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Chapter 3

     The Story The Authors
Vigo Itsy looked out from beneath a cart at the creatures as they descended into the saltwater tank. Thrusting his nose into the air and back and forth,
"sniff sniff sniff" He squeaked to himself,

"Hmmm, what are these creatures odiferous and smelly
that look like the color of strawberry jelly
with matchsticks for legs and capers for eyes
and a tail like a bird that's red and hard shelly?"mouse

"Their claws are gigantic yet lacking in fingers
they're good with the Taffy these odd looking slingers.
They can fly through the air or go under water
they look like big insects, but where are their stingers?"

Vigo was a little mouse that lived at the Taffy Factory. He'd never seen a sea creature before in his life aside from Lupo the goldfish that one of the secretaries kept in a bowl near her desk. Vigo and his friends could count on spilled GoldFish flakes for food when there was nothing else around. He'd also grown up with taffy as a staple, but the giant lobsters, easily 20 times his size, stood to change all that. And then there was the dog. He knew for certain that dogs were trouble. He scurried off to tell his friends.

Chris
Barbara was having a dream, perhaps even a nightmare. Spiders were crawling across her palms. She could feel their legs tingling across her skin but when she moved her fingers to push the spiders away they had already crawled onto the back of her hand and her fingers simply became sticky with webbing. The spiders crawled in circles around her hands and wrists and the more she struggled to flick them away the more tangled and stuck to her they became in the web they were weaving. She was boxed in by fear of being stung, afraid they would bite her if they sensed her agressive fingers. She wanted the spiders off her, she couldn't stand the feel of the movement of their legs on her skin. She was sweating, eyes watering in fear, short of breath. Yet the more she struggled the thicker the webs became. The more bound she was. The less freedom she had. It was becoming harder and harder to move, as if she were being wrapped in a cocoon. pH
As she struggled against what she thought were spider webs, Barbara came to a confused consciousness. She could not move and she did not recognize her surroundings. She could feel the panic welling up insider her and wanted to scream but there was something sticky covering her mouth. She was able to move her head side to side and could see the hostess from the Easter Island Tiki lounge lying next to her. She was still unconscious and was bound in what appeared to be banana flavored saltwater taffy. On the other side of the room she could see a large vat of saltwater teaming with several dozen lobsters. Circling over her was the horrible corpse of a dog. A dog that she recognized. It was the very same dog she had run over while reading the marquis in front of the Gubernatorium! cuddles
"Just keep playing Possum," whispered Joselito then, cooly, into the whorl of Barbara's ear. "Don't let him know you're awake. Who knows what madness they have planned."
"I'm somehow reminded of that brawl that broke out at the Persimmon Room back in 1983... Remember?" she whispered back.
"Oh, cara mia, cooed Barbara's Higher Power back at her. "Not a day goes by that I do not treasure our escape from that nightmare. You were like Red Sonja..."
"And you, my little voix du Raison, were braver and cleverer than Jiminy Cricket why, when you bit that copper on the " But here her reminiscence was cut short by the arrival of the dead dog, who sniffed something different (underneatht he overpowering odor of bananas) about the Barbara-cocoon.

We shall leave Babs and Joselito to feign sleep, then, and proceed to the adjacent taffy cocoon, where, right about then, Pata was being rudely awakened by Hinenuitepo, Maori goddess of Death as well as Pata's own Higher Power, beating angrily on a rusted iron spirit-drum, shrieking unrepeatable blasphemies against the other gods and goddesses in the pantheon of old Oceania, gouging out her own omniregenerative eyes with a series of horrid shriekings, and generally making herself into an approximation of the Most Unpleasant Alarm Clock in the History of the World...
Philip


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