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April 2, 2011 / milesandhisfavorites

Front Lines Chapter Five: We Shop For RVs And Witches

Two hours after lifting off from the Bloodnick Garden, we touched down outside the Cleveland Museum Of Art.  From there, Burlida cast some fairy spell on the transport to make it invisible, and we caught a bus to The Flats.  Then, we walked a half mile to some remote part of town, which was where Burlida said our target was.  “She’s very covert,” the Mimi explained.  “Runs a small business on the outskirts of town.”  Finally, we arrived.  It looked like a car dealership, only instead of cars, RVs and trailers were in the old lots.  And instead of a snazzy building, there was a small concrete shack in the middle of the place.  A dingy sign hung on the chain link fence that surrounded the business.  It read: YAGA MOBILE HOMES-WHERE SERVICE IS MAGICAL.

We stepped inside the shack.  In one corner were a few filing cabinets, and a fuzzy loudspeaker was softly playing “It’s A Small World” nonstop.  At the front of the structure was a small wood desk.  Sitting at the desk was an old woman in a brown pantsuit.  There was more lint on the outfit than there was outfit.  On her desk was a tiny sign that read: BEATRICE YAGA, MANAGER.  Burlida approached “Beatrice” carefully, and rapped her knuckles against the desk.  The manager’s head flew up sharply.  “Wha?” she said in a deep Russian accent.  “Oh, you come for a mobile home.  Welcome to Yaga Mobile Homes, where the service is magical.”  Burlida frowned.  “We know what you’re up to, Ms. Yaga.  That boogeyman uprising was headed by you, and you know it!”  Yaga looked confused.  “I don’t know WHAT you’re talking about.  I haven’t even swindled somebody in-” Burlida glared daggers at her, tapping her foot on the floor.  “Okay, days.  But you won’t be able to prove me guilty if you AREN’T ALIVE!”

She stood up and moved the palm of her hand in a spiral motion.  The shack’s door swung open and we flew out into the RV lot.  Just then, the shack began to shudder and quake.  The ground underneath it cracked in two like a fault line, and suddenly the concrete building was fifty feet in the air, held up by two muscular rooster legs with incredibly sharp talons.  The legs moved, and suddenly we were running through the streets of Cleveland, Ohio, with a house on chicken legs chasing us.  The door opened, and Beatrice, who’s real name was, according to Burlida, Baba Yaga, was standing in the frame, wearing leather aviator goggles and carrying a wooden box with several joysticks protruding from it.  That’s when I got a crazy, just-might-work-but-probably-won’t idea.

I activated my spear/staff, and aimed the bolas feature at a nearby telephone pole.  The spear point lodged itself in the wiring, and I pulled hard, so it slammed into another pole and both toppled.  I began pulling at the various electrical cords until they had formed a tight, spider web-esque maze.  Unfortunately (for Baba Yaga), the chicken house’s legs got tangled in my wire labyrinth, until they were wrapped around each other.  Yaga screamed.  “My house!  My house!  Where will I live!”  I launched my spear point at one of the house’s ankles, but not before I smirked.  “I would be worrying about bigger things than real estate, Yaga.”  The leg buckled, and the shack toppled over.

Baba Yaga ran screaming from the house, arms bent impossible angles, before collapsing against a parked Mazda.  Burlida waved her hand, and emerald handcuffs were clasped against Yaga’s hands and ankles.  Something suddenly smacked me in the forehead.  After recovering from the initial humiliation, I picked up the projectile.  Burlida gasped.  “That’s… that’s the Book Of The Dead!  The origianal!  It can control any zombie, spirit, or anything dead or undead!  THAT must have been how Baba Yaga controlled the boogeymen!”  I took a good look at what appeared to be a thick, leather-bound book, colored yellow and black.  Zany font on the cover said: Duat For Dummies.  I opened it up, and instantly, I heard strange noises coming from a nearby cemetery.  A funeral procession strolling down the street started acting more cheery and upbeat, and dark stormclouds that covered the skies suddenly disappeared, like we were in the eye of a hurricane.  That’s when I heard a voice.  “WHO DARES WIELD MY SACRED TEXT?”

From the sky, something landed in front of us.  He was nine feet tall, and looked like an Egyptian man wearing a tunic, jeweled necklaces, and a black hat shaped sort of like a bowling pin.  Burlida’s eyes went wide, and she started to stammer.  “O-o-Osiris!  I’m sure Sophia m-meant no h-h-harm, opening the Book of the Dead.  Sh-she’ll give it back to you right now, w-won’t you, Sophia?”  I tossed the book at Osiris, and he caught it, scowling.  Somebody-or something-came running from a nearby alley.  It was a young man, about twenty or so, only he had jackal ears and curved fangs.  Osiris’s face lit up, as if he was expecting the monster to maul us.  “Anubis,” he said, grinning ear-to-ear.  “This misguided trio has STOLEN the Book of the Dead.”  Anubis growled with ecstasy, as if he was waiting for the signal to kill us.  Osiris snapped his fingers, and Anubis pounced.

Me and Jacob drew our weapons, and charged.  Anubis’s arms turned black and furry, and he grew claws the size of dollar bills.  He slashed at us, but Jacob parried with his dagger, and sparks flew.  I stabbed Anubis in the shoulder, and he melted into black mist and floated away.  Osiris scoffed.  “And he was my best servant!  I SUPPOSE you deserve to know the truth, though you won’t live much longer.  Me, Anubis, Baba Yaga, and a few other immortal beings have banded together to bring forth a new age-the age of the undead!  No longer shall mortals live on this planet!  Instead, the boogeymen, the zombies, and the spirits shall rule!”  He flicked his wrist, and everything went black.

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