"Gosalyn Mallard: Zombie Slayer!"
The thick silence was broken as the sound of a chainsaw revving up echoed down long hallways. A thin, dark-haired man burst through a doorway and ran down the hall, breathing heavily and looking over his shoulder often. "Come on," he panted to himself, "there's gotta be a way out of here..." He risked a look over his shoulder again. The maniac who had been chasing him was still there, grinning as insanely and bone-chillingly as ever. His chainsaw was going full force.
The man swallowed nervously and turned a corner. "I can outrun him... but for how much longer? How long is this supposed to go on!" He looked over his shoulder again, and slammed into a wall. "Great, even the walls are against me," he mumbled as he recovered. The chainsaw seemed to be closer now, and so he didn't even look back before continuing on his way.
After turning another corner, he stopped running. The hallway ended here, with a plain white, unmarked door. "There! That's the door! That's the way out, it has to be!" He walked towards the door slowly, as if afraid it would disappear. Then he put a hand on the doorknob. "Don't worry, Mary, when I get back none of this will have even happened," he said softly. "You and the kids will still be..." he choked back a sob and turned the doorknob.
Nothing happened.
He rattled it a few times, more and more desperately, but the door stayed locked. "No. NO!" He let go of the doorknob and started pounding on the door frantically, but it was too thick. Again he heard the chainsaw behind him, closer than ever. And now, an insane chuckling. He turned slowly to see that the madman had caught up with him. "Please," he said quietly, to no one, as the killer came closer and closer.
Gosalyn Mallard was the only person in the audience who didn't stop eating her popcorn when the guy onscreen started screaming. All the blood was ketchup, the chainsaw looked like it was made of rubber, and overall this movie had been just plain boring. She sighed and rolled her eyes as the credits started. Maybe she was just getting tired of horror movies...? No, that couldn't be it!
As the audience got up to leave, Gosalyn could hear them murmuring, "I really thought he was going to get away at the end," and "Wasn't that chainsaw realistic?"
Yeah, she thought, realistic when you haven't seen any real ones. She rolled her eyes again. Killing off the good guy at the end of the movie was the oldest gimmick in the book. "That was pathetic," she said outloud, to no one but herself. "Monster movies these days have no credibility. That just sucked."
"You think so?" asked a tall man on her left.
She looked up at him. He was sort of creepy looking, dressed in a long overcoat and wearing a scarf around the lower part of his face. The upper part was hidden by a hat pulled down around his eyes. "Um... what?" she asked.
"You don't appreciate the movies?" he asked her again. His voice sounded extremely old. Something about him creeped her out.
"Um, they're okay," she said. "I mean, I like them. I have to go now." She started backing away as she said this.
He caught her by her shoulder, gently, and said, "No, please, stay for a moment. I heard you say that the movie lacked credibility. Are you a fan of these... frightening movies?"
"Am I?" Gosalyn couldn't help but sound enthusiastic. After all, very few kids knew as much about monster movies as she did. Oh, sure, they all knew the recent ones- but she even knew the classics. "I've seen all the Werewolf movies, all the Frankenduck movies, most of the Battle Lizard movies, The Carbon-Based Lifeform from the Planet Uru series (which totally kicked butt, especially when they fried the alien's eyeballs in the second one), the original 'Glob' and the remake, the--"
"I see," said the man. He sounded a little amused. "So, you're a connoiseur." She nodded. "Do you feel that you could create a better movie than those which you just listed?"
"Not better than all of them," she said, "but some, yeah. Definitely better than this one."
"If I give you the chance to create this movie, would you agree?"
Gosalyn looked at him closely, trying to see his face. All she could see was part of his bill. Not being able to see his eyes made her a little nervous. But after all, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, wasn't it? And she knew what to look for in a criminal, and how to handle them. If all else failed, her father always looked for her. Darkwing Duck had never failed her yet. "Okay," she said. "I'll make this movie."
"Wonderful," he said. "Please, follow me." He stepped in front of her and walked at a leisurely pace towards the front door of the theater. She looked around as she followed him; no one else was anywhere nearby. She started looking forward to getting outside.
