mummies just zombies with toilet paper?"
"Shut up." Jim was starting to go back to his usual, whiney self. "Besides mummies have magic curses or something I think."
Reggie scanned the room, observing the mummies more closely now. Their decomposition seemed more serious than it did before. Beside him there came a dry thud. One of the ancient kings had migrated over to him, and in the process had put just a little too much stress on its atrophied muscles. He looked down to see a thin grey arm twitching on the carpet. The bands encircling it flashed in the harsh light. "Do you know what that is?" He asked, letting some excitement creep into his normally impassive voice.
"A hand. A dead hand." Jim replied disgustedly. Reggie shook his head; his stringy hair fluttering about with the motion.
"What's on the hand?" The question was rhetorical, the material the bands were made of was obviously gold. Jim's jaw dropped in surprise. "We are gonna be made! The easy life from here on out, nothing but rest and relaxation baby!" He shouted, jumping up. Imhotep slowly turned to look up at him even though his eyes were covered in bandages. "All we need to do man, is collect."
"Yeah!" Jim exclaimed as he rushed over to the dirtiest mummy; the one Jim called Imhotep. There was an ankh around his neck, its pendulous gold form just hanging there, waiting to be taken. Jim reached out, stubby fingers wiggling, and grabbed hold of the ankh.

"AHKET AMEMNU KHU OPHET NAMAN!" howled Imhotep, a ghostly purple light flashing from between the gaps in his bandages. His ribcage burst open, a flood of scorpions skittering forth, their black carapaces glittering despite the light of the room. All of the other mummies turned, their voices rising into a wailing cacophony of blasphemous eldritch curses. Jim himself began screaming and released the ankh, throwing himself backwards; away from the fiends.

The ritual abruptly stopped, and the pharaohs went back to sitting around like so much unliving furniture. The television continued its monotonous drone. Reggie glanced at the now placid tomb king, then back to Jim. "So you were right about the curses; maybe don't try that again?"
Jim sat there shivering, blanched with fear. "Wh-wha-wh....oh momma...please no please oh god..." Reggie shook his head an offered a hand to his friend, who took it with his own damp, shaky one.
Lifting him, Reggie ask, "Are you alright man? Not gonna go all Gary Busey on me, are you?" Jim nodded uncertainly, and mumbled something that sounded like 'I'm fine'. It was good enough for Reggie. "Ok, new plan here. Instead of trying to mug a malevolent king of the dead for his mystical bling, we're going to take them outside," though still frightened Jim leaned in to listen, "and we're gonna find some way to get them into the street so that they get hit by cars. Then we can get out there and loot them."
"That is the single stupidest thing I have ever heard." stated Jim; the sheer idiocy shocking him back into reality.
"Well," Reggie began, "feel free to try and take it from him again." Jim cautioned a peek at Imhotep, who looked right back at him, almost daring Jim to give it another go.
Jim gulped, "What do you propose we do then?"
Reggie considered what to do for a minute. A few different ideas ran through his mind, but most seemed to end with him getting ripped limb from limb by the mummies. That wouldn't be good at all, he couldn't reap the rewards of stealing from the dead if he himself was dead. The narrator on television still soldiered on about the majesty of ancient Egypt, and at last he came to what seemed to be a good conclusion. "Hey you guys," he shouted, his voice easily filling the pitifully small room. "I heard you like pyramids!" A few of them stopped milling about and gave him what attention they could muster; though Jim continued to stare at him with incredulity. "Because there's like, twenty pyramids out there," he pointed to the door, "and like, a...whatdoyoucallthosethings..... a Sphinx too!"
The room was quiet, but then the sound of crusty cloth and papers rubbing together started up as the mummies began shuffling toward the door. Just barely audible over the mummies' reinvigorated groans came Jim's voice, "There is no way this is going to work."

