Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me.
Author's Notes: Finally! Chapter four! Sorry this took so long to get out, but with FF.N being so unpredictable lately… hope my majority of readers haven't died of suspense… the plot thickens!
Beware! – The Horror Still STILL Continues
Faster. Faster.
Had to get away. Away from that terrible, terrible freezer and it's disgusting contents.
Harry's car ripped up the dirt road that he was flying down, sending chunks of dirt and rocks everywhere. But he didn't care. He had to get away.
Finally, he reached his destination. Stopping the car, he climbed out and admired the view. He had driven to a hill, a high, quiet hill outside of town. Here, he could sort out his thoughts.
So he sat down cross-legged on the grass to think.
~
Meanwhile, Peter had just pulled up at his apartment building. Out the car, up the stairs, up the stairs, up the stairs, -damn, maybe he should start taking the elevator-, finally opening the door to he and Harry's place.
He tossed his jacket and shoes into a corner, throwing himself down on the couch.
"Ohhhh…" he moaned.
Not only did his stomach feel about three sizes larger than normal, his head was spinning. Why had his spider sense gone off like that? What could possibly be wrong with Aunt May?
Rolling onto his side, he flipped on the television.
Anthony Hopkins face filled the screen and spoke the words,
"I'm having an old friend for dinner."
"Nope." Peter grunted.
Flipping to the next channel, Peter raised his eyebrows at the sight of several scantily clad native types dancing around a fire, while an announcer solemnly intoned,
"The Zubutu tribe once survived almost entirely by cannibalism."
"Yuck!" Peter yelped, changing the channel again.
An image of a covered wagon came onscreen as a voice-over droned,
"Stranded in the mountains, the Donner party was forced to resort to cannibalism."
"Ugh…" Peter groaned. "Not what I wanted to hear."
Gingerly patting his aching stomach, Pete decided that if there was nothing on TV that didn't involve anything nauseating, why watch. So he flipped the off button and the set went blank.
Peter shuddered. He hated the concept of cannibalism anyway.
And why was his spider sense going off again?
~
By now, Harry was pacing around the hilltop, holding a dramatic debate in his brain.
Issue number one: Aunt May is a cannibal.
"Holy shit…" he muttered to himself.
How freaky was that? Aunt May, a woman who'd loved and been kind to him all his life was eating his father behind his back. Eeeew…
"Dammit! I always knew little old ladies were one big fraud!"
Issue number two: She had apparently eaten most of Uncle Ben and was starting in on Norman Osborn.
Now that was just wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. And disgusting too. What kind of twisted, praying mantis instinct drove her to consume her own husband.
Harry shivered and jumped as a chill raced down his spine.
"Great. I just gave myself a major cases of the willies."
And the creeps. And the heebie-jeebies. And all that awful stuff.
Issue number three: She was obviously planning on eating Peter.
This was the tough one.
What was he supposed to do, waltz into the penthouse and say 'Hey, Pete, how's it going? Oh, by the way, the motherly old aunt that raised you since you were four is actually a cannibal who ate your uncle and is planning on eating you. What's on TV tonight?'
Bull shit.
He punched at the air in frustration. Cracking an evil old lady's master plan was harder than he thought…
~
He was lost in a fog. He could hear voices calling him, telling him to look out, beware…
And suddenly, the super-sized special of the day loomed before him.
It had eyes of onion, and a tomato tongue lolled out of a mouth ridged with pointy carrot teeth.
"You're too thin!" it shrilled.
In Aunt May's voice?
~
"Gaaaaah!"
Peter sat bolt upright on the couch, so quickly that he immediately tumbled to the floor. Staggering to his feet, he looked at the clock. Six-thirty. He must have asleep, and that must have been a dream…
"Weird." He muttered.
He was about to go into the bathroom and brush his teeth (it felt like something had crawled into his mouth and died), when he stopped dead in his tracks at a sudden sound.
Ring ring.
The phone?
Filled with a terrible sense of foreboding that he did not understand, Peter nonetheless walked over and picked up the receiver.
"Hello?"
"Peter darling!"
He blinked.
"Aunt May…?"
What was it with that woman and calling him at all hours anyway?
"Don't worry Aunt May, I'll eat a filling dinner." He said, too tired to hear her spiel about him being a growing boy and needing his sustenance.
A laugh. "No, Peter, I wasn't calling about that." A pause. "So, Peter, have you seen your friend Harry since we left from lunch?"
Come to think of it…
"No, I haven't. Why?"
"I tell you what Peter, I'll come over."
"Wait, it's ok-"
Click.
So, Aunt May was on her way over. Wonderful.
He scurried into the bathroom, diving for a good tube of toothpaste.
~
The sun was setting by the time Harry reached the end of his rope.
He was going home to tell Peter the truth.
Sure, Pete would probably think he was crazy and call the police –no, the men in white coats – to take him away where he couldn't hurt anyone. But still, he had to let him know. It was for everyone's own good.
Now how was he going to say it?
"Damn…"
~
Knock knock.
Peter opened the door to penthouse, feeling not the least bit of surprise to see Aunt May standing there with a few Tupperware containers.
"Hey, Aunt May."
What a lame rhyme.
"Hello, Peter." She said warmly.
"Do you want to come in?" he asked politely, gesturing to the interior of the place.
"Oh no, I just wanted to drop these off here. And then, you and I are going back to my house for dinner!"
Huh?
"But Aunt May, we had lunch toge-"
"Nonsense!" she clucked. "Don't you want a nice, home cooked meal back in the place you were raised?"
Actually, that sounded pretty good.
"Okay, let me grab my jacket. Oh, and I'll leave a note for Harry…"
~
So when Harry came in the door half an hour later, he saw a stack of three Tupperware containers sitting innocently on the countertop.
"Oh my God…"
He circled them apprehensively, as if they might spring from their perch and bite him on the nose. But they appeared harmless…
Advancing, he peered at the Post-It note stuck on the top container. In Aunt May's familiar handwriting, it read,
Eat up Mr. Osborn!
Harry screamed bloody murder and tore the note off, staring at it in horror. Wait a second… looking closer, it read,
Eat up, Mr. Osborn!
Made especially for you, Harry.
- Aunt May
Although the note clarified, Harry gave the containers a look. He had a sickening
feeling he knew what –or, more appropriately, who- was in that 'meatloaf'.
-That woman has problems.- he thought grimly.
Ten minutes later, after the 'meatloaf' had been given a proper funeral in the park, Harry came back in the door.
This time, however, he noticed the other note left on the counter.
Hey Harry,
Going over to Aunt May's to eat. Won't be home till late.
Peter
"Shit!" Harry yelped.
Snatching up his car keys, he went barreling out the door.
Peter had no idea what he was walking into.
He could only hope he'd get there in time…
~ To Be Continued…