She stuttered “Noth-ing-ing”, she jumped out and took off running. Turned left. And stopped. She was on the town strip. The town ho was plying her trade underneath the neon sign for the 7-11. She knew that woman…
… who was diligently hoeing away on the weedy strip in the middle of the street. She looked up, wiped the sweat off her forehead, and waved at Harley. “Hey, girl, it’s me …”
“But…h-how…when did…just HOW did you get here?!” Quinn finally asked. “The last time I saw you, you were…you know…in that…”
…cult thingy." “How did you get outta that, girl?”
She looked up from her hoeing and asked for a donation for Father Krab and his followers.
“Hoeing for Krab now? They really got to you! At least they untied you and let you put clothes on now. Do you need help getting away? It’s ok, you can tell me. Blink once with your left eye if they are watching you.”
Sophie, the hoe girl, said “I’m fine, I’m happy” and “We’re having a meeting tonight, wanna come?” And she shoved 2 pamphlets in Harleys hand and took off.
Harley needed a place to hide out awhile. She was thinking…
Thinking…thinking…she should be thinking of how to help Sophie. She knows so. But God damn, those socks. How was she gonna get those socks!?
“Oh, I got it” she thought. She headed back to the alley with the dumpster. “Oh, hell yeah” she exclaimed! The socks were still there. Perfect donation for the Krab followers. She grabbed as many as she could…
…until the ally flood lights suddenly kicked on, blinding her as the roaches scattered. The same voice as before rang in her ears.
“I’m warnin’ ye. Ye be wantin’ to let them socks be! They be currrrrsed, I’m tellin’ ye! CURRRRRRSED!” The rolling “r”'s gasped from the old man’s toothless mouth rang in her ears. Before she knew it, the old man slammed the door and the lights snapped off, returning sanity…or did it?
If you want Harley to take an armload of cursed socks, turn to page 47.
If you want her to run screaming into the night, turn to page 35.
Edit: if you want to try and follow the old man, turn to page 99.
(Oooh, choices!)
PAGE 99.
The old man slunk back into his door. Slamming it against the dark alley. He limped his way into the kitchen. He fixed a large whiskey. Sat down at his table and resumed his…
…studies. He opened his copy book and textbook “magical enchantments, for fun and for profit, volume 14b.” Scratching out the last few notes with his pencil, he started the chapter “footwear” from the beginning. Hopefully this time he won’t make the same mistake…
He’s always gotten stuck in the 'footwear chapter. He had a thing for feet. He had a pet theory that Mermaids really had feet, ‘fishy feet’, if you will. He was determined to prove this theory. Socks were part of his research. Even Mermaids deserved warm feet. His mistake had been the cat motif. Everyone knows cats eat fish. “Wrong, wrong, wrong” he murmured…
He looked at his own footwear. Olive colored crocs and pale pink knee high stockings with a rainbows and unicorns motif. He smiled. They had been a gift from …
A secret internet lover. His lover thought he was a hot blond with a smokin’ Momma figure. If the truth were known it would…
…probably cost him his monthly stipend he gets for sending his benefactor foot/footware pics. But right now, he needs that money to continue his research. He doesn’t have time for a job. And who would hire him anyway? He’s just a bitter old man. But once he completed his project, THEN they’ll pay. They’ll ALL pay. MwahahahahahaHAAAAAAAAHAAHAHAhahahaha…MWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHAHAhahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaa.
Anyway…
There’s the Mermaid in the bathtub. Insurance in case his theories were scoffed at. Back to his studies, he…
…got a third of the way through the first paragraph, which he has probably read 10 times by this point, when he heard a rapping. Rapping at his chamber door.
“What is it THIS time!” He yelled to himself. He shuffled over to the door and opened the eyeslit. There was Harley.
“Hey, sorry to bother you,” said Quinn, “but I kind of zoned out when you were talking about pages and stuff. Do you have a trash bag or something? I want to give those socks to a needy cult.”
Just then, the mermaid in the tub started singing. He froze, enchanted by the siren’s song, captivating and promising of eternal poon tang if he just dove into the deep ocean…
“Hello?” Harley snapped her fingers in the man’s face. “I was really hoping you’d give me some exposition, because I’d really rather know why there’s so many socks out here. Who’s that singing?” Being female, Harley was immune to the mermaid’s song, but she soon realized the man was in a trance. She reached through the slightly open door and slid the lock chain out of its groove. She stepped inside and followed the singing to…
…a hoarding nightmare. This place used to be a curio and oddities shop, but now it was mostly overrun with junk.
Old man, clearly lost in the song, started shuffling towards a door. Harley dropped the armload of socks and grabbed his frail frame and spun him around “Hey! HEY!” she yelled in his face. In a brief moment of lucidity, he looked at her and mumbled…
“H-help me…you’ll need to knock her out…” he started drifting off again…
Harley reached the bathroom door. She peeped in and thought “Dammit, girl’s got some serious boobage!” She screamed at her to shut up. The Mermaid said…