OK. so it's been a long time. I've only just thought up the plot. Deal with it.


Chapter 3 – "WHAT IF HE WANTS TO BATTER US TO DEATH WITH THE FURNITIRE?"

The rest of the loons glared at Bootans.

"Bootans?" asked Scat in a very sweet, innocent, out-of-character voice.

"Yes?"

"Shut up"

A few seconds of silence followed. Then the panic began.

"What are we going to do?"

"Do you think he's serious? Y'know, about the whole massacre thing?"

"What are we going to do, though?"

"Why now?"

"Why not now?"

"WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?" screamed Lem, annoyed that the loons were ignoring her.

The others looked around nervously.

"You said they were shot last time, yes?" asked Pixie, deep in thought.

A nod of confirmation from Bog.

"So, we get rid of all of the guns. Problem solved"

"What if he likes variety? What if he stabs us this time?" pointed out Downy

Pixie thought for a moment. "We'll take all of the cutlery, knives, glass and other stabby things away too, so he can't stab us or shoot us."

Bog remained unconvinced. "What if he brings his own weapons? What if he hires assassins? What if he decides it would be better to have an earthquake kill us? Or a tornado? What if he recons it would be funny if the house collapses in on us? WHAT IF HE, BEING THE SICK MINDED PERSON HE PROBABLY IS DECIDES IT WOULD BE FUNNY TO BRAIN-WASH US ALL INTO JUMPING OFF THE ROOF? OR WHAT IF HE DECIDES TO BRING THE CEILING DOWN ON US? WHAT IF HE WANTS TO BATTER US TO DEATH WITH THE FURNITIRE? WHAT THEN?"

Bog was positively pissed off by this point. Marz tried to put a comforting arm on her shoulder. Bog bit it and hissed. Marz withdrew her arm (from Bog's shoulders. She didn't completely withdraw her arm into her body. But that would be cool).

"It's all going to be OK, boggle. It's all going to be OK."

Bog glanced incredulously at her.

"OK? OK! IT IS GOING TO BE EVERYTHING BUT OK! WE'RE GOING TO BE MURDERED GRUSOMLY BY THE DUCKING FURNITURE! IT IS NOT OK, MARZ. IT IS EVERYTHING BUT OK!"

Furious, Bog strode angrily towards the door, shouting randomly about painful death. Unfortunately, she didn't notice that the door to the hall was still firmly closed, and walked straight into it. There was a loud thud, and Bog fell to the floor unconscious, with a large bruise already forming on her forehead.

The others looked at her.

"We should put her feet on a chair" remarked Mim casually. They did, and then went back to worrying about what to do.

An hour later, they were finished making the room safe. Gone were the knives, the guns, the furniture, the lights, the radiators, the windows, the carpet, the nails that held the floorboards in place, and the wallpaper.

"The Owl is going to kill us is Valentine doesn't" remarked Lem as she looked around the room.

"Why do you think Valentine has chosen now to strike again?" puzzled Scat. "I just don't get it. What's so special about the number eighty one?"

"Maybe it's his favourite number."

"Or his lucky number"

"It's one more than eighty"

"It's nine less than ninety"

"It's nine times nine"

"It's nine squared"

Exhausted from theorising, throwing cold water at Bog to wake her (it didn't work) and stripping out the room of anything deadly-ish. They awoke just as the sun was rising the next morning.

Something clicked in Bootans' brain.

"Nine squared. As in nine to the power two"

The others nodded along, wondering what she was getting at.

"How many letters are there in 'saint'?"

Mim frowned. "Five. Or, two if you use the abbreviation"

"Why is 'abbreviation' such a long word?" puzzled Downy. The others looked briefly at her, then back at Bootans.

"How many letters are there in Valentine?"

"Nine…" said Lem slowly. Then her face lit up. Two and nine! Nine to the power two!"

Pixie frowned. "Then why not eighteen? Or eleven? Or five hundred and twelve?"

"I know what you mean, Pixie. St. comes before Valentine. Why not two to the power nine?" It would make more sense"

"You might like to know, that there is a rather more pressing matter that you ought to be concentrating on, Van Helsing Coat-girl."

The loons whirled around.

Jub was floating in the air by the broken window, his suit immaculate once again.

"What are you doing here?" snapped Marz. She was feeling particularly grouchy that morning.

"I came to have a decent and civilised conversation with Val once he had slaughtered you all."

He then walked over to Bog and slapped her several times around the face.

"Wake up, Trill-girl."

Bog opened one eye. She saw the miniature anti-deity thing.

"Sod off Jubble"

He moved away from the angry Qwerty.

"In answer to your earlier question, Van Helsing Coat-girl, I do not know why, but you may be able to ask him why when he arrives."

A loud bang came from outside the house.

Jub sighed. "Speak of the devil"

Mim frowned. "Do you realise how ironic that was?"

Jub merely scowled.

A few seconds later, there was a massive explosion, and half of the wall blew up. A sigh came from the other side.

"You were only supposed to blow the bloody doors off!" exclaimed a voice.

Jub turned around to face away from the… from where the door used to be. "He always has to make an entrance…"


Can you feel the innuendo and euphemism dripping off the last line? Can you? CAN YOU? No. Ah, well... It's supposed to be there.