When they reached the door, he opened it and held it for her. "After you," he said formally. Warily, she stepped out ahead of him, then turned instantly to watch him follow her.
She blinked. He wasn't there. In fact, there was no sign of his ever having been there; the door was shut, no one was inside the theater, and even the concession stand was closed.
"Well... so much for that idea," she said, and shrugged it off. "Must have been that weird guy's idea of a joke," she assumed. She hoped that was all it was.
She must have been in the movie for longer than she'd thought, because it was getting dark. Already, Gosalyn was sure that her father was worried about her. "When is he going to accept that I'm not a little kid! I can take care of myself just fine!" she said. She considered calling him, and then decided that she'd rather just wait and get the lecture that she knew was coming when she got home. If she called now, she'd not only get it at home, but over the phone, too.
The movie theater wasn't that far from her house, but for some reason the walk was taking a lot longer than it should have. After fifteen minutes she saw that she was only halfway home. What was even weirder was that there was no one out on the streets around her. It wasn't that late... in fact, it was only just getting dark. "Am I missing something here?" she wondered out loud.
As if in response, she heard a sound behind her. A soft sound, like a footstep or a pebble falling to the ground, but a distinct sound that must have been made by something. She turned quickly, to see nothing. "Maybe it was a squirrel, or a bird...?" she mumbled, and looked up into the trees. Now that she thought about it, she hadn't seen any sign of any animals on her way home, either. Something was very weird just now. She turned and continued walking, and when the noise came again behind her she jumped.
Again, there was no one there. No way, she thought. I know what it sounds like when I'm being followed. A bad thought occured to her, which was that it was that creepy man from the movie theater. Oh, man, I should never have talked to him. But it was too late for that now. Now she had to lose him.
She decided to take a shortcut home. It wasn't a public shortcut, but it was elaborate and she knew it forwards and backwards. She took a left turn off of the sidewalk and cut through someone's backyard, then sprinted over their hedge and ran along them for about two minutes. When she reached a creek, she jumped across it using specific stepping stones. If you didn't use the right stones, you'd fall into the creek. Of course, only Gosalyn knew which ones were steady and which ones weren't.
She came to a fallen tree. The tree was so huge that trying to climb it was nearly futile; one would have to go around it. Either that, or jump over it somehow. She climbed a large oak tree that was nearby and made her way out onto one of the limbs. From there, she jumped onto a lower limb on another tree on the other side of the log. Mission accomplished. The rest of the way was pretty simply, just through the mini-forest until she reached the edge of her block.
When she was nearly out of the forest she stopped to rest. Not that she needed to; she'd run this course easily many times before, and would again. But when she stopped, she found herself listening intently. And then she heard it. More than a footstep, this time. A rustling, shambling noise. Someone following her, definitely. She peered into the dimness before her and was sure she could see something moving.
This is not good, she thought, too nervous to speak aloud. How had this guy made it through her shortcut? In the dark? She clenched her fists. Gosalyn Mallard did not wimp out. I'm not scared. So he made it through a little obstacle course, so what? That doesn't make him a monster or anything. All I have to do is get home, and Dad can take this guy out. And, she realized with some measure of satisfaction, it would be a great excuse for her lateness, and her father wouldn't be able to lecture her.
Whoever it was wasn't making any effort to be quiet as he followed her. He was just tromping clumsily along... getting closer by the second. She made her legs move in the direction of home.
Her curiosity got the better of her and she looked over her shoulder to see how far away the figure was. She was pleased to see that she was outrunning it, but her pleasure soon ended when she tripped and fell roughly onto the ground. "Shoot," she muttered. "That was stupid. That was really stupid." Her right foot felt sore, and she'd skinned her knee. She'd been through worse playing field hockey, but that was a whole different situation.
The footsteps stopped, and it occured to her that they'd been sounding a lot closer than before. She looked up to see the figure who'd been following her for so long.
It wasn't a man.
Not anymore, at least. Its eyes were glazed, pale pale blue staring out from under heavy, half-closed eyelids. Its face was pale and fleshy. Its bill was dry, and hung open stupidly as the zombie stared at her.
Gosalyn stared back until her brain finally told her it was time to run.
