handed Randall a ticket. “They'll tear this at the entrance to the royal chamber. Hang on to your stub for the raffle later tonight. You can win a monkey.”
The guard led Randall to the edge of the moat, then gave a loud whistle. The drawbridge dropped, smashing into the ground in a cloud of dust and pieces of wood. An important-looking board in the center fell off into the dark water.
“We need to think about putting shorter chains on this thing,” the guard remarked.
“Is that safe to walk across?” asked Randall, nervously.
“Oh, sure. Lots of people have walked across it safely. You can see all the places where the wood has bent in their footsteps.”
Randall peered down into the moat. “What's down there?”
“A series of billions upon billions of molecules consisting of two parts hydrogen combined with one part oxygen.”
“And what else?”
“Nasty stuff. Nasty, nasty stuff.”
Randall placed a tentative foot on the drawbridge. The wood creaked as if to say “You're goin’ down , buddy.”
“Don't worry about that creak,” said the guard. “It just started doing that, so it can't be too serious.”
Randall took a step forward. The bridge held.
For .000371 of a second.
His legs broke through and he plummeted into the freezing water up to the waist. He threw out his arms in the nick of time, bracing his elbows on the bridge.
“Help me out of here!” shouted Randall.
“Heck no. That wood won't hold me. I use the main entrance around the corner.”
A hand from below grabbed Randall's ankle.
“Supplementary problem!” Randall announced.
Another hand began to take off his shoe. Randall strained to pull himself out of the water, but the grip was too tight.
“You've got to help me!” Randall shrieked. “Something's got me! It's got me!”
The guard went pale and began to back away. “Oh, no—not them ... not them...”
“Not what?” The hand had gotten his right shoe off, while a third went to work on the left. The wood around Randall's arms was beginning to sink, as if he might completely break through at any instant.
His left shoe was pulled off.
Five fingers pressed against the sole of his foot.
And began to tickle.
“ Gaaaaaah !” said Randall. He'd always been exceptionally ticklish, and this was no wimp tickle. This was the tickle of a master. He began howling with uncontrollable laughter in sort of a hoo-hee-hoo-hee-hoo-hee pattern.
A hand began to tickle his other foot as well, and hyena mode went into full gear. The tickling was maddening.
Then the floodgates of his mind opened, and long-hidden memories rushed forward....
* * * *
"WOULD MY little eight-year-old Randy care for some more yummy beets?"
“Sure, Grandma! That'd be neat!”
Grandma smiled and added more giblets to his plate. “And would you, in the house where I've raised you since the death of your mother, like some more yummy asparagus?”
Randy nodded enthusiastically, and Grandma gave him another spoonful of the giblets. “And, since your father is on a quest and unable to do so himself, would my darling like me to get him some ... pickled yams?”
“Yeah! Yeah! Pickled yams! Pickled yams!”
Grandma gave him the last of the giblets, then sat back in her chair. “Grandma loves her sweetheart, you know.”
“I love you too, Grandma.”
“And I hope my precious little pumpkin will love me just as much after I reveal the dark, demented secret I've been keeping from you all these years. Clean your plate, dear, so I can show my little dumpling what Grandma has hidden in the attic.”
“I love surprises!”
Mental flash-forward.
"Grandma, why do you keep the attic door locked?"
“That's part of the little secret, honey.”
“But why eight locks?”
“All will be revealed.” Grandma reached up and began unfastening the locks, one by one. “Now, hold the sword steady, lovey-bump, and make sure your precious little eyes don't show any fear, okay?”
“Okay, Grandma.”
She
The guard led Randall to the edge of the moat, then gave a loud whistle. The drawbridge dropped, smashing into the ground in a cloud of dust and pieces of wood. An important-looking board in the center fell off into the dark water.
“We need to think about putting shorter chains on this thing,” the guard remarked.
“Is that safe to walk across?” asked Randall, nervously.
“Oh, sure. Lots of people have walked across it safely. You can see all the places where the wood has bent in their footsteps.”
Randall peered down into the moat. “What's down there?”
“A series of billions upon billions of molecules consisting of two parts hydrogen combined with one part oxygen.”
“And what else?”
“Nasty stuff. Nasty, nasty stuff.”
Randall placed a tentative foot on the drawbridge. The wood creaked as if to say “You're goin’ down , buddy.”
“Don't worry about that creak,” said the guard. “It just started doing that, so it can't be too serious.”
Randall took a step forward. The bridge held.
For .000371 of a second.
His legs broke through and he plummeted into the freezing water up to the waist. He threw out his arms in the nick of time, bracing his elbows on the bridge.
“Help me out of here!” shouted Randall.
“Heck no. That wood won't hold me. I use the main entrance around the corner.”
A hand from below grabbed Randall's ankle.
“Supplementary problem!” Randall announced.
Another hand began to take off his shoe. Randall strained to pull himself out of the water, but the grip was too tight.
“You've got to help me!” Randall shrieked. “Something's got me! It's got me!”
The guard went pale and began to back away. “Oh, no—not them ... not them...”
“Not what?” The hand had gotten his right shoe off, while a third went to work on the left. The wood around Randall's arms was beginning to sink, as if he might completely break through at any instant.
His left shoe was pulled off.
Five fingers pressed against the sole of his foot.
And began to tickle.
“ Gaaaaaah !” said Randall. He'd always been exceptionally ticklish, and this was no wimp tickle. This was the tickle of a master. He began howling with uncontrollable laughter in sort of a hoo-hee-hoo-hee-hoo-hee pattern.
A hand began to tickle his other foot as well, and hyena mode went into full gear. The tickling was maddening.
Then the floodgates of his mind opened, and long-hidden memories rushed forward....
* * * *
"WOULD MY little eight-year-old Randy care for some more yummy beets?"
“Sure, Grandma! That'd be neat!”
Grandma smiled and added more giblets to his plate. “And would you, in the house where I've raised you since the death of your mother, like some more yummy asparagus?”
Randy nodded enthusiastically, and Grandma gave him another spoonful of the giblets. “And, since your father is on a quest and unable to do so himself, would my darling like me to get him some ... pickled yams?”
“Yeah! Yeah! Pickled yams! Pickled yams!”
Grandma gave him the last of the giblets, then sat back in her chair. “Grandma loves her sweetheart, you know.”
“I love you too, Grandma.”
“And I hope my precious little pumpkin will love me just as much after I reveal the dark, demented secret I've been keeping from you all these years. Clean your plate, dear, so I can show my little dumpling what Grandma has hidden in the attic.”
“I love surprises!”
Mental flash-forward.
"Grandma, why do you keep the attic door locked?"
“That's part of the little secret, honey.”
“But why eight locks?”
“All will be revealed.” Grandma reached up and began unfastening the locks, one by one. “Now, hold the sword steady, lovey-bump, and make sure your precious little eyes don't show any fear, okay?”
“Okay, Grandma.”
She
Similar Books
