Buick Cannon: (A Joke From the Moon) by Berntson Brandon

Author:Berntson, Brandon [Berntson, Brandon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-05-19T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER IV

The bookstore wasn’t any better. When he walked inside the next day, pushing the door open, Buick surveyed the surroundings with amusement. He raised his eyebrows, stepped onto dirt and fallen leaves, and wondered what had happened to Little Time To Read.

A tree stood in the middle of the store, a gnarled ageless thing with a huge, thick bole. A mound of lush grass and moss surrounded it. Was a breeze coming from somewhere? Buick smelled rain. There was no light switch, no magazine rack. The books had disappeared. The store was a doorway into some unexplainable fantasy in the middle of a primitive forest.

Buick shook his head and wondered what was going on. It didn’t make sense. An owl surveyed him from one of the branches, turned its head an entire three-hundred and sixty degrees, and accosted him with a loud, ‘Who!’

“Creamy Weenie, my pa-tooty booty,” Buick said. “What the hell is going on? What happened to my office?”

The door shut behind him. A massive, bulky, smelly troll stepped out from behind the tree and plopped himself down. A fat, green finger plunged into its nose and proceeded to explore. The troll pulled its finger out, sniffed, eyed it carefully, and seemingly satisfied, plopped it into its mouth. The troll grunted with satisfaction.

“Where in the hell have all the good times gone?” Buick asked.

The troll took note of him. Eyebrows descended, and his lip curled, revealing dirty, yellow teeth. It growled at him and stood up, holding a large wooden club in its hand. It sauntered toward Buick with an unsteady gait, cocked its head, and peered carelessly.

“Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it,” Buick said, holding his hands up. “Just pick your damn nose and leave me alone, will ya?”

The troll growled and moved toward him, just inches away.

“Who told you, you could stay here anyway?” Buick asked. “This isn’t a goddamn motel, ya know? Pick up that tree and get out of my store.”

The troll grunted, cocked its head, and studied him again.

“Look, I don’t have any time for games,” Buick said, getting angry. “Get outta here right now, or I’m calling the cops!”

More teeth revealed themselves. The growl was suddenly louder. The troll was angry. It bent toward him, sniffed, offended by some stench Buick emanated.

“Why, you little sonofa—”

The club came up, belting Buick on the side of the head. Bright stars went off in his brain. Pain reeled. He fell to the side, holding his spurting, bleeding head. He was trying to say something, but the troll advanced and crushed his skull in. Buick fell to the ground, enveloped in darkness. Pain gripped him from every side.

Above him, the troll smiled, and picked its nose.

~

Surrounded in shadow, Buick Cannon pried his eyes open. The shadow stayed with him. He was lying on boards (burned or painted black?). The walls were the same around him. The black house had followed him into his dreams. Somehow, he knew, he had to find the black house again.

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