Once she'd started running, Gosalyn stopped being scared and started being sort of thrilled. A zombie! Here! No way will Dad believe this! she thought. Man, I can't wait to see the look on his face! She looked over her shoulder quickly to make sure that it was still following her, almost wanting for it to follow her all the way home just so that her father would see it. She could see the edge of the forest, and the first of the houses on her block. This is cool! After this Dad can never say my imagination is overactive again-- The grin on her face disappeared as the view of the forest's exterior was suddenly blocked by many shadowy figures.
She tried to stop, but it was too sudden. The figures caught ahold of her. Their grips were weak, but there were so many of them... She stared up into vacant, glazed eyes as the mob of zombies encircled her, moaning unintelligibly in low voices.
It was then that zombies stopped being cool.
A few of the zombies broke their circle, and the lone one who had been following Gosalyn stepped inside and stared at her, a somber expression on its face. "Having fun, Gosalyn?" it asked, and she recognized the voice of the man from the movie theater.
The absurd familiarity brought back her spirit. She glared at him and said, "Lemme go, now, or you won't like what I do to your legs!"
The zombie laughed. It sounded like a cough. "Is this real enough for you?" it said. Its eyes were drilling their way into Gosalyn's head. The thing never blinked while it looked at her.
"Of course it's real enough! Okay, okay, I've learned my lesson, never dis movies, right? So I can go now?"
The other zombies laughed now, in low, stupid voices. The head zombie silenced them. "No Gosalyn. It's not that simple. The movie's not over yet."
"What movie? This isn't a movie!"
"Isn't it?" She thought, from its tone of voice, that the zombie would smile evilly. She could see it for a moment, exposing its rotting teeth and black gums, grinning at her as if she were its main course. But its expression never changed, and that was somehow more frightening. It was silent for a long moment. Gosalyn heard something in the distance, like someone playing a radio down the street. Music. Thin strains of music, building in intensity, crescendoing. Background music for horror movies. Music for a darkened theater. The zombie spoke again. "I told you, you have a chance to be in your own fright movie. I thought you'd enjoy it."
It couldn't be real. Even Gosalyn, who had never doubted the existence of werewolves, vampires, or living Fungus people, knew that there was no possible way she could be in a movie. But she was being held captive by zombies, so she decided to play along with this idea. Just until she could figure out what was really going on. "So, I have to wait for the movie to end. When does the movie end?"
"That's up to you, now isn't it. Either you beat us... or we get you. And right now it looks like an awfully short movie, doesn't it!" The zombie did grin, then, and its bill made a creaking noise as it distorted itself. The other zombies laughed again.
Gosalyn's stomach twisted. "No way! You wait until I get my dad! We'll show you who's the winner!" She kicked out in front of her and missed the head zombie, but missed it. She made contact with another one, on its leg. There was a dull whunk and the leg broke like a piece of rotton wood. The zombie fell over. Gosalyn thrashed around as much as she could and freed herself, then ran for home.
The first thing that came to her attention was the fact that the whole street was dark. The streetlamps were on, but none of the houses were lit. It wasn't a very steadying sight. She chose to ignore the implications and instead barreled into the house screaming for her father. There was no answer. "Dad? Dad, if you're here, please--" She stopped. If he were here, he'd have answered by now. Her sweat had turned cold. "Launchpad?" she called, and still received no answer. A lot more softly, she said, "...Anyone?" Her reply came in the form of a small noise from upstairs that made her blood run cold.
From out of nowhere a thin chord of music wafted through the room. It got slightly louder, then diminished and went away.
Okay. Okay. Maybe they're at the tower, she thought. But then... what was upstairs? Considering how this "movie" was progressing so far, she thought she had an idea- and she didn't like it. Getting the heck out of here sounded really good.
She stared up the stairs for a moment, then quietly started for the transport chairs. Before she reached them, the large window at the front of the house shattered. An arm in a tattered shirt sleeve reached inward, followed by the rest of the body it was attached to. Several zombies climbed in through the window, towards her, blocking her way to the chairs. A pounding started on the door, getting louder by the moment. She didn't know if they could break down the door, but she wasn't going to stay to find out. She darted up the stairs.
