The Wicker Basket

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

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Seizure and screams, unending fear and'll see....

The Wicker Basket

Jimmamy Jennscot pranced around the Wicker Basket, spiffy and joyous, for today was The Day. The Day of the day which was on the day meant for the day and had always been known as The Day. The people of the Wicker Basket arose from their cots, all shaggy and most of them dismembered, for Last Night was a hoot. A true hoot. Last Night and The Day were both highly sacred ritualistic events, in which things, almost too keenly insane for the human mind, went on.

Jimmamy picked up a frog, eyed it with ferocity, and crushed it in her hand. After this, she started to twitch; eyes began to seizure, eyebrows cocked crazily, like something out of a horror movie. Jimmamy then headed back to the Wicker Basket, still under seizure influence, and slipped the remnants of the frog into her pocket. As Jimmamy entered the Wicker Basket, she noticed an axeman's ax, lying lodged into a tree stump. She cackled wildly and picked the ax up, swinging it vibrantly, without care as to who it hit.

Off went Sally Sutchmeyer's head, down came her arm, next Bobby Right came along to see what the hell just happened. His ear was then lopped off, and he soon became like those busts of the great great leaders of the Wicker Basket. To join in on the fun, several guardsmen charged at Jimmamy with their spears; no use. Jimmamy caught the tip of the first spear with her index finger and thumb, and literally stared the guardsman to death. She then proceeded to neatly dismember him, and throw his body parts at the by-standing guardsmen, now freaked out of their mind, “Oh shit! Sweet mother of--” A loud clang of metal brought another guard down: he was sliced, in half, vertically and cleanly. Too cleanly.

Just a moment later, the large bell in the center of the Wicker Basket, sounded the alarm for help. Within minutes, the entire community, big and small, strong and weak, similar and different, all came together, and charged at Jimmamy. Directly at her. Weapons pointed straight for her thoracic cavity. One of the men charging remarked, “I'm gonna wring up that goddamn son of a bitch! I'm gonna kill 'em, ya hear me, kill 'em!” Jimmamy's sense of hearing was incredible: she had picked up what had just been said, and snapped her head in the direction of the man. He was a mere five yards away, yet she eyed him and pulled him into her gaze, as she hissed violently at him, and threw the eye of the guardsman's corpse in the direction of the man. It flung forward so swiftly, so quickly, and with such velocity, that it went right through the man's throat, and out the other side. He buckled to his knees, and slowly slowly died.

Furthermore, Jimmamy continued to hurl rocks, almost boulders, at the crowd of on-comers. Her eyes twitched eerily in different directions as she crushed the multitudes of inhabitants of the Wicker Basket. They went down, some with no cry at all, yet others with the sorrowful scream of agonizing demise. Jimmamy picked up the dead guardsman's spear, stood in defensive stance, and awaited to deliver to those who challenged her power. Several more guardsmen broke a sprint towards the possessed Jimmamy, shields and spears readied, and their prayers said. “Hell's goin' down, men,” said the Captain, “Let's wring this demon, no mercy.” His men replied with a hearty battle cry. The band of guardsmen equipped their weaponry, and sped up their charge, aiming directly at Jimmamy's head.

Meanwhile, Jimmamy was busy shish-kebab-ing the crowd on her right. They were the more brutish of the population, and were hurling trees, tree stumps, large branches, livestock; you name it, they threw it, even some of their own children. That didn't work out too well. But it distracted Jimmamy long enough so that the band of guardsmen could carry out their plan for her end. The culmination of this hell. Her termination.

The guardsmen kept up their charge with highest anticipation, and reached the point of their leap. They all took a giant leap, somewhere around seven feet, and lunged their spears into the trapezii and deltoids of the possessed Jimmamy. Just as the man buckled to his knees, so did Jimmamy, and she let out a loud hissing cry which rang through all their ears in whispers. Violent and creepy whispers. “Hell yeah!” one of the guardsmen exclaimed, “Blind the demon! Blind 'em!” Jimmamy's head spun round and round, and stopped. It looked straight in the direction of the guardsman who had just spoken. Her gaze at him increased in intensity tenfold, bringing him to his knees, and paralyzing him. “Oh. Shit.” And the guardsman bled from every vulnerable point in his body, internal and external. His lungs filled quickly with the sticky red liquid, his eyes changed from one color to another, and his ears bore the attributes of a vibrantly-red apple. Obviously he was dead. You'd have to be completely stupid to not make that observation.

Jimmamy stood up, tore the spears from her very flesh with such ease, it looked almost inhuman. Ignoring the fact that currently, she was inhuman. She looked around, fist curled, wounds everywhere, eyebrows cocked, eyes twitching, mouth foaming: it's over. Her pupils enlarged to cover her whole eye, leaving it pitch-black. She wiped the foam from the corner of her mouth, and picked up a sword that had once been owned by a now-dead guardsman. She twirled it crazily in her hand, and spun completely around, with the sword facing out. This erupted a violent sandstorm, which then seemed to lure the others of the Wicker Basket with weapons, to fight. From simple farmers to complex royal warriors, the little demon seemed to abolish them all. All of them. Every single one. There was about two-hundred. At least. And only ten minutes seemed to roughly go by. Damn.

As usual, when all hope seems lost, the little band of amazing warriors comes to save the day. Well, they came, and well, they pretty much stayed there. In several pieces. The women of the Wicker Basket, as well as their children, and the remnants of the men who were alive and well, remained in the Wicker Basket, hiding.

Jimmamy walked nonchalantly around the corpses and the other various body parts and weapons that lied on the ground below. She smiled; that crooked face made perfect for such an evil and crooked smile. Her hair, now completely disheveled and most of it gone, was all frizzy and made her look somewhat bald. She looked up at the Wicker Basket, and in her eyes, she saw the beauty of fire: flames ablaze and the terror; the terror it would cause. She would once again hear the screams of agonizing demise. Scrumptious.

Submitted: June 23, 2010

© Copyright 2022 ZJBarden. All rights reserved.

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