Username: rochester.
Name: Ichabod
Gender: Male
Spoopy Song: The Monster Mash by Boris Pickett & The Crypt KickersArt: "Come, Igor," intoned Ichabod in his deep monotone. “Witching hour is near upon us.”
“Yes master,” croaked the large bullfrog in response, voice quivering with excitement.
“Igor, you will have to be silent tonight. I know it can be difficult for you to keep your blasted mug closed, but tonight is different.” The dragon’s amber eyes flickered ominously in the light of the full moon. Igor nodded, already keeping his vow of silence.
As Ichabod and Igor crept through the underbrush, speech, nearly inaudible, was heard. Ichabod took a long intake a breath as he stared at the sight before him: A cauldron, twelve feet high, with a steaming, bubbling, blue liquid spilling over the top. Creatures, misshapen bodies trembling in the raging wind, danced upon the rim of the cauldron, raucously shouting in an unknown language. A whole manner of creatures, from pseudodragons to wolves to rats stood silently at the base of the cauldron, as if in prayer. Thunder boomed overhead, and both companions felt their bones rattle and vibrate. Turning his gaze upward to the cloudy skies, Ichabod felt the humidity press upon his scales, surely to crush him!
Igor, obeying his master’s commands, took all of this in. Ichabod stalked into the clearing, joining the throng of revelers at the foot of the cauldron. Igor warily trailed behind his master, shying away from a particularly odd creature that appeared to be sewn together. Shuddering, Igor dipped his head, praying to whatever deities were out there, pulling the strands of the universe in every which way, that he wouldn’t be noticed by the rather violent looking creatures Ichabod was greeting with curt nods.
Ichabod looked behind him at his faithful servant. Igor looked scared silly, and Ichabod almost felt pity for the amphibian. He shook it off quickly. Thirteen long years Ichabod had spent with Igor, ever since Ichabod spared Igor’s life. Igor had been the only thing that Ichabod had that was remotely close to a friend. But yet, Ichabod couldn’t consider Igor a friend. How do you know what somebody means to you when you’ve never even had anyone else to love?
Suddenly, cries were heard throughout the revelers. “It’s time! It’s time!” A great, deafening noise was heard from above, that of the clearing of a throat. Ichabod looked up at the moon in anticipation. A face, old and weathered, that of a human, slowly appeared. Wild, guttural cheers erupted from the crowd amassed below. Coughing once more, in his incredibly loud voice, the moon began to speak in a grating tone, the sound of metal upon metal.
“To all manner of frightening creatures gathered here today, I thank ye all. Those who did not respond to my call… Well, I will count on thee to terminate their lives in the next years thirteen. But we all are amassed here, present at this very Witching Hour every thirteen years, for one reason: To replenish the powers used o’er the past thirteen years, to perform the ceremonies erected by our ancestors long ago, to once again let evil reign for one night!” Here the dancers atop the cauldron began to writhe in agony, screeching as they danced, quicker and more fervently than ever before. Igor shuddered, fearing this moon-man.
“We must be presented with a sacrifice.” A silence filled the clearing, a pregnant moment of fear. “Are thou all not brave enough?” challenged the moon-man, smirking. Igor hesitantly peered around, waiting for one of the revelers to answer.
Then Ichabod’s rich, deep voice rang out: “I present thee with a sacrifice, milord: That of my faithful servant, Igor!” Ichabod stepped aside, and Igor found himself suddenly bared to the whole clearing.
“Igor, eh?” The moon-man asked. “This bullfrog, eyes murky, will do nicely. Very brave of thee, Sir Ichabod.” Ichabod bowed, stepping back. “It is my pleasure to serve thee, milord.”
Igor suddenly found his legs constricted, tied together by a rusty chain constantly growing tighter.
“Igor, brave bullfrog, servant of Sir Ichabod of Prophecy, you must not utter a word throughout the whole procedure, or else all will be naught!” Oh. Igor understood now. This was why Ichabod had silenced him at the start of the night. “As if your tongue is severed from your mouth, do not speak!”
Igor slowly began to rise into the air, provoking yells of excitement from the revelers, and screams of pain from the dancers. Hovering above the crowd, Igor spotted Ichabod’s hungry eyes. They held no mercy, no pity, no sorrow, no repent!
I thought you were my friend, thought Igor.
I thought my life may have been safe in your hands, after you saved it so many moons ago! Igor’s lips pressed together as he levitated higher and higher, shifting until he was directly above the cauldron, which now spat dark liquid. Igor could see the stars in the cauldron, glowing orbs, floating around. Igor dropped, hitting the boiling liquid with a bubbling sound.
Ichabod cheered along with the rest of the revelers as a stream of blinding red light shot up towards the moon-man, whose face was contorted into a mocking grin. The orbs that Igor had seen in his last moments roared up towards the sky, tendrils of scarlet light grabbing the dancers and whisking them away too! Ichabod felt his body rejuvenating quickly with dark power. Suddenly a black, bloated orb slowly traveled up the stream. Ichabod held his breath. This was the sacrifice’s reveal, the time to see if Igor had remained silent!
The ray of light shattered into a million pieces, traveling through every reveler’s orifices, charging their bodies with pure power! Ichabod knew the magical feeling wouldn’t last, as it traveled out of the revelers, causing their bodies to jerk into the air and then quickly back down to the ground. It flooded the world with dark power!
Ichabod chuckled, not mourning his friend in the least… The needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few. Happy Halloween.