No sooner had she made it up the stairs that she remembered that something was up here. The whole hallway was dark. She couldn't go back down, so she took a deep breath and made a break for her room.
On the way, she bumped into something, and screamed. It was big. A figure. Something that had been alive. She felt leather- a jacket- "Launchpad?" Please be Launchpad, please please please- she thought frantically.
She saw the outline of the figure bend its head and look down at her. "Gos?" it said.
"Launchpad! It is you! Where's Dad?"
He didn't answer. She felt him take her hand in his. It was cold, and the grip was weak. In a hollow voice, he said, "We were waitin' for ya, Gos."
She yanked her hand away from him and ran. When she got to her room, she slammed the door shut and leaned against it. She could hear him outside her door. He wasn't knocking or anything, just apparently standing there trying to get her to come out. "C'mon, Gos," she heard him say. "We're not gonna hurt ya."
She started crying. It was like a nightmare. For one moment, she thought, Of course! Of course it's a nightmare! The thought was such a relief. She almost accepted it, but something told her that she couldn't do that. It was too easy. She couldn't afford that luxury. She stood up, away from the door, and wiped her eyes. Then she pushed her desk over in front of the door, barring it.
Poor Launchpad. A few fresh tears came to her eyes. Maybe this was still reversable. Maybe she could get to Morgana, and she'd know what to do! But first she had to get out of here and find her father. She hadn't seen him yet, anywhere in the house. There was still a chance.
Gosalyn decided on her hockey stick as her primary weapon. If the zombies had any weakness, it was their frailty. They didn't feel pain, but they didn't hold together very well, either. She gave a few practice swings with the stick... it would work just fine as an up-close weapon. And to keep them from getting too close, she had her slingshot close at hand. "They killed her friends and stole her Dad," she muttered. "Now... it's personal."
She heard more noises in the hallway, drowning out Launchpad's voice. A pounding started on her door, steadily. She checked her window- there were some out there, too, trying to climb the side of the building. They kept slipping and falling, but eventually they might get the hang of it.
She put on her Cranial Protection helmet to keep them from getting at her brain, and looked around. Her dresser would work nicely. She spend the next five minutes laboriously pushing the dresser to her window, and the next ten finding a way to heave it up so that she could push it out. She finally accomplished it, and the dresser fell to the ground, taking everything on the side of the building with it. She looked out again. Nothing was moving. She shut the window.
"Now they have to deal with... Gosalyn Mallard: Zooooooombie Slayer!"
The next piece of business was to get the desk away from the door. This took less time, since she only had to move it enough so that she could open the door a little and slip through. When it was done, she took a deep breath and opened the door.
Launchpad saw her first, and started towards her. She willed herself not to cry, and said, "Sorry about this, Launchpad." Then she drew back her hockey stick and whacked him on the head with it. He stayed intact, to her relief, but dropped to the ground like a lead weight.
Then she stepped all the way out of the room, and pointed at the mob with her hockey stick. "Well? Who's next?"
Only one zombie seemed to take her up on this. It advanced towards her, its jaw totally slack, mumbling something about brains. She envisioned it's head as a puck, and gave it a good whack with the stick. There was another dull thunk as the stick made contact, but no other indication of what happened next. The head came completely detached from the body, flew across the hall, hit the wall, and dropped to the floor. The body fell over. There was no blood, no gore. It was like attacking a dummy.
Pleased with this, Gosalyn grinned. She stepped on her skateboard and set off down the hall at top speed, whacking at zombies left and right. If she thought about it, she was sure she'd realize how gross this really was... but she didn't give herself time to think. At the moment, this was almost fun. She made it to the end of the hallway and didn't stop there, but took a sky dive down the stairs, still bashing heads whereever she could.
She stopped at the foot of the stairs. The house was silent again, but she didn't feel safe. There, in the living room, the Head zombie was watching her.
"You're doing excellent, you know," it said, its voice so hollow she was surprised it didn't echo. "You should win an award for this movie."
"I don't care about awards," she said, a disgusted expression on her face. She allowed herself a brief internal moment of considering how famous this movie could make her if anyone ever saw it, and then readdressed the zombie. "All I want is my father."
