Murphy's Law

Saga of the Demonic Creature continues

[Last week, Sean's friend, Bill called up Sean to report that a Demonic Spare-Change-Eating Creature had invaded his room. Sean reluctantly agreed to come over and help Bill hunt down this Demonic Creature. So, armed with a Demonic Creature Net (fish net with a wooden dowel tied to it) and a Demonic Creature Harpoon (the bottom half of a fishing pole with a sharpened piece of metal taped to the end), Sean bravely enters the room …]

I slowly opened up the door to Bill's room and a dank, musty smell wafted 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 swung the beam about the room. Bill's room was a mess. Books everywhere. Clothes ripped, shredded, and generally in a condition that you find vegatables in after a trip through a food processor. This was a mean Demonic Creature.

Scratch that. This DC was meaner than two year old on a sugar rush. It had left its calling card all over Bill's room. Small, smelly calling cards all over the place. I would have to be careful where I stepped.

“Come out, come out, where ever you are!” I shouted. Nothing stirred. Everything was quiet. Too quiet. So quiet, I could here the blood rushing in my feet.

“Bill.” Nothing. “Bill? Bill?” I quickly turned, and slammed into the closed door. “Bill, open this door at once!” That's when I knew I made my fatal mistake. DC's can always tell when you're upset. They wait for moments like these, when you're at their mercy. I could just hear a faint rustling noise from the other side of the room. “Bill! Open this door at once!”

“Is it gone yet?” said Bill's muffled voice.

Then I had the feeling that the DC was headed strait for my throat at warp nine, and that at any second, I would meet with a fate worse than death: being covered up to my arm pits in DC calling cards was one that came to mind. “No, the DC isn't gone, but if you don't open this door right now, I might be!” I shouted through the closed door. The DC was getting closer by each passing microsecond. The door quickly opened, I slipped out and we both slammed the door close. A split moment later, something large and heavy slammed against the door on the other side, the we heard a wailing (screeching?) that was horrible. Even worse than fingernails across the blackboard.

“Bill, get Lucky,” I said.

Lucky is Bill's dog. And as a dog, it was his responsibility to pretect his owner, namely, Bill. And even if Lucky didn't lash out at the DC with death-like accuracy and chomp it with his fangs, it would at least bark it to death.

“Here he is,” said Bill, leading a groggy looking mut to the door. I felt that when Lucky got a whiff of the DC, he would spring into action.

“Okay, here I go.” I opened the door, and lead Lucky into the room. “Sic it, Lucky!”

Nothing.

“Kill!

“Maim! Torture! Bark! Speak! Stand up! Wake up!

Nothing. I left Lucky in the room, and walked back outside to the hall.

“Stupid dog there, Bill,” I said.

“Gee, I thought you were going to use him as bait,” replied Bill. “Lucky's so dumb, he's afraid of his own dog dish.” Great! A dog to stupid to be ferocious, much less afraid. I went back inside.

“Come out, come out, where ever you are! Fresh meat here!” I said, pointing to Lucky, who was currently sniffing a DC calling card. Nothing. “Bill, come in here and help me.”

“Do I have to?” he replied through the door.

“Do you want to sleep in the living room for the rest of your life?”

“I could get used to it.”

“Loose your entire wardrobe?”

“I could use new clothes anyway.”

“Have your only dog eaten up by a Demonic Creature bent on death and destruction?”

“Lucky's too stupid to be called a dog.”

“Loose your computer forever?”

“Where do you want me to stand?” You have to know what motivates people.

“First, do you still have that hocky stick?” I asked.

Part III of “The Demonic Creature that Invaded Bill's Room” next week.

About

Bill humored me about this—after all, this incident was immortalized in the Atlantic Sun Newspaper at FAU for all to read. Now, fourteen years later, I don't think you can even find a copy this issue of the newspaper, but still, Bill had a sense of humor about the whole thing.

Bill's dog Lucky, was, I'm afraid, afraid of his own dog dish. He was also afraid of Bill's kitchen for some reason. Dumb dog. Lovable, but dumb. That part was entirely true.