‘Avoid the attic’, they told us.

Jittery as a neurotic grasshopper skipping on skittish sleet, Fuchsia snuck to the attic and searched. Somewhere amongst the hellish hub-bubble of hoarders’ heaps, lived the Fiendish Fluffy Playthings’ Playbook. A way to defeat Evil Ted. 

Downstairs the rest of the crew celebrated Sammy’s welcome-home bash. They’d rescued Sammy the shy sheltie, from the dog-napper Evil Ted. Caught the incy-wincy enfant-terrible and unmesmerised his mammalian minions. But the itty-bitty too-cute brute had escaped his sippy cup gaol.

Now, Evil Ted’s minuscular muscles swam in Mocha-Choca mousse. He wished to manifest the might of a moose with a caffeinated, sugary, squishy boost. But he was a stuffed bear, without space for dessert. He ventured upstairs to the forbidden room.

The attic shook.

‘I am Evil Ted and I will get you, Fuchsia Pig!’

Evil Ted tried to donkey-bellow, but his ridiculous pretend-french-speak squeak more resembled a donkey’s derriere. He made an ass of himself. He slammed grubby chocolate fingers and sticky Teddy feet against Fuchsia’s chest, with the force of 1,000 sticktight fleas. Fuchsia didn’t notice a thing.

The attic quaked. They shuddered. A wobbling Boris Bubblebutt materialised, fractured tenfold. Then amalgamated his amusing alien anatomy. The attic rattled.

A lame Buff Duck, with unfortunate luck, latched onto the end of Boris’s triple-nostrils. A shrill trill spilled from the ducky’s beak. Boris zigzagged, jiggled and jerked to dislodge his nose’s squatter.

Clutter clattered. A bedlam of books, dust and pointy chromium tools lifted off walls, twirled and swirled in vortex of air and a plethora of bottoms. Fuchsia held on to the curtain and Evil Ted’s mousse-covered tail. Her trotters teeter-tottered until tiny Evil Ted was loose. Boris splattered the walls with spittle until released from the grasp of pesky, peaking duck. Fuchsia caught the flailing duck and situated her in a place of safety.

Evil Ted quacked up.

Boris waggled his shrubbery eyebrows, wriggled into himself, looked at Ted and chuckle-spoke. ‘It’s so hot in this attic, if only we had bear conditioning.  Put some clothes on, you’re a spectacle, bare, and a little grisly; bear!

Teddy tore up and ran until he got a stitch.

Boris Bubblebutt squeezed and squished his shiny skin through the attic door. Fingernail-across-the-chalkboard screeches and a blast of balloon-air squawks vied for the most unpleasant sound-sations. Until the attic window shattered, torpedoing glass shrapnel across the lumpy book-strewn room. Boris stepped on a ragdoll cat burglar wearing a cloak of invisibility.

The kitty hissed and wailed, ‘get off my tail!’

Fuchsia spotted the book she needed. It disappeared but popped in and out of sight in flashes of verse and sneaky cat. She followed glints of cinnamon text downstairs and out through the kitchen window.

Boris Bubblebutt said, ‘yes, I’m gravity challenged. My multitude of bottoms are full of the air from when blown bubbles burst.’ Boris Bubblebutt floated off, a mock hot air balloon.

Fuchsia followed the cat as quiet as a Cathedral mouse. In the meadow, the cat disrobed the invisibility cloak just long enough to cough a hairball or six. She hissed on the hairballs and they became a plant. A plant that grew into a bulbous tyrant-a-plantasaurus Rex. The tree expanded high and wide in the sky. The clever kitty clawed her way above carrying the treasured Tome in her cat backpack.

‘I’ve got to find that book.’ Fuchsia pondered how to ascend the tree towers. ‘Has a pig ever climbed any tree, let alone, this voluminous beast?’

A familiar fatuous falsetto chortle interrupted her mind meandering. Evil Ted was attempting to ascend the tree. He slipped and slid, and continued to cackle with a fanciful sense of superiority.

Boris Bubblebutt wafted by, but the wind gained speed. He’d fallen asleep and slammed into the tree monstrosity. Colliding with the cantankerous kitty, he caused a cat backpack catastrophe.

Evil Ted plummeted. His face wore the aghast alarm he always hoped to inspire. The kitty glared from the summit whooping catcalls at his disgrace.

The cat scratched and punched at Boris, but he’d taken on ghost form. His bottoms were pivotal, so when pounded they were a conveyor belt of sorts. The backpack bumped along Boris’s bountiful, phantom buttocks until roused from his nap, his corporal form reformed. The Tome toppled from its tote backpack and descended gaining speed.

A flattened Teddy broke the book’s fall. Evil Ted soon resumed his soprano scourge. The cat and the tree disappeared as if they never existed.

‘You won’t escape this time.’ Fuchsia whispered to Ted. Then she screamed, ‘Thank you Boris.’

Sixteen eyes winked you’re welcome. Boris floated off singing, ‘We are the champions, my friend…’ Playing air guitar, bass, keyboard and drums with enough limbs to make six octopuses jealous.

Fuchsia remembered the hapless duck and took her to a haven for waterbirds. At last Fuchsia could join Sammy’s welcome-home party.

Rusty Boar and Auburn Snake wrestled wits in an endless jumping amphibian debate of tic-tac-toad. Kasey kelpie and Sammy sheltie played rock-paper-scissors by acting it out in the snow.

Dragon Doctor Hue and Ella-phantastic decided to chair a pageant of fun and frivolity. There were jesting jackals juggling jam donuts, peanut-tossing tarantulas wearing fake tattoos. But the star of the show was a comical mermaid acrobat trying to fit her tail in a giant shoe while swinging a hoop-de-loop. The audience roared with laughter. After all, they were laughing hyenas. They offer the best reception for any comedian. 😀

Written for Featured Fiction #33, Wordle #28, and Stream of Consciousness Saturday

This is Chapter 7. Each chapter can be read on its own or click here for chapter 8. To start at the beginning click here