The Terrifying Castle of Terror: An Original Generic Fantasy
The castle rose before them, dark and foreboding. Lightning thundered. Thunder lightninged. Tall gothic towers towered over the heroes, burying them in silky, scintillating shadows of darkness and despair.
Joko looked up from his handy pocket map. “According to this, we should be arriving at the Terrifying Castle of Terror any minute. Our search for the golden armor will finally end.”
Priscilla gave him an incredulous look, and then returned to buffing her nails. Their rosy polish matched the rest of her perfectly-coordinated outfit, down to the fushia bow on her quarterstaff.
Lance knocked on the tower door. Priscilla winced as the gleam of his armor blinded her in the setting sunlight. It was not quite as bright as his dazzling grin. “Will the master of this castle grant us shelter for the night? My companions are footsore and weary from our long journey.”
“And suede just cannot get wet,” Priscilla added.
Crumb the Barbarian, as always the last member of their party, thumped his six foot club on the ground to show his agreement. His suede loincloth tended to shrink when rained on.
“None may enter.” The voice echoed through the valley like a rushing torrent, a crashing wave, a voluminous echo from the dawn of time. Priscilla felt her chest heaving with the pressure, and felt a sudden longing to be wearing a loose, white nightgown with frilly sleeves.
“But we’ve been sent here on a quest,” Lance said, brain stuck in a world where things had to work a certain way. “We have traveled long and far, seeking a suit of armor of solid gold. Therefore, you cannot forbid us entrance.”
“Yes I can.”
Lance looked as if he would have a seizure.
“If you let us in, I’ll play for our suppers,” Joko offered, brandishing his lute like a grenade with the pin missing.
Priscilla closed her eyes. “The last time you did that, we got covered in vomit. And they made us pay for their ear surgery.”
Footfalls echoed across the moor. A young woman raced up to the castle as if demons perused her. With her last gasp, she hurried up to the adventurers. Her impractical black silk gown hung off one shoulder, revealing the pale, trembling, heaving skin beneath. “Please, good sirs and madam, help me! I have traveled a long and weary journey across the country to be the governess to two sweet and talented children whom I have never met. The mysterious gentleman who hired me in London refused to give his name, or any details about my employment, yet for the love of my ailing mother, who could no longer afford to have me in the house, with all my boyfriends tracking mud on the floor and drinking all of her liquor, I accepted the job. I know nothing of my employer, not even his name, only that he simultaneously attracts me and repels me, making my heart beat faster, as my breath heaves in my bosom. Tell me, travelers, is this the Terrifying Castle of Terror?”
“So you have come.” The voice echoed from the very depths of the ground in front of them, like a voice from beyond the grave. In fact, it was. “You shall be my bride throughout eternity, sharing my deathless existence and warming it with the fire of true love.”
Joko nudged Crumb. “Got any popcorn?”
The vampire rose from the earth in a fast gush, like a Texas oil well. He was dark and nearly as greasy. His hair gleamed, slick and crusty. A long cape swirled around his short, pimply body. (Well, all that grease overwhelms the skin).
The governess clasped her hands over her heart. “I am innocent and good. Your evil cannot touch me. You shall never have my blood, wellspring of my heart, life that beats through my veins.”
The vampire licked his blood-red lips slowly, as he watched her. “Did you at least bring the ketchup? I have burgers on the barbecue.”
“Oh, here.” As if offering her greatest treasure, the governess reached into her tightly-laced blouse and produced the bottle. “You’ll have to shake it hard; most is stuck at the bottom,” she said, tears racing down her cheeks as she offered up her only condiment. “Treasure it well.”
The vampire dashed the bottle to the ground, shattering it. He lowered a finger into the oozing liquid and licked it with a forked tongue. “At last, you are mine. Know you not that when two souls drink from the same ketchup bottle, they are joined forever?”
Her forehead wrinkled. “How can a soul drink?”
“I was being metaphoric,” he thundered. “Now that we have consecrated our marriage through the tomato’s oozing heartblood, you must follow me to my coffin.”
