Choose Your Own Nuthouse

Section 48

(Paul)

“How you doin’?” You ask, turning on your patented charm. The young, beautiful ladies- and they are scorching- smile and approach the car.

“Hi! Our car broke down suddenly, and we’re stranded. We were trying to get to Lake Doomhole to party irresponsibly and nakedly!”

“Hey, what a coincidence! I was headed there myself. Would you like a lift?”

The girls giggle happily and bounce, moving in all the right places in all the right ways. You, sir, are in the money. With a bit of luck, you’ll also soon be in something else. “Hop in, girls. We can put your stuff in the trunk.”

You and the girls go about loading the car. One of them sees something on the front of your car. “Awww, did you hit some poor animal?” she asks.

“Yes. I did. An animal. It was…unavoidable,” you lie smoothly.

You are soon on your way. Your car is filled with intoxicating girl-scents. You accelerate, hoping to arrive at Lake Doomhole sooner so you can get your groove on. When you arrive at the cabins near the lake, you can hear voices down the path. Your friends have evidently begun partying already. After getting vital equipment such as beer and contraband out of the car, you and the girls head down to the water. It is a short walk.

“Hey! Is everyone ready for some irresponsible behavior?” You call to your friends. “I brought some company!” Soon there is much semi-clothed, mind-altered irresponsible frolicking going on. It is well past midnight when, as you sit by the fire you’ve built with your friends (it is taller than you are, and barely contained), a man walks out of the woods. Everyone is startled, especially you. This is due to the fact that the man is none other than the hitchhiker you deliberately killed with your car. You curse under your breath.

The man is surrounded by a thick, roiling fog that hugs the ground and is apparently appearing out of nowhere. This is hardly ever a good thing, you reflect as you begin to inch away from the fire and prepare to flee. As plans go, it is a relatively simple one. That is good. Simple plans have much less chance of going awry. Normally.

You bolt, leaving your friends to deal with this obviously irritated man. Unfortunately, you do not make it very far. You’re not the most sober person in the world at the moment, and you manage to trip over your own feet. The ground rushes up to say hi to your face. As you pick yourself up, the light changes, and you look up. The moon has gone out. Again, not good. Also, the lake has become as blood, the fire has turned black, and the earth is trembling. Not good. Not good at all. Now the lake of blood begins to boil violently. You desperately wish you were somewhere else as it begins to rain toads. Your friends try to run for cover, but are stopped in their tracks as an army of what appear to be sinister (but kinda cute) monkeys rise from the ground and swarm them. The monkeys hold your friends down. The man approaches you. His eyes glow red, the fog follows him, and the air gets colder as he draws nearer. The toads are now thick on the ground, but clear a path for this obviously very evil man. The monkeys restraining your friends seem to be cheering.

You’re pretty sure you’re fucked.

The man stops just inches from your face, and a circle of black flames leaps from the ground, surrounding you. The man’s horrible eyes bore into yours. You are way too scared to look away or run, or scream, or do anything else, really, except wet yourself. You do this immediately, since it appears to be the only option you have left. It is no help whatsoever, though. Now you’re just that much more uncomfortable.

The man, whom you’re really wishing had actually been dead (though, on second thought, he might be), leans closer still, so that your noses are almost touching. He holds your gaze for several very long, very unpleasant seconds. Then he speaks. His voice is like a thousand knives ripping through your soul. It is cold and scary. You can feel it in every cell of your body.

“Why did you hit me with your car, boy?”

You cannot answer. You’re pretty damn scared right now. Your jaw opens and closes stupidly. The man continues to stare, waiting for your answer.

“Well. Um. Er. Uh. Look, you were kinda freaking me out.”

“Are you sorry?”

“Yes.”

“Really? Or are you just saying that?”

“Really. Swear.”

“Well, okay then. Let’s party.

All the not good stuff goes away, except for the monkeys. The man turns and sits down near the fire, takes a hit off an obscenely large bong, and pops a beer. The monkeys gather ‘round and light smokes, drink booze, and cavort gleefully, as monkeys do. After a few minutes, the man turns.

“Jeez, you guys gonna loosen up? C’mon, get the stick out and party.”

<> Not knowing what else to do, you and your friends begin to party. It turns out to be a pretty great weekend. You get laid, act irresponsibly, and generally have a lot of fun. And the old man knows some really cool party tricks.

Oddly enough, you’re not dead at all. Still, this isn’t the end; there’s other paths to take, so go back and try again. And no fair trying this one again, y’hear?