The car's horned blared and its tires screeched as the driver tried desperately to stop in time. The attempt was in vain, the driver's efforts being rewarded with first a muffled thump, then a crunch. The tires squealed again as the driver floored it, trying to escape the scene of what would probably have been considered vehicular manslaughter. "How many is that?" asked a grinning Reggie.
"There is no way this should be working." said Jim. Reggie looked down at him smugly. "Alright, that was...six." He said, making a quick headcount.
"What did I tell you? Go with the flow, and everything will turn out alright. I'd say that's about eighty-thousand in lost treasure sitting out there already. Okay Imhotep, you're the next pharaoh who gets to try his luck at getting to the underworld!" He turned to look at Imhotep, who was sitting on the sidewalk, holding one of the scorpions that had not immediately escaped his chest cavity. "C'mon buddy, let's get you out there!" He said cheerfully.
Imhotep looked at him, and shook his bandaged head slowly. The cracking of his old bones could be heard. "You don't wanna go see Ra and that uhhh.... jackal guy?" Imhotep stared past him to the mummy-littered street. "Those guys, they weren't worth of Jackalman," said Reggie, "but now you; you definitely are dude." Imhotep stood, "There we go dude, roll with it, that's like, eternal peace and stuff out there." and turned around. He put one boney leg in front of the other and began to hobble off down the walk. "Hey!" he shouted, though he didn't bother to chase after the fleeing mummy, "come back here man! Eternal peace, seventy-eight virgins!" The mummy kept walking away through it all.
As Reggie watched a twelfth of his money disappear into the sunset he began to wonder; wonder why Imhotep hadn't gone when all the others had, why he hadn't taken the offer, no matter how much of a lie it had been. "Wow," he said, thinking of all the times in his life he'd done something self-destructive because he thought it would bring him pleasure. "there's a lesson to be learned here." he began. "What if going with everyone else isn't always the best thing to do? Just because something might seem fun, you can be seriously hurting yourself or your loved ones. Getting out and doing what you believe in is the best thing someone can do in their life. Even if you fail, you're at least building morals and learning how to follow your dreams. Maybe deep down in our hearts, we should all try to be more like cold, emotionless mummies..." A tear ran down his cheek as Imhotep faded into the distance.
"You are an idiot," said Jim, "I don't even remember why I'm friends with you."
"I know," agreed Reggie, "it sure was beautiful. Now hurry up, we've gotta shove these other five out there before it gets dark."

Hank the Spacetroll!

2010-12-04 13:50:48 by Frakenbourrough

And how everyone should be watching it.

Hank the Spacetroll!

Sump, Space-Ogre extraordinare!

I am good at the Drawings!

I play the QWARYN

2010-08-30 21:02:39 by Frakenbourrough

I also can't draw legs.

I play the QWARYN


2010-07-16 13:14:29 by Frakenbourrough

IRON PETROV, a three-somthin' thousand word long sumbitch about Russians who fight a shark.