“Never!” she cried. “I would rather wear a fuzzy pink bathrobe without a trace of lace or transparency. I would rather sleep in a sensible room with striped wallpaper and a teddy bear nightlight, instead of French windows with billowing white curtains. I would rather—I would rather die! “
“So be it,” he thundered a second time, with a touch of lightning. “If it must be so, then so shall it be. Together we shall enjoy the horrors of suburbia, with Volkswagens, screaming children, insurance salesmen, and even,” he drew his breath in dramatically, “tupperware parties!”
“Noooooooo!” the governess screamed, but it was too late. The vampire drew her close and, with a whisk of his cape, he transformed into a bedraggled London swallow. Bearing a slightly smaller swallow still dressed in a clinging black silk gown with a low cut neckline, the vampire swallow flew off to suburbia and their doom.
“Could you pick me up a lasagna?” Joko shouted after them.
A man looking more like a rotting, putrescent corpse than, say, a vacuum cleaner salesman emerged from a hidden door into the cellar. “Turn back. Tuuuurn back. Do not enter. For death awaits you here. I have survived, to pass on my tale and greatest secret. The papers are buried in the…arggh!” He dropped to the ground, cold and rotting.
“The arbor?” Joko asked. “Papers like a will?”
“No, ‘argh’ is what he said because he was dying,” Priscilla explained. “Look, he’s liquefying! Ew, when I said I wanted a breakfast smoothie, I didn’t actually mean it!”
Lance swiped the dead puddle with a finger and held it to his tongue. “Eleventh century. Turnip-fed with a bouquet of unwashed undergarments. Yes, he has been dead for almost a century.”
Priscilla shuddered. “Don’t eat that, you don’t know where it’s been.”
Creaking like a distressed rocking chair, the door opened a few inches. The adventurers entered, Lance strutting proudly, Joko scanning for unguarded loot.
An ax dropped across their path. The adventurers looked up to find a tall, menacing suit of armor gripping the other end.
“Hello, good sir, or should I say, good suit.” Lance grinned, lighting up the hall. “Could you perchance direct us to a ferocious monster guarding a suit of solid gold armor?”
“None may pass with arms,” the armor creaked. “Check your weapons here.”
Lance glanced down at his gleaming sword. “I have mine.”
“Leave them.”
Lance’s jaw dropped in horror. “Abandon Agelfraster, sword of the ages? Never.”
“And I shall never lay down my mystical weapon, um, Dragonhurler!” Joko proclaimed.
“I saw you steal that spatula from the junkyard of the last village we passed,” Priscilla said. “Then you tried to barter it for half a pint of lukewarm ale in the next village. But no one wanted it.”
“All the same,” Joko said, sensing that he was losing momentum. “I shall not abandon it.”
“Then I shall take your head in its place, “the armor creaked.
“On second thought, here’s my spatula…er, valiant weapon,” Joko mumbled. “And a bunch of daggers I made by sharpening tin cans.”
Crumb laid his club reverently beside them, pausing to stroke it farewell. He removed a heavy, spiky sash and placed it beside the club.
Joko scratched his head. “Crumb, why do you wear that spiky sash?”
Priscilla hugged him. “Wow, Crumb, you’re my hero.” She abandoned her quarterstaff, and then removed a carefully sheathed dagger that she had been somewhat unrealistically carrying inside her cleavage.
“Well, that’s a relief,” Joko said. “And here I thought you had three of those in your blouse.”
Priscilla tossed her hair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Lance straightened, tossing his long manly hair. “Well, if discarding weapons will make me your hero, then how can I resist? Even if I must lose my beloved Agelfraster. So be it, then. If it must be so, so shall it be. Let it, in so being—”
“Just drop the weapons, pal,” the armor barked. “If I cut off your head you’d probably talk less.”
The sword clattered to the ground.
The armor seemed to grin. “Fear not, adventurers. For triumph shall come without weapons. Your destiny is secure.”
“Cool. So where’s the golden armor?” Priscilla asked.
“Upstairs on your right. As you go up, please note the medieval tapestries dating back to the medieval era. Don’t forget to step on the trap door that will send you plummeting to your death with long, echoing screams. And it wouldn’t hurt to give your doorman a tip.”
“Here’s one,” Joko said as he stepped past the guardian. “Stop threatening people.”
“And try to make friends,” Priscilla said.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” the armor called menacingly.
Priscilla’s hands landed on her stout hips. “Hey! You promised us victory.”