"Well, you should be finding him any minute. Assuming I let you," it said.
"Right," said Gosalyn sarcastically. The zombie made its way towards her. She pulled out her slingshot and aimed quickly with a small marble. The marble hit the zombie's forehead, and punched through it, leaving a dry hole.
"Oh...," it said, fixing its eyes on her, "good sho-" Then it collapsed.
"Don't worry, Dad, here I come," she said. She stepped over the body, towards the chairs.
"Where are you going, Gosalyn? I thought you were looking for me."
"DAD!" she cried, and whirled around to face him. Her spirits fell as she realized that she was too late. Darkwing Duck, in all his zombie-fied glory, stood and looked at her with glazed, lifeless eyes. "Oh, Dad, no," she said quietly. "This can't be how the movie ends..."
"Gosalyn, you should have been back hours ago. Look at what you did."
No... He couldn't mean that this was her fault... could he? But it made sense. If she'd come home right away after the movie, instead of talking to that creepy guy... if she'd skipped the movie entirely... This wouldn't have happened. She had one chance. If this was a movie... and if she had to end the movie to get home... Then she had to kill her father to get her father back. She couldn't. She just couldn't make herself do that. But if it means that he'll be normal, and alive, in the real world...
"Come along. Obey your father," said Darkwing. He started towards her. She didn't move at all. When he reached her he took her arm, and began to take off her Cranial Protector.
She shook her head and pushed away from him, but still made no move against him.
"You always were a problem child," he said, his voice hollow.
This isn't Dad, she reminded herself. It didn't seem real. Come on. Do it. She forced herself to raise the slingshot, but then lowered it again.
Darkwing showed no signs of noticing her actions. He said, coldly, "I knew you'd turn on me when you got old enough. Sometimes I wondered if that was how you lost all the rest of your family."
Gosalyn stared at him, tears in her eyes. She'd thought that a lot, herself, when she'd been alone at the orphanage. Maybe she was a jinx. Maybe she'd somehow caused the deaths of her parents and her grandfather, without meaning to. Did her father really think that? She fell into despair. Her arms lost their strength and fell at her sides.
Darkwing said nothing more. He started towards her again, and reached out for her. Then he fell over, a small, marble-sized hole in his forehead, and didn't move again.
Gosalyn glared at him. "You're not my Dad. You're just a stupid, clichéd movie character. And now I win."
She stood in silence for nearly a minute. The house felt normal again. The tense silence from before was gone, replaced by a normal silence. Somehow this made her sad. She was alone. She had won. So why on earth wasn't she back home?
"Maybe... the theater!" she cried. She had gotten into this movie world through that door at the movie theater. Of course, she'd have to go back through that door to go home! "Duh," she said. "Like that isn't the way most movies go, anyway!"
She ran the whole way there. The theater was as she left it: Dark and vacant. She stepped towards the door, praying this was the right idea. She put a hand on the doorknob. It was cold. She took a deep breath and turned it.
It was locked.
Frustrated, she tried the other doors, in the desperate hope that she could get home from one of these. They were all locked, every one, and no amount of kicking or pounding got her through.
Her frustration turned to fear. "No. NO!" She pounded on the door some more, knowing it wouldn't help but unable to do anything else. "Aw, c'mon, PLEASE! COME ON!" The glass didn't break. No one heard her. "PLEASE! I HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO GET OUT OF HERE?"
A pair of pale, cold hands grabbed her from behind and yanked her out of the frame.
There was a loud musical sting as the screen went black.
As the credits started to roll, and the audience got up to leave, a young man looked contemptuously at the screen. "Aw, man, that was awful. What a stupid ending. That movie had no credibility."
He followed the rest of the movie-goers out of the theater, not pausing as he passed the poster advertising the movie. It read:
"Gosalyn Mallard: ZOMBIE SLAYER"
For a limited time only.
The End
Story © 1996 by R. Littlehales. All characters are © the Walt Disney Co., and are used without permission. This story is not intended to infringe on the rights of the W.Disney Co, nor is it intended to make a profit. The story may be reproduced with my permission, but no profit may be made from it.