Shop of Horrors
By Da Vinci at Work
Summary: A ravenous werewolf, a pitiless human psychic, and an optimistic elvin princess. What do they have in common, you say? Well, I tell you, they're stuck in the Shop of Horrors, with no way out.
Chapter 1: Psychic Freak
I sat in class, unable to contain my utter boredom as Mr. Kelcotta lectured on and on and on about the "climactic" advantages of stone tools for early prehistoric hominids. As far as I am concerned, I learn more from the Flintstones than Mr. Kelcotta's monotonous speeches on prehistoric human life.
"Stone tools were very advantageous for prehistoric humans...yadddy yaddy ya...I like stone tools...blah blah blah..."
You get the drift, right? (Haha. I wasn't paying attention.)
As I sat slumped in my plastic graffiti-collaged chair and wrested my arms on the equally ornamented desk, I slid down farther and farther into the dreamy abysses of slumber. With the working of His Almighty Greatness, I managed to keep awake, toying with my pen, doodling in my notebook, and even geometrically calculating the amount of freakin' ceiling tiles, all sixty-three and a third of them to be exact.
It was all in a pitiable attempt to pass the time until history class was over. Sucked for me, after forty or so minutes of Mr. Kelcotta's nonstop suspenseful action, the bell still did not ring. The clock ticked away, torturing me with each painfully sluggish second that edged by. Amidst my crazy ennui, an unexpected foresight entered my paranoid mind.
Mr. Kelcotta's going to get into a car accident today.
"Mr. K," I said as my hand shot up into the air like those nerdy geeks who usually sat erect in the front of the classroom, jotting down notes as Mr. K. droned on. Anyhow, I was one hundred and five percent certain of Mr. Kelcotta's unfortunate predicament.
After all, all my predictions so far have come true, tragically though I must add.
Mr. Kelcotta appeared quite irritated by my sudden interruption, for I was never a participant in his stupid class. Who would need to? I learned more about social studies in elementary school than in his class.
"What is it, Vincent Dale?" he said gruffly, his walrus mustache bobbing up and down in the process. The man's head was almost as shiny as a polished light bulb, perhaps even shinier.
"What is it, Vincent Dale?" he repeated, probably considering that I never paid much attention in his dim-witted class. I still managed an average of one hundred percent anyways.
"What is it, Vincent Dale?" he repeated for the magically inclined third time.
I grimaced at the mention of my full name, first and last. "It's Vince, Mr. K., Vince."
"Very well, then. What is it? Why are you disrupting me in the middle of a very important lesson?" His tone was crotchety; I could picture him as the giant erect walking, talking walrus from Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Disney probably met with this guy before designing the cartoon character. Haha.
I attempted to burn holes with my laser beam eyes at the flabby, elderly man, whose rectangular spectacles were sliding off of his prominent, beet-red nose, a few millimeters at a time.
Come on. Seriously.
I was attempting to save his big fat ass when all he was doing was bashing me with his eyes and his mouth.
Don't you think I would be a little pissed?
Opportunely enough, the bell rang. Everyone rushed out of the classroom, pleased to have escaped from the tedious history teacher, and an extra homework assignment at that.
I waited as patiently as someone so short-tempered as me would allow for the other students to exit the unheated room.
"Mr. Kelcotta," I said, without batting an eye, "be careful when you drive today. Something bad might just happen." With that out of my system, I grabbed my outrageously heavy binder and walked straight out of the classroom, happy like all my other asinine peers to escape from the prison grounds known publicly as Lincoln High School.
After plopping my sorry butt down on the leather couch with a bag of fat-inducing chips at my side, (haha, I sound like a dieting girl), I turned on the television. Flipping randomly through the usually sleep-inducing channels, something caught my eye, which rarely happened.
"It appears that a terrible car accident has blocked out Route ninety-eight today," the channel's reporter stated in her mechanical and gaudy 'I-am-a-reporter-and-you-are-not' voice. She was standing directly in front of a car accident scene. "Just moments before, as you can very well see, a small green Mazda Protégé slammed headfirst into a large passing truck. Thankfully, no one has died, though the owner of the small vehicle has been sent to a local hospital due to a few minor injuries."
Taking the remote, I turned off the television and headed for the kitchen. Opening the freezer, I grabbed a frozen pizza and jammed it into the semi-rusted microwave.
I watched as the cheese on the pizza began its melting process. I suppose, at that moment, a sudden thought managed to pop itself into my normally dormant brain.
Hm, didn't Mr. Kelcotta drive a green Mazda Protégé? (So sue me for knowing my teacher's car.)
...
Surely enough, the following day, a substitute came in place for our most beloved (haha, sarcasm right there) social studies professor, Mr. Kelcotta.
Tch.
Did I not tell you?
My predictions always come true.
Author's Note: The plot just came to me the other day while I was surfing the web. It was like BAM! And my idea just came. Talk about overactive imaginations. Anyhow, I decided to stick this one under fairy tales, though I think it barely crosses the threshold of fairy tale stories. Anyhoot, hopefully you will enjoy this one.
This first chapter is kind of short. Scratch that. It is extremely short, but I hope, if you have read this, you do review. I'm not certain if I'm going to continue this one. Just remember to click the button on your lower left hand corner, and type in your opinions of this chapter. Kudos!