“I didn’t say whose.”
Joko dug in his jacket and found a can of sheep rump he had stolen from the Hunchbutt of Notre Dumb’s house. With perfect accuracy, he beaned the suit of armor with it, denting the helmet so the jaw no longer opened. Then Joko scurried to catch up with his friends.
His friends were waiting outside the ladies’ room.
Lance fidgeted and paced. At last, he tapped on the door.
“Priscilla, are you coming out?”
“Stop rushing me. You know girls take longer.”
“Forgive me, but it’s been forty minutes.”
“I know. I’m getting reacquainted with real toilet paper.
“Toilet paper!” Joko shouted, dashing into the adjoining men’s room. “Let’s take it all! No more leaves.”
“I take it the poison ivy healed?” Lance enquired solicitously.
A piercing scream erupted.
Lance jumped. “Priscilla, what’s wrong? I wish to rescue you, but cannot possibly invade the ladies bathroom to do so. Oh dear, what a hero’s quandary. Come out, and I’ll rescue you right away.”
“That wasn’t me,” Priscilla said, as another girlish shriek sounded in the men’s room.
Lance dashed inside to find Joko staring into a cubicle, horror tidalwaving over his features. “Aargh! The watcher in the toilet!”
Lance eyed the toilet bowl in dismay. While he was perfectly thrilled to battle monsters, this wasn’t what he had in mind. “Shall I procure thee a plunger?”
“No, look! A hideous creature peering out of the bowl, half ape, half man, with close-set, beady eyes! Help!”
“Methinks you need not worry, dear companion. ‘Tis a reflection.” Lance peered into the bowl. “Ah, manly.”
“Oh stop admiring yourself in the toilet,” Priscilla huffed. She had followed him in, having no compunctions about entering the wrong bathrooms, especially since the men’s room was always closer to the entrance. Besides, little boys in magical schools did it all the time.
Crumb stamped on the floor to hurry them along, producing a mild earthquake.
“Be very, very quiet.” Priscilla hissed.
“We’re hunting snarfgigplatts,” Joko added.
“Forsooth, I think there is but one.”
“Oh, shut up.”
One by one, they climbed the winding steps into the tower. When they arrived at the top, Crumb kicked the door down with a single clomp. (It was unlocked, but Crumb rarely checked.) Priscilla ducked past Crumb and hurried into the room, and then gasped. And gasped. The long climb had triggered an asthma attack.
The snarfgigplatt reared its ugly head (not to mention its uglier rear). As the legends had whispered, it possessed the wings of a snapping turtle, the hair of a snake, the antlers of a wolf, and the teeth of a chicken.
Lance stared at the monster, and then shook his head briskly. “Joko, old boy, what on earth was in that breakfast this morning?”
“Nothing,” Joko said, voice trembling. “Someone just called a meeting of the ugly convention, that’s all.”
“Lance, what shall we do?” Priscilla asked, leaning dangerously against her hero.
“I…fear I do not know. I’m a leader; I shouldn’t have to make decisions,” Lance protested, brow furrowing.
“Can’t you fight it?” Joko asked.
“I’m too handsome to fight, prithee, what is your excuse?” Lance turned. “Priscilla? You enjoy ordering people to go this way and that. Have you a proposal?”
“A proposal?” she squealed, despite the inappropriate timing.
“A suggestion,” Lance quickly amended.
“Well, are we sure that it’s a big monster? Or could it be pretending to be big?”
“Hmm. Crumb, dear boy, do you think the monster as large as it appears? Or is it an illusion?”
Crumb considered for a long moment. “Ask Joko. He’s inside the monster.”
“The question is, how do we rescue him?” Lance asked.
“Or should we?” Priscilla chimed in.
Crumb scratched his head, two questions being a bit beyond him.
Lance straightened. “I have the means to save our beloved, yet crude companion. We must tickle the snarfgigplatt until it vomits our dear friend up.”
“Wouldn’t we have to be inside it?” Priscilla asked.
“Well thought. Instead we shall try a suppository.”
Crumb offered them one without comment.
The next few moments were too disgusting for any biographer to chronicle, though they ended with Joko’s eventual (and thoroughly disgusting) reappearance. Joko climbed to his feet, slipping on things best left unmentioned. Joko gasped as he looked beyond the ferocious monster. “Look, a toilet.”
