The Demonic Creature that Invaded Bill's Room
It was two in the morning when my alarm clock rang. I stumbled out of bed, grabbed the offending clock, and flushed it down the toilet, which proceeded to overflow. That problem could be handled in the morning, when I was somewhat incoherent at the moment.
But then it rang again. And again. By this time, my mind had worked out that it might possible be the phone ringing. I again stumbled out of bed, grabbed the phone, but the cord prevented me from reaching the toilet. I then decided to answer the ofending machine.
“Uhhhggsjdfaklica,” I said, in my usual “just-woke-up-and-don't-want-to-talk” tone of voice.
“Sean, get over here, quick! There's something in my room!” It was my friend, Bill. Some friend, calling me in the middle of the night.
“Uhhhdoyouknowitstwointhemorning?” I replied, still half asleep.
“Sean, just get over here! Some demonic creature has invaded my room, and is right now, eating my spare change!” He sounded like he was indeed, in real trouble. Besides, I had nothing better to do that night besides getting a full night's sleep before a major test the next morning, so why not?
“Okay, I'll be over in a few minutes,” I said, and hung up.
I pulled up to Bill's house, fully prepared. I was wearing my Official Sherlock Holme's Deerstalker Hat, had my Official Sherlock Holme's 5x-Magnifing Glass, as well as some improvised “Demonic Creature” traps. One trap was a fishing net with a wooden dowel tied to it as a handle, and the other was the bottom half of a fishing pole (minus the reel) with a sharpened piece of metal taped to the end and some rope tied to one of the fishing wire guides (my “Demonic Creature Harpoon” ala MacGyver). I felt as ready as I ever did.
There was Bill, waiting for me outside in his boxer shorts and clutching a Crucifix tightly. I walked up to him.
“Okay, Bill,” I said, and gave him one of my “You're Crazy” looks. “What's all this about a Demonic Spare-change-eating Creature?”
“Well, I usually sleep with my sliding glass door slightly open to get fresh air. Then, around 1:30, I heard something in my spare change dish. When I turned on the lights, this huge hair laden creature with the reddest eyes you can imagine leaped from the dish and made off into the closet. I grabbed my Swiss Army knife, made for the door, and got the heck out of there,” said Bill, obviously exagerating. Everyone knows that fresh air just does not exist down here in South Florida. He probably just doesn't want to admit to being stupid enough to leave his door open.
“How big was it?” I asked.
“As big as a greyhound.”
“Hmmm, dog sized …” I said, looking at my fishing net and harpoon.
“No,” said Bill, “bus sized.”
Suddenly, I wished I was somewhere else, anywhere else. Even a Barry Manilow concert. But Bill was just shaking terribly now, and besides, he looked stupid standing outside in boxers. What would his neighbors think? This was, after all, Coral Springs, where fun is illegal. So, I decided to go on anyway.
“Okay, let's do it.”
I slowly opened the door to Bill's room and a dank, musty smell waifted out. “Must be the Demonic Creature,” I muttered to myself. It was dark inside. Obviously, the DC (Demonic Creature) had enough intelligence to turn out the light. This was a bad sign.
“Flashlight,” I said, and turned back to face Bill. He handed me one. I turned it on, and a feeble beam of light came on. “Is this the best you have?” I asked.
“It's the only one I have,” replied Bill. Oh well, a little light is better than no light. I cautiously move in, ever on the lookout for the DC …
I'll stop there, and leave the exciting climax to the Halloween Issue of the Atlantic Sun. Please be sure to read Part II of “The Demonic Crearure that Invades Bill's Room” next week. Until then, sweet dreams.