Blame it on the Prophecy by Technique (good non fiction books to read .txt) 📕

to hear dog’s barking as well.


“Not real, not real, not real. This is the 21st century, not some stupid gothic movie.”

But his attempts remained futile. Every clank, every shadow, every dull thud made him flinch, which was exceptionally painful in his armour. Stupid costume! Screw the knight, next year he’d dress as a slob in a track suit.

Straight ahead he could see a bright beam, like light wriggling its way through the tiny space between door and floor. He could hear noises, but not the clanking and howling he had learned to hate by now, no, it definitely sounded like “Blame it on the Alcohol”. Mike’s heart leaped in his chest. That was party noise! Thank heavens, he had found his way back! He quickened his pace, a smile dancing across his lips as he quietly sang along, “Blame it on the vodka, blame it on the henny, blame it on the blue tap got you feeling dizzy, blame it on the ah-ah-ah-alcohol.

“

Just how stupid was he? He was drunk, as easy as that. Drunk and hallucinating. Who knew just what was in the punch, knowing Brad he might easily have put in some „special“ ingredients, that would be the kind of thing Brad found funny. And to think he had been convinced to have unleashed hell and death and what not. Mike shook his head at his own stupidity. He reached the door and tried to pull it open, which didn‘t work. Neither did pushing. Annoyed, Mike took a step back, preparing himself to crash full force into the stupid door as he noticed another streak of light at the end of the corridor. „Might as well try there before I shatter my shoulder“, he mumbled and set off, tripping over something too soft to be a stone. He didn‘t give it a thought though, all he wanted to do now was to find Brad and smack him around the head for spiking the punch. He wrenched the door open and found himself back in the courtyard.

It was like a flashback, nothing had changed. Howling wind, rolling thunder, lightning flashes. He half expected to find staircase, dog, death and nun, but of course, there was nothing there. Still, he had no desire to stay there; that hallucination had been way too real for his taste. He turned around to try the other door again, just in time to see the light of the next bolt flashing off the scythe, as a hooded figure bent low over what he had tripped over before. Mike saw Anna‘s eyes stared up at him, unseeing, cold, dead, before the door slammed shut and muffled the sound of wind and thunderstorm.

Imprint

Text: Lyrics quoted by Jamie Fox, Blame it on the alcohol
Publication Date: 02-03-2010

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
To Prof. Loidolt, who made me write this