A Change of Pace

As you all know, I mostly write stuff that’s funny. Sometimes what I write is intended to be funny but it is by no means funny. Today, I will attempt to not be funny (is the repetition bothering you yet?), and instead, I will make you shake with terror. Yes, Ben de Plume is going to write a horror story.

The year is 1968. The exact date is unknown, but it is most likely February 18th. No, wait, it wasn’t the 18th. The 18th was the day that that weird looking ghost came into town and killed that family. It was the 22nd. Yes, that’s right. The 22nd. Never mind, the story takes place on the 22nd of February. The setting is a grassy hill, 16,000 feet above sea level in the country of Peru. Despite the coming nightfall, upon the hill grazed three llamas. They have llamas in Peru, right? Yeah, that’s the place they have them. They have them in America too but mostly in zoos and laundromats. 

Nearby sat a young couple, Timothy and Lisa. They sat and ate their turkey sandwiches and surveyed the llamas. It was either turkey or ham. What? No, it’s not important to the story. Not at all. It’s called being descriptive. I think. The llamas continued to eat their grass, and the couple continued to watch the llamas continue to eat their grass while continuing to eat their turkey (or ham, I’m still not sure) sandwiches. Lisa turned to Tim and kissed his cheek gently. She whispered, “Those three llamas are absolutely beautiful,” then they began to talk that sugary crap that couples talk. I think that’s what they do. Shoot me an email if I’m wrong.

Once they had finished the thing that they proceeded to do on the grassy hill in Peru, which I probably shouldn’t name here, they sat up from the ground and looked back in the direction of the llamas. “Lisa, weren’t there three llamas before we did it?” said Tim. Shoot. Now you know what they were doing on the grassy hill in Peru. Hold on, how did I even know what they were doing? Whatever, it’s fiction anyway. Wait a minute, I don’t think you’re supposed to tell people that when you’re telling a horror story. It’s like telling a patient that one of the possible side effects of a medication you’ve just prescribed them is certain death. It ruins the suspense! 

“Oh gosh, Tim…where’s the third llama? I don’t see him anywhere. Maybe he went behind that other hill over there and we just can’t see him?”

“Lisa, turn around…very slowly.”

Simultaneously, the couple turned around. The theme music to “Psycho” should be playing in your head right now. You don’t know what it sounds like? Okay, fine, I’ll do it for you. Rhee! Rhee! Rhee! Rhee!

There was the llama, right before their eyes. They couldn’t believe what it was doing. It was…oh gosh this is making even me want to sleep with the lights on tonight…it was still eating grass.



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