Click here or follow the link below for the first installment in Wendy’s annual Halloween fiction, in which Arnold, haunted by the ancient pygmy warrior of the title, accidentally kills a love interest’s Maine Coon cat, named Monkey, for which its owner, Leslie, continues to look, expecting it to show up eventually, at the end of the Part 1 and thus …
Monkey didn’t show up because he was in Arnold’s freezer. And he was the only thing in Arnold’s freezer, because he was freaking huge. Arnold had removed ice trays and vodka, moved the meager frozen goods he had around, and still ended up cooking three frozen pizzas and a bag of petrified chicken wings before he could fit the giant feline corpse into his freezer.
He sat, morosely chewing cardboard pizza in front of a PBS documentary about hummingbirds, and allowed himself to calm down enough to consider the situation he was in. The most reasonable thing to do would be get rid of the cat corpse and never call Leslie again. He still couldn’t entirely account for why he had stuffed the damn thing in his freezer in the first place; it just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Crap. He really couldn’t trust his own judgment anymore. He was seeing and talking to a 2,000-year-old pygmy warrior on the regs, and killing helpless animals because of it.
“Aahnald, you worry too much, saahhn.”
The little turd stepped in front of the television, obstructing his view of a Ruby Throated mating pattern.
“Screw you, guy. I’m not your son. Leave me alone.”
“Dat angeh Aahnald, it take you places. Places I like.” The pygmy shook his bone spear approvingly.
