Do A Barrel Roll

Do a Barrel Roll        

A Short Story by T. L. Brown

Suddenly Byron Austin Ketchel fell from the roof landing on poor Nikki the Black who was reading a 483769 page analyses of Lord of the Rings. Nikki had been on the very last page just about to find out what the ring represented when… BLAM Byron fell on his face.

 “Why hello you un-fluffy pancake man! Byron began.

“Byron, have you been hanging around Zant?” Nikki muttered getting up, “…and why so happy today?”

“Well I’ve found a use for my assassin’s blades!” he blurted.

“Wha…” Nikki began. Suddenly he found a poisoned blade in his back, “Aw… lemons…”

            From the confines of his pocket Byron pulled a list from his pocket, “Zant and Nikki down… Now where’s that piece of trash German Doctor Bes…”

            Instantly a hand grabbed his neck and threw him into a brick wall. “By German Doctor did you mean me?” a German sounding voice questioned him.

            “I meant…”

            “Van Helsing!?” Van Helsing inserted.

            “You’re not even German you’re Dutc…”

            “Byron, you’ll be fighting against god if you intend to kill me!”

            “YOU’RE NOT GERM…”

            “AND, you’ll be fighting my army of ghosts,” commented Strider floating down in his hot air balloon.

            “Wait, why are you defending this Dutchman!?” Byron blurted.

            “Flying Dutchman’s from Pirates of the Caribbean, my friend, not Lord of the Rings,” Van Helsing explained.

            Adding two more names to his list Byron stammered, “What do you people want with me…?”

            “We’ve had report of two Twilight class Nosferatu, in the Northglenn High School auditorium,” Van Helsing explained searching through the yellowing pages of his notebook.

            “I do not believe it! I will not!” Strider blurted.

            “You’re telling me, even you didn’t know what we were facing?”

            “Good god, people calm down. I’ve dealt with these things before-terrible infestation in Seattle, good thing I was there to “sterilize” the infestation. Let’s see here, last time I wrote, “Relatively immortal, rules of normal Vampiren do not apply in their case.””

            “So you’re saying we have no chance of success.” Byron muttered. A slow moment of silence crept between the men.

            “Doctor, do you think Andúril could damage them?” Strider asked.

            “Andri… what?”

            “Strider’s sword, Andúril -the sword that was broken…” Van Helsing stated.

            “…and reforged,” Strider continued, “In my previous travels it has seemed to have great power over the dead…”

            “Hmm…” Van Helsing’s feet scuffed pacing the pavement, “I will, as for now say that Andúril may prove… useful against forces such as these.”

            “Well you said, last time that you “Sterilized” the infestation- is it possible we could use the same techniques?”

            “Possible, but too dangerous, in my previous encounter the vampiren were “vegetarian” which meant I could utilize their prey as a poison.”

            “I’m sure Henry would be happy to let us use Smith…” Byron began.

            “Nein, Smith is known for a substantial love of fresh garlic.”

            “I thought you said these “vampires” weren’t bothered by the same things as normal vampires…” Byron commented.

            “Nothing to do with vampires, smith just has really bad garlic breath. No vampire in their right mind would draw the blood of someone with such horrendous breath.”

            “I’m the one with the sword… we need the doctor… so that means…” Strider began.

            “Let me repeat that you two are as good as dead when I get out of these ropes!” Byron yelled into the empty darkness of the auditorium.

            The auditorium held a kind of peace in its darkness, the only light emanating from the spotlight which had been left on Byron’s position. The only sound from the creaking of the apron which Byron was sitting on… and occasionally the shifting of school around him, Byron could only see the motes in the light of the spotlight glistening in its brilliance.

            “Mr. Ketchel…” A shadowed voice echoed from somewhere in the auditorum-in the contrast Byron could not see where. “Do you see what friends mean in such a world? They have left you to die in my darkness.” A figure, shimmering in sparkles, stepped into the spot light. Something in Byron started-something he was not used to- humor.

            He let out a laugh the likes of which the world has never seen (well maybe it has seen but for the sake of over dramatization). “Narrator shut up.” Byron continued to laugh and abruptly stopped. “YOU CALL YOURSELF A MAN, YOU PANSY?” Byron immediately bust from the ropes muttering, “Why didn’t I do this earlier?” A blade sprung, hidden in his sleeve. Stabbing the Vampire with his assassin’s  blade, he laughed a horrid cackle.

            Van Helsing ran from the wing, “What poison did you use!?”

            “Hydrogen Cyanide… why?”

            “Wondering if you used the right poison, I hope you don’t mind that we poured that all over your body.”

            “…so that’s what it was…”

            A scream shot out from the wing, “TWO MORE.” The voice was that of Strider, firm and crisp. “ RAHHH!!! Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth! Let justice be done upon him!”

            “That was a strange thing to say…”

            “Doctor!” Strider ran out, “I believe Andúril worked-considering they burst into a cloud of sparkles!”

            “Sparkles… I hate Sparkles…” Byron muttered.