Iron Petrov

Pavel Stragovitch sat by himself in the near-deserted bar. His lean face was red from drinking, and tears ran down his cheeks. His head was hung in the fashion of someone who had been utterly defeated. There was a reason he was surrounded by so many empty bottles of vodka. A month ago today Pavel had put the lives of a few hundred people in danger. Now, he was spending the little bit of money he'd saved up to help him forget.
He lifted a bottle to his mouth clumsily, trying to drink. He paused for a moment with a look of confusion on his inebriated face, "More." he grunted when he realized he'd drained the fifth bottle. The bartender eyed him with contempt, but was still reaching for a sixth bottle when a sharp whistle rang through the bar.
Pavel stupidly stared off into space as the bartender looked past him. Fear flickered across his face and he gulped; turning to Pavel he whispered, "No, nothing more. But for your own sake, leave." He looked back over Pavel's shoulder and gave a few urgent nods. Pavel stayed unmoving as the bartender tossed his jacket on and made for the door.
"I'm not leaving until I've had what I paid for!" he called after the bartender as the coward stepped out into the blizzard and slammed the door behind him. So he was left sitting not quite alone and drinkless. Pavel didn't care, he deserved it. He only wished the bartender could've left him a bottle. There was always stealing one at least, he was already trash; lowering himself a little more wouldn't make a damn difference. But there were the other men in the bar, maybe they wouldn't care. Pavel turned to look at them, and found himself staring into the bearded face of the most terrifying man he'd ever seen.
"Comrade, I am thinking that you should leave." the man growled. Under normal circumstances Pavel would've obeyed without question, but he was unbelievably drunk. He couldn't see the man's scarred face, the single pale blue eye, or even the furious stare he was being given.
Still it was a surprise when Pavel's unfocused eyes stared up at the man's wrathful looking face and said, "Fuck you." The man's good eye twitched, and his companions at the table broke out in whispers and cruel laughs. They glared at each other, unmoving, for a moment; then, the man broke out in a huge smile displaying yellowed teeth. He laughed deeply as he threw a massive arm around Pavel, sweeping him off the bar stool.
"I think we may get along my friend! Come, come, have a drink; sit with us!" Sighs of both relief and disappointment came from the other men at the table as the man pulled the not-entirely-unwilling Pavel over. Pavel could barely believe his change of luck. He went from almost having his face beaten into a bloody pulp to some guest of honor with this idiot and his thugs. If they wanted to waste good liquor on him he wasn't going to argue.
The big man stopped in front of the table, Pavel didn't and would've fallen if the man hadn't been supporting him. "Comrades, I think we have found our sixth man, unless anyone has a reason we should not take him?"
A wiry man in a stained undershirt butted in, "Look at him Anatoly, this idiot is a fucking drunk. We're supposed to be professionals, he swears at you and you let want to let him in?" His voice was nasally and obnoxious, as could be predicted by looking at him. "Toss him out into the street and let us get to business."
Furious, Pavel lunged at the man. Anatoly easily held him back, a huge hand clamped around the back of his collar was all it really took. Another, much more friendly looking man, came in trying to lighten the mood, "At least when this guy gets drunk he fights like an animal instead of pissing himself and going to sleep Vlad!" Anatoly and the other men roared with laughter, Vlad leaned back in his chair with an aggravated look on his face.
"If I wanted to hear shit like this I could-"
"Ahhhh shut up Vlad!" shouted Anatoly as he laughed. The larger man released Pavel as the mood lightened. "Take a seat a seat my friend, let me introduce you." Pavel collapsed into the chair and saw that there were already a few shots of vodka set before him. Almost as if someone were expected; Pavel didn't think too much on that, he just began downing them.
Anatoly started walking around the table, "This is Mikhael," he said as he passed the tall, nervous looking man on Pavel's left. Pavel raised a glass to him, and Mikhael gave a quick nod. He didn't look like the kind of man Pavel would ever trust. Beside Mikhael sat Vlad, Anatoly slapped him on his should and said, "You must already know Mudak's name." At this the men laughed heartily again, Pavel with them. Even Vlad's pale, haughty face had a slight smile cross it for a moment. Anatoly continued, "Boris." The fat man was drinking as well, his thin goatee soaked with alcohol. He gave Pavel an approving smile as they both downed their last shots. "And last," grunted Anatoly as he sat down beside Boris, "Yuri."
Yuri was the man who'd lessened the tensions earlier; he might've been considered handsome if he didn't look more like a psychopath. His blonde hair was shaved close down to his head in a military style. His face was peppered with pocket marks and small scars, he had dark rings under eyes that had that were the same cold blue as Anatoly's single one.
As Anatoly finished introductions the men turned to look at Pavel. He glanced down at his glass, and seeing it empty decided to talk. "My name is Pavel Stragovitch." He stated plainly.
"But what did you do?" asked Vlad as if Pavel should've already known. He was really starting to hate that weasely little man.
"What about what I've done? That's nothing you should've ever heard about." Pavel responded defensively. His drunken eyes darted around the table, expecting the men to accuse him, or attack him. Instead he got looks of understanding and sadness.
"He's our man." Whispered Yuri just loud enough so that they could all hear.
Anatoly nodded in agreement, then turned from Yuri to face Pavel from across the table. A slight shock ran through Pavel as he realized Anatoly was missing his left arm as well as his eye. "Pavel," he said, simply testing the name out, "You've done some terrible things haven't you Pavel?" He chuckled morbidly, and was the only one to do so. "We all have you know; Vlad, Vlad fucking killed his own family."
"They had it coming."" Vlad tried to say blankly; sadness could still be heard in his voice.
"Yuri blew up a school during the war." Pavel saw Yuri staring down at his hands on the table. Pavel had felt that guilt and shame before. Anatoly kept going, "Boris-"
"No, please," Boris interrupted in his deep, croaky voice, "I'd rather nobody else knew."
Anatoly respected his request and stopped there. Mikhael didn't seem to care that he didn't get a moment in the spotlight. "A man doesn't sit alone, drinking his life away for no reason. Does it gnaw away at your insides? Do you wish you were dead so that you don't have to live with the shame?" Pavel opened his mouth to speak, but Anatoly shook his head and continued. "Don't answer that, I know you do. We're all here because we want the same thing my friend, a chance at redemption."
Pavel thought to himself, these men weren't thugs; they were his saviors. If he could help people in any way he would absolve himself of some guilt at least. This was his chance. "What do I need to do?" He asked.
Anatoly smiled a predator's smile, "You're going to help us stop the greatest menace to this country and its people." He paused for dramatic effect, "We are going to kill Petrov."
Pavel was shocked, this man was mad. He'd been a fool to believe Anatoly's message of hope; all he wanted was someone else to help him commit a murder. Pavel wasn't a murderer, and he wasn't going to become one. "I'm not going to kill a man." He stated.
Anatoly laughed as only the insane could; his eye shined in the darkness, "Who said anything about killing a man?"

