Devil-Powered Death Train of Doom #3
"Okay, well, that's disturbing to hear, but to each his own.
So here's how it's going to work. Davy and I are going to visit the hot dog cart and buy ourselves one final wiener.
We owe him that much. Patricia, when you get a text message from me saying that we're on our last bites, you'll use the train.
We'll take notes on what happens. Does everybody understand their role? "
"I want to turn on the train," said Davy.
"You can't. If you'd been paying attention while I outlined the plan, you'd know that you'll be with me near the hot dog cart. Unless Satan granted you the power to be in two places at once, it doesn't work."
"It's my train. I want to do it."
"Let the little rascal turn on his own train," said Patricia.
"Fine. I'll go alone. Make sure he doesn't, you know, grab dozens of figures and place them all on the tracks in an attempt to wipe out the entire population of this town."
After driving into town and parking his automobile, Harold walked over to the hot dog cart. Hot Dog Bob gave him a jolly smile.
"Lovely day for a hot dog, isn't it?" asked Harold. "I'll take one with mustard and onions."
"Dijon mustard or yellow mustard."
Dear God. Harold had forgotten that Hot Dog Bob offered two varieties of mustard. Were they making a terrible mistake?
"Dijon."
"Coming right up! And would you like raw onions or grilled?"
Two varieties of onions as well! Hot Dog Bob didn't deserve this.
"Raw," said Harold.
"Absolutely, sir." Hot Dog Bob went to work preparing the meal. Harold just stood there, wallowing in guilt.
The hot dog was delicious. The attention to detail on the placement of the Dijon mustard was exemplary. With two bites remaining, Harold wasn't sure he wanted to take another, because when he was down to his final bite, he'd have to text his family and ask them to commit an unspeakable atrocity.
Maybe he should call the whole thing off.
No. He wasn't going to be a damned liberal about this.
He took a bite of the hot dog, then texted Patricia: Now.
Hot Dog Bob stepped out from behind his cart, looking confused, and then terrified. "My legs!" he wailed. "I can't control my legs!"
He began to run, arms flapping as if he thought he could use them to offset the work being done by his legs.
Harold chased after him.
Finally Hot Dog Bob stopped. Harold recognized the spot. It was where part of the track of Davy's evil train set was located.
"What is happening?" Hot Dog Bob screamed. "Why did I run without my permission, and why can't I move now?"
The ground in front of him cracked open. Thick smoke billowed out, and trickles of lava spewed out. And then a train emerged—a black, flaming, skull-adorned train with horns.
"Tug me out of the way!" Hot Dog Bob shouted at Harold.
Harold just watched in horror as the train smashed into Hot Dog Bob. It was astounding how much gore was contained within a human body.
The train faded into nothingness. The ground closed up. Aside from the gruesome splattered remains of Hot Dog Bob, it was as if the train had never been there at all.
Harold glanced around to see if there'd been any witnesses. There were lots and lots of them.
"Rats," said Harold.
"This was all his fault!" said an onlooker, pointing at Harold.
"I saw him purchasing a hot dog from our beloved Bob, and then I saw him tapping away at the screen of his cell phone, and that's when Bob ran to the very spot where the magical train struck him!
It can't be a coincidence! Crucify him!"
"Crucify me? Seriously?"
"Well, that train was clearly driven by Satan, so it kind of got me thinking about religion and stuff, so the idea of crucifying you was the first thing that popped into my mind. Obviously, everybody else can veto it if they think it's going too far."
The other onlookers agreed that crucifixion was the way to go.
Harold quickly sent Patricia a text: In trouble. Kill the town.
The onlookers grabbed Harold and dragged him to the center of the park. Fortunately for Harold, nobody had a giant cross immediately available upon which to nail him, so a couple of them hurried off to purchase some lumber and nails.
Suddenly, all of the onlookers began to walk away. Those who spoke said things like "What's happening?" and "Hey, I'm not doing this!" and "Why have I lost control of my appendages?"
But it wasn't just the onlookers. More and more people walked to the spot where Hot Dog Bob had perished.
Harold began to fear that the entire population of town was gathering to be slaughtered.
He kept thinking of people and searching for them in the crowd, and they were always here.
Edith the Hairdresser. Gertrude the Cashier.
Vincent the Sadistic Dentist. All of them were accounted for.
The ground split open.
"No!" Harold shouted. "That's too many people to kill at once! Satan, please stop! Show mercy! Find the kindness that I know is in your heart!"
The train emerged from the ground and rocketed forward.
So much death.
So much blood.
So many spleens.
A blood drenched Harold returned home, feeling sad. Patricia hurried out of the basement to greet him.
"Are you okay?" she asked. "I questioned your order to kill the whole town, but I knew you wouldn't ask me to do it without a good reason. What's that in your hand?"
"It's Benjamin's head," said Harold. "Since Davy will be forever haunted by the nightmare he unleashed, I figured he should at least get this bit of satisfaction before he's consumed by madness.
We'll have to move to a new town since there's nobody left here to keep the infrastructure going.
I expect to lose at least one of us to suicide.
I thought this adventure would have a happy ending, but I see now that I was fooling myself. "
Davy walked into the living room. "I know you're all worried about me.
At least Mom is, because she heard me laughing the whole time.
But I just want you to know that I made figures of each of you, and I had the presence of mind not to include them when I was shoving everybody else on the track.
So you should be worried about my mental state but not too worried. "
"Glad to hear it, though I don't think we'll be turning our backs on you anytime soon. Pack your things. We have to move at least one town over. Oh, and I brought you Benjamin's head, just so you don't feel like all this ghastly carnage was a waste of time."
Davy frowned. "That's not Benjamin's head."
"Well, shit."
The End