Racing the Clock

Sweat trickled down Andy’s neck, bleary eyes cracking open reluctantly. He was in the safe room again, recognizing familiar claw marks marring the crumbling stone walls and floor. It must have been a full moon last night.

Andy yawned painfully, wincing as the motion made his tender head throb. Did he go drinking? It was impossible to recall anything from that fuzzy evening, just snippets of memory that made no sense.

There was something important he had to do. An urgent task waiting for him to finish but the details were dancing in the corner of his mind, just out of thought’s reach. He groaned and lay back on the dusty floor.

What time was it? Squinting, Andy peered at the barred window above. It was a cloudy day and impossible to be certain, but it appeared to be almost noon.

Then the dreaded realization struck him like a thunderclap. Sitting bold upright, Andy began to tremble. The hour of judgment was upon him.

Angus, the fabled Cryptkeeper himself, had divided the grave responsibility between seven creatures of the night. Honor the code of SCREAMS, lest ye face my wrath.

Shuddering, Andy recalled the last time he was late, a furious Angus ended up throwing him down in the Crypt for a week. It took a few months until the gibbering night terrors faded away.

Andy paced the cell, biting his nails. He needed out of this stone box before his fate was sealed.

The door was locked from the outside and there was no way for him to reach the handle. Searching through the rubble and straw, he found a bundle of torn clothing. Pieces of a shirt, a pair of ragged pants, and in the pockets… a cell phone!

Yipping with elation, Andy checked the battery life. Three percent, just enough to call someone. Scrolling through the list of contacts, he desperately searched for someone who could aid his plight.

A name jumped out at him. Perfect. Seconds later he was listening to the ringing, waiting for the other end to answer. “Come on…” Andy muttered.

There was a click. Someone mumbled into the mouthpiece, half-asleep. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Wake up!” Andy snapped. “This is an emergency! You gotta get me out of the safe room before Angus emerges from the Crypt!”

A deep sigh rattled the line.

“Would that I could, but it’s far too sunny out for my delicate complexion. You wouldn’t want me to burst into flame, now would you?”

Grumbling, Andy denied that he wanted any such outcome. “Bloody vampires,” He muttered.

“Excuse me?” The chilly tone spread through the air, dropping the temperature. “Er, I mean thanks away! I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

Before he could hang up, the phone promptly died.

Howling in frustration, Andy padded around the concrete prison before an idea struck him. Grasping the iron bars, he pulled himself up to the window and glanced around. It was a ghost town, unsurprising when most of the inhabitants wouldn’t stir until dusk crept over the horizon.

Finally, his eyes caught a glimmer of hope. A young witch was curled on a park bench, nose deep in a yellowing spellbook. “Rustika!” Andy cried out.

The pointed hat rustled, turning towards him. Emerald eyes peered under the brim, giving the werewolf an irritated look. “I was in the middle of something, I’ll have you know.”

“I get it, everyone’s busy today. But really, I need help! It’s an emergency!” Andy barked in panic.

Rustika slammed the book shut, sending a plume of dust flying upwards. “Fine. But it better not be related to that nasty slug curse that’s been going around.”

She strode to the window, crossing her arms and cocking an eyebrow. “What’s the problem? Did you eat something you shouldn’t have?”

Andy shook his hairy head. “It’s my turn today. If I don’t get out of here before Angus arrives…”

Rubbing her chin, Rustika nodded grimly. “That would certainly be… less than ideal.”

“Well? Can you get me out of here before the clock strikes twelve?” Giving her the best puppy-dog eyes possible, Andy pawed at the ground by her feet.

“I hate how you can do that,” The witch grumbled and waved a graceful hand. Her fingers formed a complex sigil, which burned in the air for a moment.

Andy yelped as the cell door burst open with a bang. Rustika grinned mischievously. “Will that be all?”

“Thanks! I owe you one!” He shouted, speeding out of the safe room.

Bursting into his writing den, Andy looked around wildly. Where was it? The Golden Quill had to be in here somewhere… The sound of a sputtering chainsaw perked his ears. He knew who that was.

Coiled on the kitchen table, a sleeping anaconda snored noisily. “Serpent!” Andy poked it. “Hey, Serpent!”

“Leave a message after the zzzzzz….” A forked tongue lolled from the dreaming reptile’s mouth.

“Angus is coming.” Andy ground out through gritted teeth. Startled, the snake writhed onto the floor with a plop. “WHAT? WHERE?”

“Well not right now but if I don’t find the Quill he’s gonna be on the warpath.” He was growing tired of having to explain that the world was about to end. Possibly.

Serpent scratched his scaly head with the tip of his tail. “Hmmm.” He hissed thoughtfully. “Have you seen Sugar around? She was the last person who had it I think.”

“Thanks!” Andy loped off, on the hunt for a certain ghost.

Sugar liked to ride her spectral bike Glider around the cemetery, admiring the dead trees and tombstones. It was only five minutes until noon. Andy panted as he raced through the woods, hoping the spirit would be there.

Against all odds, she was.

Resting against a weathered grave marker, Sugar was so engrossed in a book of ghost stories she didn’t notice Andy's approach.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite lycanthrope.” She beamed. “What brings you out here?”

“Quill.” Andy gasped. “Need it. My turn. Almost noon.”

Her transparent eyes widened. “Oh dear. I think I left it back in the mausoleum.” Sinking to the ground, Andy let out a mournful howl. He would never make it in time.

“Angus will never let me see the light of day again,” The werewolf moaned.

Sugar laid a ghostly hand on his shoulder. “Now now, don’t be so dramatic. There’s an easy way out of this mess.” He looked up hopefully. “Do you really mean that?”

She leaned down and whispered something in his furry ear.

Andy sprang up, barking with glee. “And that will really work?!” The ghost nodded. “Just don’t go spreading it to the others, okay?”

Before he could respond, a deep rumble shook the graveyard. Tombstones quivered, trees trembled as the earth swelled and fell as though a giant was slumbering beneath the grass.

Turning to Sugar, Andy saw that she had vanished instantly. If her advice worked, she wasn’t sticking around to find out.

Swallowing nervously, he faced the entrance to the Crypt.

The wrought-iron door slowly squealed open. A foul wind shrieked from the square opening, bringing the scent of centuries with it. Andy felt frozen to the spot, unable to run from the powerful odor of decay.

A skeletal hand grasped the door.

Ohhh Andy… Why am I not hearing any SCREAMS?

Whimpering, the werewolf hung his head as the Cryptkeeper emerged from his domain. Andy closed his eyes, not wanting to face the burning gaze within that skull. It… drilled into you, stripping your soul bare.

The smell of mold and things festering in the darkness was overpowering, burning Andy’s sensitive nose.

Well? If I don’t hear an explanation, you’ll be the one screaming. Until your throat is raw and bloody. Then we will have a grand old time. Angus let out a raspy laugh.

Opening his mouth, Andy quietly mumbled what the ghost told him.

What was that?

Licking his lips, the werewolf stammered out the words again.

“P-prompt now… j-judge later?”