"I can’t believe it!” I exclaimed, “we made it out of the Torture Labyrinth!”
Grungleby and I looked around.
“It looks a lot like the Torture Labyrinth, doesn’t it?”
We had walked through the door, and into another hallway.
The walls were made of similar rough stone, and the air had the same damp dankness.
“Hang on a minute…” I began, turning around.
The door slammed shut noiselessly. The lock clicked.
“Hm.”
“Seems like a plot contrivance, doesn’t it?” Grungleby said.
“A what?”
“A plot contrivance.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know,” it shrugged, “we should probably keep moving.”
I accepted this, and began walking.
The hallway was completely silent apart from the soft marching, and occasional squelching, of our feet.
We walked in silence for some time, and then continued to walk in silence for a good bit longer.
Soon, seemingly at the same time, an interesting fact became apparent to us.
“Awfully quiet, isn’t it?” we said in unison.
We looked at each other in surprise.
“Well, not anymore, I suppose,” we said together again.
This delighted us.
We skipped gaily down the corridor, laughing and singing songs together. I must say, it was a grand old time.
But soon enough, another interesting fact became apparent to us.
Or, rather, to Grungleby.
It stopped skipping and looked around.
I looked at him, disappointed that our gay skipping had been stopped.
“How long have we been skipping?”
I looked at my watch.
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“About forty minutes or so.”
“Awfully long hallway, isn’t it?” it said.
I looked around.
“More of a tunnel than a hallway, now that I look at it,” it mused.
“What’s the difference?”
Grungleby looked at me as if I had just asked the difference between a gremlin and a goblin.
It opened its mouth to say something, but quickly closed it.
“Yes,” I said as I looked around, “it is quite tunnel-like.”
It was silent for a second.
Then it said, quietly,
“You’re no gremlin, guy.”
“Oh,” I said, crestfallen.
“...not yet, at least,” it muttered.
I looked at Grungleby.
“Hm?”
“Hm?”
“What was that?”
“What was what?”
“What’d you say about me not being a gremlin?”
It looked around, not unsuspiciously.
“Hm? What’s that?”
I looked at it.
“Hmm,” I said.
Grungleby looked at me strangely.
“Where’d you get that?”
“Get what?”
“That watch.”
I looked at my watch.
“I’ve always had this.”
“No you haven’t,” it scoffed, “trust me, I woulda…”
“I don’t know,” I shrugged, “maybe I picked it up in Gary’s office, or something.”
Grungleby’s jaw dropped.
“You stole that?” it asked in disbelief, “from Gary?”
“Maybe,” I rolled my eyes sheepishly.
“Oh man,” it said, “he’s gonna be pissed when he finds out.”
“He won’t find out.”
“He will.”
I scoffed.
“Whatever, man,” I said weakly.
Grungleby looked back down the tunnel.
“Where’s it going?” it muttered to itself.
“Where’s what going?”
“The tunnel.”
“Oh.”
I looked ahead.
“Seems like down there, innit?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you reckon’s down there?”
“I don’t know,” it sighed, “seems like we’ll have to find out.”
I thought about this.
“It does, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” Grungleby mused, “it does.”
We began walking in silence again.
The tunnel stretched on for what seemed like miles, a straight and seamless corridor marked only by an imperceptible incline.
The skipping, and the sheer gayness of it all, had already taken its toll on our legs, and soon enough, the incline had its way with our calves.
Interestingly, a fact that was more painful than interesting became apparent to me.
“YEEOWCH!” I screamed.
Grungleby jumped.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Sorry,” I said, “it’s the incline. Finally got to me.”
“Oh,” it looked at my calves, “yeah, those look messed up, man.”
I looked at my calves. They looked normal to me.
I looked at Grungleby’s calves, and that was when I first realized how muscular it was.
Not only its calves, but its entire body. Every inch of its creamy green skin rippled in sensual waves of-
“What are you doing, man?’
“Hm?”
“Why are you staring at me like that?”
I caught myself.
“Sorry,” I said, and straightened out my suit.
Grungleby looked at me quizzically.
“Where’d you get that?”
“Where’d I get what?”
“That suit!”
I looked at my suit.
“I’ve always had this.”
“No you haven’t!” Grungleby cried, “What’s going on?”
I looked around. I listened.
“I mean-”
“Sh!”
“Wha-”
“Sh!”
Grungleby listened as well.
There was just the barest hint of noise coming from the end of the tunnel.
“What is that?” Grungleby asked.
“Sounds like a crowd.”
Grungleby looked at my suit, and then back down the tunnel.
“No…” it said.
“What?”
“...it couldn’t be…”
“What is it?”
Grungleby slowly and silently crept forward.
I followed.
“What is it?” I whispered again.
Grungleby shook its head.
“I don’t wanna jinx it. Let’s just see.”
We crept forward, and soon enough, the tunnel ended.
There was a solid, wooden door set into the wall in front of us.
No light crept from beneath it, but a dim din could be heard coming through it.
I looked at Grungleby.
We pushed open the door.