Jessica

00000000

I screamed, pushing the frozen animation legend back, but his icy fingers refused to let go.

Cartoony thoughts, I told myself. Think cartoony thoughts.

I started singing Pressure Drop by Toots and the Maytals.

Walt didn't sing along with me, probably because it was after his time, but he did give me a zombie-like "Huh?" and I somehow escaped his clutches by turning into the rodent mascot for my design company, about a foot shorter than my regular self.

He climbed out of his coffin to chase after me.

All the sealed burial compartments rattled like an earthquake had struck, and, judging by all the explosives we set off upstairs, I wasn't a bit surprised.

Of course, my second guess was that Uncle Walt had unleashed some terrible demonic power, like he had The Bloodstone or was experiencing The Quickening or something.

I kind of wanted to hang around and see what kind of destruction he was capable of, but I really didn't want to get my blood sucked by some old man. Plus, anytime you see light flashing through the wooden slats in your sheetrock, and Hellraiser chains flying through the air, it's a bad sign.

Misty pulled out a gun and shot Walt a couple times, but he was a vampire, so it didn't do anything.

Worse, when I turned to run, she screamed and turned into a skeleton as lightning bolts lit up her body. She fell to the floor unconscious.

It's hard to check the vitals on a cartoon, but I assumed she was still alive because she hadn't turned into a blackened cinder.

I picked her up, trying to drag her out the door, but that's when I saw Mickey and his Minnies blocking the way with their assorted weaponry.

"It has been a long time since my corporeal form has feasted on human flesh," Mickey said, his voice dropping to a masculine, heavy smoker's voice.

I gave him a nervous laugh. "You all right, Mickey? You don't seem to be acting like yourself!"

"This is my real self." He gestured to the vampire. "By all means, re-acquaint yourself."

"No thanks. I'm good."

His smug demeanor dropped. "Hand over the Spike."

While rescuing Misty, I had somehow managed to pocket that spike in my bikini, despite not actually having pockets. Hammerspace, I guess. "What use it to you?"

"Use!" he cried indignantly. "What use! How about transferring the human consciousness into an animated entity! The Spike! Give it to me!"

I stared at him in astonishment. "You transferred your consciousness into Mickey Mouse."

Mickey looked uncomfortable, like he may have had a few regrets about the decision. Maybe. "As I lay dying of lung cancer, surrounded by nothing but images and films of Mortimer, excuse me, Mickey, a scientist friend delivered that spike to me via courier. The Spike was my only hope. By the time it arrived, my life was nearing its end.

"The Spike brought my creation to life, but it did nothing to save mine. I made a phone call to the professor, but he knew nothing that could help me.

"That's when I remembered how one of my child actors, Kurt Russell said that his mother was a witch/spiritualist. I made a call to her right away, begging her for any possible means to prolong my life.

"It was Louise who suggested using it as a stake. The damn doodle refused to do it.

"But a child...neither one of us could resist the draw of a child..."

"Kurt Russell stabbed you in the chest with the Spike!" I finished with a laugh. "That's awesome!"

"It will be more awesome when you return what is rightfully mine."

"I can't let you do that," said a gruff voice behind them.

I glanced back, and there he was. R. J. Macready himself.

He was aged, wearing a beard and an eyepatch. He would have been rather heroic looking, had he not also been wearing a pink t-shirt from some breast cancer rally. I guess...you could probably still call that heroic.

In his hands, he gripped an industrial blowtorch.

The Minnies spun around, pointing their guns at him.

"I wouldn't do that, Kurt." Mickey said. "Right now, you have a favored place in my Magic Kingdom. Don't spoil a good thing by being an asshole."

"There's no point," he said, arming the igniter on the flamethrower. "You already beat me to it."

He blasted Mickey in the face.