Brainwave of Horror III, Epilog
Copyright © 2004 by Jafar
A skeptical psychology professor helps a student come to terms with mysterious naked pictures of herself; a hypnotist’s show leaves people slipping off into trances, at the suggestible mercy of the people around them; and hypnotic suggestions take on a life of their own, using the people of a town as pawns in their competition to be the last suggestion standing. Join us for another trio of mc-ish tales on ... the Pumpkin’s Night.
Epilog
“Here’s the Indian now,” the bartender muttered.
“You! Savage!” the priest accused the Indian, “By what heathen voodoo witch doctor rituals did you press that poor beast to perform so unnaturally for you?!” His fist pounded down on the bar counter, though the effect was diminished as it was solid oak and the fist-boom came out a bit muted.
The Indian looked at all the faces looking at him and raised his eyebrows. “You don’t like happy horses?”
“It’s just unholy,” the priest declared.
“It’s not right,” the boy scout explained.
“What he said,” the blonde pointed at the boy.
“But the laughter of the horse is like the trickling creek when the spring thaws come, that nourishes the land.”
The trio and the Pumpkin just looked at him. The bartender was washing a glass.
“Hangh?!” the priest frowned.
“Very well,” the Indian shrugged. “I will go and make the horse unhappy.”
He walked out, and they could hear the horse break out in renewed guffaws.
Then silence.
Then sobs.
The Indian walked back in.
“What did you DO to that poor horse?!” the boy scowled accusingly.
“What HE said!” the blonde jabbed a finger at the boy and put on a stern face. She did not approve of cruelty to animals!
“That’s more like it,” the priest belted back a drink, “the sounds of guilt, moral agony and broken-will repentance.”
“Truly, the sorrows of the horse are as the felled grain before the scourge of humanity, as it is in turn removed from the 10,000 gifts of the Creator.”
A moment passed. Then another.
“Hungh?” the boy scout frowned.
“What he said,” the blonde nodded with furrowed brow, pointing at the boy.
“You cannot understand the coins mined from the earth until you have seen the mountains shape the clouds.”
A moment passed. Just one this time.
“Hungh?” the boy scout frowned.
“How?” the Pumpkin demanded. “What did you do to that horse to make him laugh and then to make him cry like that?”
“Well,” the Indian sat down and took a drink from the drink the bartender already had prepared for him, “to make him laugh, I just told him my dick was bigger than his.”
No! The Pumpkin grimaced and cringed back, knowing what was coming next.
“And to make him cry, I just pulled it out and showed him.”
The blonde grinned and studied the Indian with renewed interest ...