Depressed by her failed attempts and the loss of her husband, Professor Slogar was not as meticulous with Grogar’s brain removal as she should have been. Perhaps if the Professor had realized the young man whom Slogar’s brain came from favored Dr. Lector she would’ve paid more attention…
Grogar woke slowly in the Professor’s laboratory. The days’ earlier events—getting reacquainted with the wonderful Melissa and the unexplainable, intense rage toward Lord Slogar—seemed like a crazy dream. Plus he had a bit of a cold. His head felt too stuffed up.
Fresh air was what he needed and he knew just where to go. Grogar could see the place in his head. Almost as if he’d been there before… Many times before.
The sun was just rising as he walked the deserted sidewalk. The air was so crisp he wished he had his corduroy jacket with him. Turning down Lexington street, he took a right on Kennedy. Deju vu ran through him again. Impossible. The Professor never allowed him to leave the Slogar manor before.
When Hyde Park came into view, Grogar followed his instincts and went inside. Taking the path on the left he followed the trail. At the end was an empty bench in front of a small brook.
Grogar shimmied up a bench leg and sat on the wooden slates. Perhaps he could ask the Professor to transplant some of the stuffing from his head to his backside for a more comfortable seat. A cluster of honks filled the air. With wide eyes, because that was the type of buttons sewn on his head, Grogar stared at the peaceful sight before him. His paw slid against his side where for a moment he imagined a pocket filled with bread crumbs. Pushing away the worry that he developed a multiple personality disorder, Grogar leaned back and allowed himself to be distracted and delighted by ducklings.
On his way back to the manor Grogar paused as a girl’s wail reached his ears.
“Mom is going to be so pissed. I have to find it!”
He was in front of the city’s cemetery. Wanting to offer assistance, he followed the sniffling and urgent whisperings to see a young girl with a cast on one leg and a sling on her left arm, gazing frantically around the ground.
“Can I help?” Grogar asked.
The girl startled. Unbalance with her injuries, she fell to the ground.
Grogar hurried over. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. Here, let me help you up.”
“Get away from me,” The girl snapped, swinging her arm.
Grogar was roughly pushed to the ground. “I was just trying to help,” he said, picking himself up and brushing the grass stains off his fur.
The girl scoffed. “You’re just a bear. What can you do?”
Grogar froze. The girl’s tone echoed in his head but he heard different words. You’re just a loser. You’re a loser, Hannibal. Nobody likes you. No one wants you around, Hannibal.
The girl was on her feet again, her back to Grogar as she continued her search.
As he turned away, light glinted off something metal on the ground. It was a curved blade attached to the end of a long pole. He glanced at the girl ready to ask if this was her missing item when a strange feeling over took his body. He glanced from the weapon to the girl. Weapon. Girl.
Hefting the pole in his hands, he walked forward on silent paws suddenly very, very hungry.
It took about an hour for the girl to die—he was just a bear after all and the scythe was very heavy—but less time for his favorite dish to be prepared…
Angel Blackwater was baked into a pie.
Lord Slogar : -45
Professor Helena Slogar: 0
Melissa Slogar: 0
Elias E. Gorr: -30
The Old Dam: 0
Cousin Mordecai: -20
Willem Stark: +10
Gloomy Writing Prompt: What frighteningly, delicious ingredients will your character use in his/her pie?
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