Boris hung over the edge of the ship vomiting into the water. He hated boats, and his hangover wasn't improving anything. Still, how else were they supposed to find Petrov without ship? He only wished Anatoly wasn't so desperate to find his old enemy, the ship was plowing through the dark sea at forty knots, about twenty faster than the old trawler should be going.
Another wave rushed from the others and caught Boris in the face. He stumbled backward gagging on saltwater and vomit.
"Careful!" called Yuri from the prow of the vessel, "If you die now I'd have to be the one to throw you overboard, and you know I couldn't fucking lift you!" Boris hacked up the rest of the water and growled under his breath. He was getting sick of Yuri trying to be funny. He imagined everyone else was too. That idiot poked fun at Vlad's temper, Pavel's depression, Mikhael's quietness, and his own obesity. The only person Yuri didn't bother was the captain, and for good reason.
Boris had known Anatoly for years, but still knew next to nothing about him. He could be happy one moment, and thrown into a murderous rage the next. Boris figured it was because of Petrov, as were his deformities. The fat man shuddered at the thought of Petrov, Anatoly had told him terrible stories about-
"Captain!" shouted Yuri as he pointed toward the distant horizon, "There's something out there! Is it him sir?"

"Anatoly, we have been friends for a long time, so when I ask you this I want a serious answer- why the hell did you bring these people along with us?" Vlad sneered and looked down from the helm of the ship. Yuri was stretching from the prow like an idiot trying to act out the Titanic. Starboard, Boris was expelling all the vodka he'd drunk the previous night; Vlad had told him he shouldn't drink before they set off. He continued, "Boris is a good man, but he wasn't made for the sea, and the others, they're just slowing us down."
"Vlad," cut in Anatoly, " Do not be a fool. You may not like it but we need those men, and they need me." Anatoly spoke deeply and slowly, as if contemplating something. "And each one is going to fight his hardest because he has nothing to lose, and everything to gain."
Another time Vlad would've thought Anatoly sounded wise, standing there stoically with one mighty hand holding the entire ship on course. But now, he just sounded too hopeful, too trusting.
"Why would they fight for you? You've told them what they're facing, but none of them will believe it until they see him. And when they do, they'll cower because this is your grudge, not theirs."
Anatoly was silent for a moment, then spoke, "It does not matter what is mine, or what is yours, or what is theirs. Petrov will die because he must." The captain finished, sounding satisfied with his answer. Vlad was tired of his dodging the point. He was about to reply when a call came up from Yuri.
"Captain! There's something out there! Is it him sir?"

Anatoly's eye widened and his muscles tensed; he jumped from the helm onto the deck. A startled Vlad was left trying the control the wheel in the choppy waters. Yuri pointed to the setting sun; a massive shadow could be seen. Anatoly snatched up one of the wicked looking harpoons from under the railing and stared out into the sun. This was it, he was finally going to kill that bastard who got his arm, Iron Petrov. Anatoly stared into the sun, looking for a sign that his quarry was nearing. His heartbeat slowed and his expression of mad joy turned to sour disappointment as he observed the beast.
"Yuri," he said, trying to sound as calm as he could, "tell me what that is."
Yuri squinted, a moment later he said "A whale, sir. I'm sorry, from here it looked like a shark."
"Stop calling me sir, this is not the military. And THAT is not Petrov." Anatoly began to stop back up the stairs to the helm, but paused. "Petrov is much bigger."

