The 2nd Annual Vultraz Halloween Special
iBrow Comedy Productions
“Alright everybody, gather round, gather round.” Vultraz sighed as the fire blazed in the center of the diner. “You all said you wanted to share ghost stories this year, so here we are.”
“Here we are.” Jaller nodded.
“So....” Metus trailed off, allowing the awkward silence to continue.
Mazeka sighed loudly. Vultraz returned it with a gesture that would’ve kicked him out of four catholic schools simultaneously.
“So...” Metus said again, clapping his hands. “Evidently nobody wants to speak, so I shall share my story first!”
“Haha, yeah right.” Bitil replied, smacking him silent. “Your spot here is honorary... again.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?!” Metus pouted.
“It means what you think it means, dolt.” Vultraz responded. “Last year we thought iBrow would have you in a comedy, so you got to appear-”
“I was in it for like three sentences!” Metus protested. “You didn’t even let me share my fear!”
“-and then this year you’re (once again) supposed to appear in a comedy, so you’ve been invited. Again.” Vultraz finished.
“But you’re still not letting me share my greatest fear or a story.” Metus responded sulkily.
Mazeka rolled his eyes. “Oh for ALMIGHTY’s sake, just let him tell us that stupid fear already. I am NOT listening to him moan about it for another year.”
“Fine then.” Vultraz shrugged. “What’s your fear, Metus?”
“My greatest fear is socks.” Metus shuddered. “They’re scary.”
Vultraz stared at him in disbelief. Beside Metus, Mazeka was shaking violently, his mask turning a deep shade of purple with rage.
“You have got to be kidding me!” Vultraz exclaimed. “That’s it? That’s it?!”
“Uh... yeah. That’s why I was so mad.” Metus answered.
Mazeka exploded beside Metus and vanished. A couple seconds later he popped back into existence, clutching his head.
“Argh....” he moaned, rolling around on the ground. “Never asking ALMIGHTY to answer a prayer again... oh man... ouch... my head....”
Ignoring Mazeka, Vultraz turned to Zaktan and smacked him across the face, which was generally a very hard thing to do to a cloud of protodites.
“You tell us a story.” He ordered.
Zaktan sighed. “Okay. But just to warn you, this is going to be scary.”
“Just tell us. It’s better than nothing.” Jaller put in.
Zaktan glanced around the circle sitting around the fire; Kopeke was smacking a fire out on his foot unsuccessfully, Bitil was in a contest with Krika to see who could bore the other to death first, Vezon was gnawing on a support beam, and Jaller, Takua, Kongu, Dalu, Tehutti, Ehrye, Mavrah, and several other random Matoran were watching him intently.
“Alright.” He decided. “Fine. I’ll tell you. It starts like this....”
One day a young Matoran walked out of his home on Zakaz with a bucket. This bucket had a hole in it, which the Matoran had discovered the hard way that morning when he’d dumped three whole bags of milk in it. Leaving the milk to rot on the floor, the Matoran had immediately left his house.
Which is where we are. He was walking down the street.
Unfortunately for the Matoran, he tripped on a pebble, fell on the bucket, and died.
Zaktan finished, taking in a short breath. Mazeka snarled and leapt at him, chasing the Skakdi out of the diner.
“Well, that stunk.” Vultraz muttered. “Party’s over everybody! Get your eggnog and then leave me and my employees in peace!
How was it?