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Tales From Beyond The Enchanted Prong Hills

The Baron Of Dried Fruits

Mike

Page 2



  

"Oh, baron," simpered Princess Daughter in the time honoured tradition of the pathetic brainless tottie, "You say the sweetest things. What a beautiful poem. You should be called Byron Shagnasty."
The princess may have had the face of an angel and the body of a goddess but she had the literary acumen of a mollusc.
"A beautiful poem for a beautiful princess," smarmed Baron Shagnasty in that puling ingratiating manner of the loin-driven male.
The princess giggled girlishly.
Baron Shagnasty then produced from beneath his elegant squid-skin cloak a small, lavishly wrapped gift adorned with a big red silken ribbon and proffered it to the princess.
"What's this?" she inquired, smiling cutely.
"A small token of my admiration," said the baron.
She took the baron's packet* and began to unwrap it eagerly. Suddenly, the smile fell from her face as she saw the contents of the parcel. Her jaw dropped, her eyes widened in an expression of sheer horror and the blood drained inexorably from her hitherto rosy red cheeks. Her hands shook uncontrollably and the packet slipped from her trembling fingers spilling its contents onto the crazy paving.
The baron broke out into a fit of demonic laughter.
"Hu-hu-hu-hu- hi-hi-hi-hi- he-he-he-he- hee-hee-hee- hee-hee-hee- haw-haw-haw- haw-hawwwww!" he guffawed devilishly. Then he turned on his heals and fled leaving the hysterical princess screaming amongst the scattered remains of his supposed gift.
For encircling the princess's feet were the vilest, most hideous, most grotesque things she had ever seen in her life - half a pound of split red lentils.

And now night has descended.
A suspicious looking man, clad entirely in black, stalks cat-like over the turrets of the royal castle. See as he leaps lithely between roof-tops. Notice how the moonlight occasionally catches the otherwise silhouetted figure to reveal the object he carries. It looks a bit like a box of chocolates doesn't it, but somehow I suspect something a little more sinister. Now he finds a partially open window. Look at him! He's forcing it wider! He's in! Perhaps we should tell someone. No, wait. He's back. He's up on the roof again. He no longer has the chocolates. Now he is gone, descended below the skyline. Oh well, it's not our problem anyway. Best to go back to sleep. Perhaps we dreamt the whole thing afterall . . .

Princess Daughter's lady-in-waiting, Olga Glutinous Ample-Fridge, was awakened early in the morning by hysterical screaming coming from the princess's bed chamber. She arrived to find that the princess had fainted and was lying on her bed amongst the cause of her distress. Strewn about her bed was a yellow ribbon, some torn pieces of wrapping paper and a substantial quantity of dried chick peas. Olga had to place her hands over her mouth to prevent herself from being sick. It really was a most repulsive spectacle. Outside, the sound of diabolical laughter could be heard which trailed off gradually into the distance.

*Please, please. You know it's the present I'm refering to.

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The Baron Of Dried Fruits
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