Three weeks into the voyage, and Pavel had seen nothing. Yuri had told him about the whales he'd seen, however, the only life for hundreds of miles seemed to be on this old fishing trawler. Pavel wondered why they had come this far North anyway. He doubted anything could survive up here, even the beast the captain had described. He didn't think something like that would be capable of existing. Again he regretted coming aboard with Anatoly and the rest. If he hadn't been drunk off his ass he'd be back in Murmansk, crying into his vodka. He'd prefer that, Pavel thought, as the ship sailed around a large chunk of ice jutting from the water.
He looked down at his watch, 4:00, time to be relieved by Mikhael. Pavel turned and looked over the deck leaning against the ship's rail. It didn't look like 4:00 to him, but then again, days always looked grey up here. While waiting for Mikhael he began counting items on the deck; a daily routine he'd fallen into , it wasn't like there was much else to do. One, two, three waterproofed barrels of high explosive he'd stopped worrying about long weeks ago. Eight spears stashed under the railings on each side. He counted the steps, eleven, he counted them again. Then again.
If he'd bothered to turn around, he would've seen the tip of a fin sliding under the ship.

The alarm clock began its shrill beeping; Mikhael opened his sleepy eyes and groaned. An arm went out and slapped the top of the clock halfheartedly. Surprisingly the alarm stopped, and the tired man threw off his thin blanket. He was already clothed, in fact, he hadn't changed in a few days. Nobody had. Yawning, Mikhael bent over to pull his boot on; it was the last thing he would ever do.

The back end of the vessel was shattered as a gargantuan snout smashed through the underside. Splinters rained down on the water and what remained of the rapidly-sinking ship. Everyone onboard had what seemed like an eternity to gaze at the monster. The thing's head alone must've been twenty feet long. Its jaws were wide open, and they could all see Mikhael disappear, screaming, behind rows of foot-long teeth. Scars covered its skin, testaments to a lifetime of killing. Worst of all were his eyes; they weren't the doll-eyes associated with sharks, they were a thousand times worse. The single one that glared down at the men was a black hole. Something that sucked in courage and strength, something that made men's blood run cold. Pits of nothingness where ambitions went to die. This was Iron Petrov.

Time seemed to seemed to flash forward to make up for the pause. The shark's maw closed and it sank under the churning ocean as fast as it had come. Pavel was left standing on the deck of the ship, screaming. "There's no fucking way this thing is real! There is no fucking way in hell this thing is real!" he shrieked in a high-pitched voice. There was the sound of glass shattering as the icy seawater rose to his knees.

"PETROV YOU SON OF A BITCH!" roared Anatoly as if he were fighting a man. He slung the black market AK-47 from his shoulder and loosed an iron rain on the beast as is sank. The windows shattered, Anatoly, Vlad, and a stunned Yuri were covered with tiny shards of flying glass. The captain was firing at nothing but water when the click signifying an empty magazine came. He wasted no time tossing the gun to Vlad; reaching into his coat he pulled out another magazine and shoved it into Vlad's full hands. "If I don't kill him, one of you will." he growled; it was an order.

Boris was sinking, he was going to die and he knew it. The shark had come from nowhere, no it had come from somewhere, it had come from hell itself. He could see the form of the creature circling around the ship through the murk, it could probably just eat the ship in one bite. Playing with them, Boris thought sadly, it's just playing with them. His lung were starting to burn, his vision was fading, the freezing waters had numbed his body. What alarmed him though, was the fact that he didn't really mind dying it wasn't as bad as he'd expected. Petrov suddenly broke away from the ship, as if sensing Boris was passing peacefully. He continued dreamily staring through the water as the shark opened its mouth. His only regret was that no one would avenge him. He knew there was no way any of the others could kill Iron Petrov.

Yuri came to and saw Vlad and Anatoly rush out onto the deck. He followed them, only find that there wasn't a deck anymore. The two men were standing up to their chests in water. A dazed looking Pavel was unmoving a few meters away. Yuri had believed the captain's tale about the shark, but he hadn't believed it was so big. He regretted ever accepting Anatoly's offer; he would rather fight a hundred more wars, kill a thousand more people than be where he was now. Petrov's fin began to rise up, circling the ship, and Yuri realized there was no way to quit.

