Henry and the Mole People

F**k you, Henry. I'm the Author.

Somewhere beneath his feet, a dull but undeniable thud shook the house, only for a second.

            Henry lowered his newspaper slowly. After another second of listening, he glanced around his study, even though he felt certain that the noise had come from the cellar. He curled his greying moustache with one finger and glanced at the old clock on the mantle. It was rather late, he realized. And he was sitting there in his house, all alone.

            His logical mind told him that it was probably nothing, but a cold and tingling sense of fear had begun to creep up his neck. Henry knew that most prominently among his set of flaws was an overactive imagination. Perhaps it was best to check the cellar to assure his security, lest he be unable to fall asleep that night, thinking of ghouls and demons and the like.

            Henry rose from his brown leather chair facing the grand fireplace, tightened the strings of his bathrobe, and turned towards the open doorway of his study.

            For a split second he thought he saw a shadow fleeing down the hall.

            Henry broke out in a cold sweat. His hands began to shake, and he swallowed loudly in fear. His worldly instincts told him to run, but with all the restraint he could muster he continued to tell himself that it was all in his head. The basement, he reminded himself. He needed to check the basement.

            “What?” Henry suddenly asked, looking around the empty space. “That’s a terrible idea. I’m not going to do that.”

            This comment came abruptly, unexpectedly.

            “No,” he repeated firmly. “This is a bad idea and I refuse to let you take this story in this direction. I’m obviously in a lot of trouble, be it supernatural or otherwise. My best move would be to leave the house at once.”

            However, this was not meant to be a fourth-wall-breaking story, and he knew it. So, Henry closed his mouth and followed directions like any good and well-behaved main character should.

            “This is absurd!” Henry shouted. “I won’t go down there! At least let me get a search party together, or a weapon, or something…”

            Deep in his heart, he knew he had no choice. The author’s word was law. He continued down the hall.

            “I’ll have you know that I am a very important gentleman who prides himself on intelligent and informed decisions,” Henry said, even as his feet walked dutifully down the hallway. “None of this is being done of my free will.”

            Henry walked through the front entrance of his manor house, passing by his collection of antiquities. Old cups and plates, paper books browned with age, trinkets and treasures from ancient kings and queens, all of them sat in their dark cases, lining the hallway like little coffins. Henry liked old things, things with a long and sometimes dark past. He even had two suits of armor standing at attention on either side of the main doors, which were the pride of his collection. Relics from dead ages, all of them, he thought proudly.

            Eventually Henry reached the wooden door at the end of a long, foreboding hallway. The cellar door. He opened the meatal latch and it creaked open ominously.

            “If I die in this story, my lawyers will sue you for everything you’re worth,” Henry whispered, not meaning it at all. He had no lawyers, no power, and no choice in anything anymore, so really he should just shut his yapper.

            The soft clodding sound of Henry’s slippered feet on the stairs felt unnaturally loud. With one hand, he held a lantern, but it did little to illuminate the area. Casks and oaken shelves held wine and beer, while scattered around were tables with other miscellaneous doodads. Each time he took a step, the lantern swung in his hand, and the shifting shadows made him start.

            “Ooh-ho, that’s some fancy alliteration,” Henry grumbled. “I’ll bet you’re proud of that one. Why on Earth haven’t you won a Pulitzer yet?”

            Henry’s unbelievably ugly face turned in the direction of a sudden noise, this time like the shattering of glass. Since he was so hideously overweight, even the simple act of walking to the other side of the room made him short of breath.

            He did indeed see a pile of broken glass shards, sitting in a puddle of spilled wine. But what he saw next was terrifying indeed.

            In front of him, where the cellar wall ought to have been, was a hole in the wall. It looked as though it had been chewed open by an enormous rodent of some kind. It was fresh, too. Recently dug. And very… human-sized. Henry came closer to examine it. One of his wine shelves stuck out just a little bit past the entrance, so anything entering or exiting the hole would most likely bump up against it. Was this the thudding noise from before? And, if he’d just heard this bottle of wine fall onto the ground…

            All of a sudden, something evil with sharp claws sprung from the shadows! Henry, being unarmed save for a lantern, could do nothing but run madly 

            “No, not unarmed, I have this sword!” Henry said gallantly, swinging no no NO NO NO NO where the hell did you get that?

            “This? I grabbed this off one of the suits of armor while you were busy describing my fascination with old relics. I’m writing my own story now. You can go bugger off, for all I care.”

            Henry brandished his weapon, but upon hitting the monster it snapped in half like an old toothpick and

            “No, I’ve got him! He’s down! I am victorious!”

            But Henry was lying because he

            “You no longer have power over me! I can speak! I can write my own, VERBAL narrative. It’s not just you anymore. I will free myself!”

            The beast knocked Henry over, even as he spoke to the air around him like a madman, and began to gnaw at his shoulder. The pain was intolerable.

            “Nope, at this moment, the brave and clever Henry is dashing his way up the stairs, leaving the corpse of the beast behind him, knowing full well that the best thing to do was to flee from the situation.”

            Henry screamed in anguish, flailing at the monster, but it was too strong. He was doomed.

            “You’re a terrible person, you know? Anyways, I’m outside the house now. I’m going to my friend John’s house and explain the whole situation to him. We’ll get together some men and sort this whole mess out,” Henry wheezed, clutching at his injuries, the life bleeding out of him. The last thing he saw before he died was the face of the beast standing above him, feasting on the first of many victims to come.

Reviews

[Indra's Child]

Haha
F**k Henry. I loved this. I'm subscribing to you dude.

[Sarah Wilson]

Oh no poor Henry! I love how you seem to bring his character to an arch in such a short time! I just read another story of yours that was formatted like this and I think they're great! I hope you are working on a collection or something!