NOTE: THIS STORY IS A SEQUEL TO “WHERE THE POOPIE BABBEHS GO”. IF YOU WANT TO READ THE ORIGINAL STORY, PLEASE CLICK HERE! PLEASE ENJOY!
Where Fluffy Bodies Lie
You are Neil Hall.
You just got back from your buddy’s funeral. You were the one that found him with a hole in his head, and the image haunted your dreams. You and your friends were going to go through his cabin and clear it out, since he had no kin. From outside, the cabin looked relatively normal. Sure, he lived quite far out in the countryside, but it was a relatively normal little cabin.
The inside was a horror show. The moment you opened the door, the smell of death and rotten meat bucked you in the jaw. There was blood smeared everywhere in the living room alongside at least a dozen empty cages. Some of the cages had corpses in them. Fluffy corpses. That was undoubtedly the source of the horrid stench. Retching, you plugged your nose and pushed on with your friends Jack and Jeremiah in tow. A lone envelope on the coffee table caught your eye. You snatched it up and tore it open. Jack turned to you, annoyed.
“You shouldn’t be reading that,” he told you. “You don’t look like Shaw Bailey to me.”
You threw the envelope aside after retrieving the letter from within. “Something tells me he ain’t gonna mind.” It was on some official-looking stationery. You began reading the letter aloud.
Dear Mr. Bailey,
We regret to inform you that we at the Arkansas Department of Fish and Wildlife have chosen (once again) to reject your proposal for "hunting seeson for fluffys all year" (sic). This is because, as it stands, the fluffy ecosystem in your hometown of Chapel Hollow is far too fragile for such measures according to last year's report. We also request that any further inquiries be sent to us without bloodstains all over them. We hope you will (finally) renew your hunting license and participate in fluffy season beginning this April 15th.
Arkansas Wildlife Commissioner
“I don’t know why he bothered trying with that,” Jack wondered. “None of… this,” he began, gesturing wildly at the mangled, abused, and disfigured corpses, “was ever legal.”
Jeremiah nodded, adding “The man wore a fluffy skin coat, for God’s sake.” His face grew confused. “Hey, fellers?”
You and Jack turned to face him inquisitively.
“How do y’all think them fluffies busted out?” he asked, crouching down to inspect the cages. “Them locks look like they was broke into from the outside.”
You wondered how those fluffies could’ve unlocked their cages, especially from the outside. Wait… the outside?
You shoved past Jack into Shaw’s bedroom, leaping over his messy bed to grab the shotgun hanging on the rack across the room. You bolted back out towards your truck with Jack and Jeremiah following you in confusion.
“Neil!” Jack called from behind you. “Where the hell are you going?” You turned to him as you threw the shotgun into the back of your old Chevy pickup truck.
You replied through gritted teeth. “Well, I reckon we missed one.”
Next Chapter ==>