Vlad fired as more of Petrov's huge flank rose above the water. The leviathan was peppered with bullets, but if it was injured it made not sign. This thing was fucking unstoppable, it would kill them all. Beside him, Anatoly waded through the water, harpoon in hand. He climbed up onto the railing and looked down at Vlad as he smiled sadly. Jamming the tip of the harpoon into the wood, he tossed Vlad another clip. "Good luck Mudak."
Vlad laughed halfheartedly as he reloaded the gun. "You're the one who's going to need it, not me."
Anatoly shrugged, "I know what's going to happen to me, I won't need luck for it." He turned to the still unmoving Pavel, the water was up to his neck. "Thank you for coming," he said genuinely, "no matter what happens, remember that you died a hero's death." He looked up to Yuri, who had climbed above the sinking wreckage. "Do svidanja Yuri." He said as he waved. The soldier waved back.
His goodbyes completed, Vlad watched as the captain hefted his spear, and jumped.

Captain Anatoly slammed into Iron Petrov's side, burying the spear at least a foot into him. Something the shark hadn't felt in a long time tore through it: pain. It thrashed a tail the size of a truck's trailer behind it. Vlad tried to unload as Iron Petrov's massive tailfin smashed into him. There was a disgusting wet crunch, Vlad was sent flying through the air and was dead before he smacked into the water. Petrov turned, and rammed straight into the ship. Anatoly slammed into the side of his ship and was knocked from Petrov.
Whatever was left of the ship was crushed under the organic engine of destruction. Yuri was thrown from the debris, landing painfully; Pavel was forced under. Yuri scrabbled for something to hold onto, only to find that he had landed on one of the H.E. barrels.
No better way to die, he figured as he pulled a pistol from his damp jacket. He set it against the barrel of explosives, and prayed it would work. It did.

Anatoly was sinking through the water, but he couldn't tell. Around him, everything was pitch black. There were only two things on Earth that were real, Petrov and himself. The shark swam through the darkness above him, hunting one of the others. Suddenly there was a flash, the darkness was lit by a blinding white light. He felt the shark's pain as it twisted and turned in the darkness. He could feel its blood warming the waters around him, its silent roars shaking the foundations of existence.
The creature, in fear and pain, turned to flee to the safety of the darkness below. Anatoly wasn't going to let that happen.
He reached out his single arm to grab the sinking spear before him. His hand wrapped around the heavy wooden shaft; he held it out, and Petrov was hooked.

Anatoly swung around on the harpoon; he was right between the shark's jaws. Deeper and deeper the beast swam, trying to escape the pain on the surface. The captain was pulled backwards by the force of the water, his hand slid down the spear despite his iron grip. His head throbbed; he was going too far down, the pressure was going to kill him
So close; he was so close to defeating the beast. This couldn't be how it ended. Eaten by Iron Petrov, the shark he'd sworn to kill. He was fading fast, there wasn't much time left. A familiar weight whacked at his leg, his knife. Anatoly took a moment to pray. This would be for his crew, this would be for Vlad, this would be for all the people this bastard was going eat if he didn't kill him, this would be his redemption.
Captain Anatoly Koslov let go of the harpoon. His arm whipped around to the knife at his belt, he tore it from the sheath, and was swept down the beast's gullet.

Outside, there was no more hate, no more malice in Iron Petrov's voidlike eyes; only terror.



The Night it Ate my Baby

2010-06-07 06:48:24 by Frakenbourrough

This is a story I wrote awhile ago, and I've finally had a free day to just sit around and type it up. Coincidentaly I played Frankenstein's Monster in a play right after this was finished. Enjoy, but if you steal this masterpiece I will gouge out your eyes and suck the brainpaste from your skulls.

The Night It Ate My Baby, Part 1: Creation

The lightning crashed as the rain poured down; the cobblestone streets were silent and absent of life. Most houses were dark, what few lamps the townsfolk had were extinguished for the night. All but the looming house on the hill. Its lights shone defiantly bright against the night, and for hours the sounds flowing from it had rivaled the thunder. Now, all was quiet once more. Something big was about to happen...

