THE AXE-ORCIST 2, THE PRANKENING.

The killer was, to say the least, not happy to be trapped, dressed as a scarecrow in a locked wardrobe with a mad axe Princess outside, but things were about to get much, much worse for him. Farmer Palmer and Muriel owned this house, and while they may be mere ghosts, the presence of his murderer was enough for them to want to go poltergeist on his ass. Muriel eyed the wardrobe and then the long twisty staircase, and an idea entered her mind. It was time for some payback.

They started off simple, laughing, and whispering outside the wardrobe door. Then upgraded to knocking softly, then not so softly. Palmer even took a runup and kicked the damned thing. Then in the ultimate act of spite, they started popping their heads inside, pulling funny faces through the thin wooden walls. But this wasn’t enough for them; they wanted revenge, and gods dammit, they were going to get it; they wouldn’t leave the farm until they succeeded. (Apparently, getting murdered and blamed by the murderer for the haunting tended to rub them the wrong way, who knew?)

Now under normal circumstances, a ghost cannot lift a lot, but loopholes are a thing. So between the two of them, they grabbed an old mop and an old stool to act as a lever. They had a little time before Rosalind caught up. Smirking to themselves every time the wardrobe tipped, as muffled curses were emitted from within.

Under normal circumstances, stepping out of a closet is a joyful act, one to be applauded and celebrated. When there are angry Axe Princesses outside (not to mention somewhat irate spectres who have a reason to dislike you in particular) who would be more than happy to assist your rapid divestment from your extensive portfolio of limbs is not one of those times. So despite being locked in and rolled around the floor encased in a wooden box, the killer desperately held the door shut.

************************************************************************

Rosalind was hot on the trail of the killer but had lost the scent as they entered the Palmer family haunt. (After all, what kind of absolute numpty when being chased runs upstairs?) So when loud thumping was heard from upstairs, she had to investigate.

There she found it, a wardrobe being levered by 2 former farmers towards the staircase (it seemed they were carefully maximising the amount of times the thing flipped to ensure the bumpiest ride possible for the unfortunate denizen.)

Now Rosalind may have been not very good at handling fear? But good old fashioned spite? She could get behind that. To her, it was the most human of emotions, o it was somewhat understandable when she could not suppress a smirk at the thought of a little petty payback. So she decided to join in the fun, helping them to stand the damn wardrobe end on end, so the git hiding inside would find the thing he was stuck in flipped upside down as often as possible, as they edged the thing closer and closer to the staircase.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“It’s not too late to come out, you know?” She offered smugly, noting with amusement that the door stayed firmly shut, and the swearing from inside got louder. So she did the obvious and gave the damned thing a nudge at the top. Chuckling as it tumbled down the stairs, swearing all the way, slamming to rest at the bottom.

Rosalind was amused but, after the attempt to scare her off early, was in particularly petty Princess mode and was determined to scare him just as much.

At that moment, Muriel had an idea and floated over a chunk of an old sack, carefully cutting eyeholes. (Using her good fabric scissors, if she wasn’t already dead, the terrible crime of using her good scissors on burlap would have been a killing offence all on its own, but in the circumstances on reflection, she was rather unlikely to be using them again, and a good old fashioned dose of payback definitely helped to sweeten the pot.)

With a chuckle, Rosalind pulled the improvised headsman’s hood over herself and readied Choppy. While Farmer Palmer and Muriel had fun by beating the sides. If he wasn’t going to come out of there on his own, it was time to haul him out. But first, off it was time to be mean. She knocked gently on the improvised casket door, then put on her best singsong voice.

“Check your arms,

count your legs,

Hope you didn’t like your head.

Back again,

feel their pain,

blood will pour like cleansing rain,

you killed and scared,

but we will top it,

so let’s meet my friend.”

She slammed the axe through the door with a satisfying crunch.

“HEEERRREEE’S CHOPPY. “

They pried the door open, hauling out the unconscious murderer foaming at the mouth with somewhat damp pants. Palmer and Muriel helpfully floated over ropes, and he was bound.

He wriggled and squirmed against the ropes and quickly realised maybe, in the circumstances, running may not be an act with many (or any really all things considered) long term prospects, particularly as it would piss them off further and that seemed like a rather bad idea. So he settled down while Rosalind paced around him like a hatchet-wielding lioness around a nice juicy gazelle. (Not at all a lion, those lazy sods never bother to do anything but grow a particularly big set of sideburns, sleep around, and then nick off leaving the childcare to the mothers, and yet every bugger calls them the king it’s a bloody scandal.)

“Now,” said Rosalind deciding it was time to REALLY scare the hell out of him. “At least one count of murder, one count of attempted murder, that or conspiracy to treason.”

“T-t-TREASON?”

“What else do you call damn near giving a crown princess a heart attack? In case you forgot, I kinda need my heart, and given that you made me chase all over the place AND do paperwork, I’m not in a very forgiving mood.”

At that, the killer slumped.

“Then,” said Rosalind, reaching to remove the scarecrow disguise, “let’s see who you really are.”