“I must confess, even snarfgigplatts must hear the tender call of inexorable nature.”
“Maybe Joko realizes that he smells like he belongs inside it,” Priscilla offered.
“No, don’t you get it?”
“I thought you just went,” Priscilla said.
Crumb suddenly erupted in a grunt of comprehension. He tore the entire toilet from its piping and heaved it straight at the befuddled snarfgigplatt.
As the toilet tilted in midair, the snargigplatt screeched in terror, metamorphosized into a cockatoo, and hurled itself out the window. The toilet crashed into the wall and spilled water everywhere.
Priscilla stared. “Joko, you defeated the monster!”
Crumb cleared his throat.
“With help,” she amended. “Why was the snarfgigplatt scared of a toilet?”
Joko preened. “Don’t you remember? It only fears itself.”
“And it’s ugly as a toilet?”
“I see my noisome comrade has learned cunning,” Lance said. “The creature feared its reflection in the bowl.”
“The armor is ours!” Priscilla cheered.
Joko eyed the gleaming suit of solid gold armor. It stood six feet tall, wide enough for an overweight man. Joko shoved the armor, then ran at in a full-body tackle. Joko thudded to the ground, moaning and rubbing all the parts of his body at once. The armor didn’t move. “Great. How do you plan to carry it?”
And Introducing…The Farce-ians of the Galaxy, Comi
ng 2015
MovieStar, AKA Quitter Pill
MovieStar: You have lost your homes, and I will help you take them back, if I can.
The President: No. Just no.
…
MovieStar: I feel like I was supposed to have growth in this movie: Y’know, fall in love, find my father, go back to earth and see the family I abandoned. Something.
The President: You can open one present now, but we’re saving everything else for the sequel.
MovieStar: Wow, this is all about continuing the giant franchise, isn’t it?
The President: We’re already making the action figures.
Bunny FooFoo
MovieStar: Your power is…using big guns? We’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel here.
Bunny FooFoo: Oh I have another power. (Puss in Boots style, his eyes went huge.) I can look so adorable as an animal sidekick that fans will pile into theaters.
MovieStar: You’re hired.
Drip the Vaccumer
Drip: I invited the villain here.
MovieStar: Huh. Okay. Did you set a trap?
Drip: No.
MovieStar: Convince the inhabitants to fight for you with a rousing speech? Warn them they’re in danger? Mine the entrance? Find out the villain’s weakness? (Pause) Get yourself a gun?
Drip: I will fight him with my righteous anger.
MovieStar: I see.
Glamma Girl
Glamma: Wait, are you doing the Disney Villain Death? You know, you’re hanging by a finger, I try to pull you up, you slash at me, and slip on a banana peel and cause yourself to fall to your own death, leaving me cosmically in the clear?
Vapor: You’re mad. (She ripped off her own arm, used it to flip her sister off, and flung herself off the side of the ship.)
Glamma: Yeah. I’m mad. You’re the one who thinks bald looks good.
And Introducing…Grout (not the kind between the tiles)
Grout: I am Grout.
MovieStar: Ya don’t say…
About the Author
Valerie Estelle Frankel was born at an early age. Since then, she’s taught writing to most grades, from kindergarten through high school, and survived with most of her limbs intact. She would have gone crazy long ago, except for her collection of singing potatoes. Valerie has won a Dream Realm Award, an Indie Excellence Award, and a USA Book News National Best Book Award for her Henry Potty parodies. She’s the author of An Unexpected Parody, and also over 20 books on pop culture since 2012, including From Girl to Goddess: The Heroine’s Journey in Myth and Legend, Buffy and the Heroine’s Journey, Winning the Game of Thrones, Katniss the Cattail: A Guide to Names and Symbols in The Hunger Games, Teaching with Harry Potter, Joss Whedon’s Names, Sherlock: Every Canon Reference You May Have Missed in BBC’s Series 1-3, and Doctor Who - The What, Where, and How. Come explore her latest at VEFrankel.com.
A Preposterous Portfolio of Parodies: Free Selections from Spoofs of The Hobbit, Game of Thrones, Harry Potter, Star Trek and More Page 17