"Hammer!" ordered the scientist. A small, portly man in a tweed suit handed him a wrench. The scientist raised it to the metallic box on top of the larger creation he was working on and paused, "I said hammer you nitwit!" He threw the wrench over his shoulder and held his hand out once again without looking up. The portly man sheepishly dug around the toolbox before finally digging out a hammer. "took you long enough," grumbled the scientist, "honestly Wadsworth, a brain-dead ape would make a better assistant than you."
"Sorry sir," apologized Wadsworth as the scientist went back to work. He hefted a metal sheet up onto the top of his subject and pulled a few nails out of his lab coat. With a few quick taps from the hammer the top was on the box.
The scientist hopped off of his stepladder and surveyed his creation. "Finally!" he shouted to nobody in particular, "It is COMPLETE!" Lightning flashed, and the thunder gave an ominous boom outside. "Think of it Wadsworth," he continued, grabbing his assistant around the shoulder with one arm and using the other to proudly display his masterpiece, "A mechanical creature that turns fruit into liquids! No one will ever catch scurvy or go without a refreshing drink again!" He beamed at the inactive robot standing before him.
"That's all well and good sir," said Wadsworth, "but should it really have been this....elaborate? IT does seem quite dangerous..." The thing they had built was massive. at least twelve feet of inches-thick steel plating. It had taken weeks to find and build such advanced machinery to put in it as well. But what scared Wadsworth the most were its claws. Attached to the ends of its dangling arms were vicious steel clamps; gentle enough to place even the most delicate fruits into its mouth-slot, but Wadsworth just didn't trust them.
"Nonsense Wadsworth," said the slightly hurt voice of the scientist, "it's just a machine, therefore, perfectly harmless." The scientist turned for a moment, and there was a snap as he put on his goggles. He turned and handed Wadsworth another pair. "Now I shall breathe life into my creation!" He pointed to Wadsworth, who was now on the other side of the room. Wadsworth pulled the lever set into the wall just as the scientist flicked the switch on the robot.
Everything went silent for a moment. Then the thunder smashed through the air with a terrific BOOM! and bolt of lightning struck the house. Electricity crackled through the wires on the floor and shot into the metal goliath. The robot's light bulb eyes dimmed and brightened, fizzed and sparked. It began to spew thick, black smoke through every opening of its body, turning the room darker than the night outside. Wadsworth coughed into his handkerchief loudly; the scientist cackled like a madman.
"It's working! IT'S ALIVE!" the scientist roared over the sound of the contraption's gears and the thunder outside. There was the sound of squealing metal, the robot banged and popped as it began to overheat.
"Sir! We have to shut-" Wadsworth broke out in a coughing fit but recomposed himself, "We've got to turn this thing off!"
"NO!" shouted the scientist. He'd worked for too long to have Wadsworth's 'caution' ruin it in the end.
"I'm sorry sir, but if we don't, this smoke is going to kill us!" He erupted into a might coughing fit once more. The scientist didn't answer this time, he knew if Wadsworth got to the ON/OFF switch on the robot's back his dream would be ruined. He ran off into the smog, trying to find Wadsworth. He smacked right into a pudgy form, and fell to the ground coughing with it. From behind them came a thump.
"You won't stop me from making the world a better place!" he shouted fanatically. Another thump shook the room.
"S-sir..." said Wadsworth.
The scientist held him by his suit's collar and paid no attention to the look of fear on his face. Wadsworth raised a thick finger and pointed up to the shadow that now loomed over them. The scientist slowly turned around as he saw the large, boxy shadow over them. Two red bulbs stared down through the thinning smoke at him. The robot extended an arm and clamped a terrifyingly large claw around the scientist's throat. The scientist was about to pee his pants in a mixture of fear and sick delight as he was raised, sputtering, to face his creation. It gave a screeching metal roar as he stared into its blade-filled 'mouth'. Now the scientist did piss his pants, but only in fear.
Wadsworth screamed and fainted onto the floor as the robot roared. The sounds of tearing metal and grinding gears emulated from the robot. Nothing moved.
All was silent and still except for the occasional electrical discharge from the robot. As the smoke dissipated the scientist felt himself lowering to the floor. As his feet hit the ground the claw opened, releasing him. The scientist gasped and rubbed his throat; above him, his creation was unmoving.
The scientist carefully reached over to a nearby table without taking his eyes off the robot. He groped around for a moment, and then found what he needed. The scientist slowly brought his arm back around; he held out the orange he had taken from the table. The robot looked down as best it could and plucked the fruit from the scientist's palm with mechanical ease.
It inserted the orange into its razor-filled mouth. There was a hellish grinding noise, but the scientist paid that no mind. He scrabbled for a glass, and then turned back frantically; hands shaking with anticipation he held it out under the robot's chest-nozzle.
There was a gentle hiss as a golden orange liquid flowed from the nozzle and into the glass. The scientist lifted it to his mouth and sipped. He swished the liquid around for a moment before swallowing. His face lit up, and he quickly gulped down the rest.
"Delicious!" he shouted with mirth. He laughed and began dancing around the lab, giving Wadsworth a swift kick in the ribs as he passed.

"Charles! Charles honey, are you there? Are you alright?!" The scientist's wife came dashing down the stairs into the laboratory. She had a small bundle held to her breast.
The scientist turned to see his wife rush into the room, their small baby boy in her arms. Then, he saw as she tripped on the discarded wrench, and he saw as their screaming baby flew out of her outstretched arms, and into the robot's. Once again the robot looked down as best it could. It metallic joints creaked softly.
"No..." whispered the scientist in horror. His wife looked up and screamed.
The contraption's arms shot upward carrying the howling baby to its mouth. Its unchanging red bulbs stared right at the scientist for a split second. The scientist lunged at his monster as it shoved the baby into its mouth.
The screaming of the couple could almost be heard over the roaring of the machine's inner workings. In his grief and desperation the scientist pounded on the steel chest of the machine. "No, NO, NO! Give him back you BASTAR-" The scientist was cut off by a hiss, and the spray of his child's blood. The scientist was frozen as his creature turned and ran.
It smashed through the lab's window; cold air and stinging rain filled the room. The scientist could hear the thud as it landed in the muddy garden. The robot ran across the hills through the storm. As it reached the edge of the distant forest it turned to look back once; then it disappeared into the shadows.

The scientist saw the fiery orbs vanish into the woods. Behind him, his wife cried. He reached up and touched his face; his hand came away bloody. "Why...?" he whispered as he sank to his knees. "WHY DID I CREATE THIS SCIENCE!?!" He slumped to the ground, sobbing.

Across the room Wadsworth sat up. He looked around, absorbing the destruction. A puzzled look came to his face as he asked, "What'd I miss?"

End of Part 1

For like the two people stalking me somewhere on the interwebs, you know I've been promising exciting new stories forever. Being the filthy liar I am, here are some poems.


Across the graying plain
The couple torn asunder,
No chance for love again
The ground is ripped apart
Like the poor man's heart
The Deathworm takes the wife,
And swiftly ends her life
He stares into the sunset
As the Worm does disappear
It's taken all their happiness
And left a single tear


Body in the bathtub
The man is smiling
In the darkness,
In the silence
His bonesaw, without grace
A body in pieces
A mind in fragments
The acid destroys the body,
The acid erases your past

Going Home

One-Eyed Willie
He's been on that corner
His whole life
Through all kinds of pain,
And too much strife
Never cared what he was missin'
Just let the world pass him by
But then one night, in the streets
An old man did die
And a certain old corner
Was much lonelier next day

Friendship Befouled

While young they were friends
Pals forever more
Until the Eve of Intergalactic War
Torn from each other, and taught to fight
They forgot the meaning of what was right
So the ALIEN
Fought across the stars
Each held their own
And earned their scars
Years later they met, in foreign lands
But ALIEN hissed
And PREDATOR roared
It the ashes, a childhood
When they were safe, and all was good


2009-12-19 20:17:11 by Frakenbourrough

Best movie ever, it can be summed up in four easy words.....GIANT ROBOT KNIFE FIGHT!



2009-10-20 22:30:56 by Frakenbourrough

So Newgroundlings, I've got several ideas for stories but currently have time for one. Which should I invest my time in?

-Dinosaur Ally Force! (Dinosaurs in WW2)
-Magic Donkey
-The World's fastest Kenyan


Ok then, dinosaurs it is!


The Pantheon.

2009-10-07 21:26:24 by Frakenbourrough

A few drawings I did of some "Elder Gods" I thought up. The Prophet and Lunar Worm can both be found in my story Lunar Apocalypse. I'm trying to think of a fifth if anyone has ideas....

The Pantheon.