Run Away!! by Vicki L. Nelson

For the Lancer Writers August Challenge:  DUST (with a nod to Monty Python’s Holy Grail.)

Disclaimer:  I love the Lancer Boys, I really do. I’m just poking a little fun at them here.  I think someone once said “Satire is the sincerest form of flattery.” Or was that imitation?  Well, whatever….all in fun….Scott and Johnny were the best….please don’t come gunning for me!

Word Count 1,560

J:  “Scott, there’s something under my bed!  Ya gotta come help me!”

S:  “What do you mean there’s something under your bed?”

J:  “There’s something under there….I think it’s breathing!”

S:  “Well, have you brought any more stray animals into the house lately?  Bobcat kits, cats, dogs, squirrels, skunks, goats, horses…Arabella?”

J:  “Naw, haven’t done that for a long time now.  Seriously, Scott…I’m starting to get a little nervous!”

S:  “Johnny, how old are you again?  What are you thinking….there’s a monster under your bed?”

J:  “Ha ha….no….well, maybe?”

S:  “Seriously, Johnny.  You need to grow up!”

J:  “Come on, Scott.  What good’s a big brother if you don’t come in ta look for me?  I’m tellin’ ya, I’m startin’ to get a little scared!”

S:  (Deep sigh) “You’re not going to give up until I do, are you?”

J:  “Nope, probably not.”

S:  “Johnny, have you ever heard of karma?”

J:  “Caramel?  Yeah, pretty good stuff.”

S:  “Not caramel, karma!”

J:  What the hell is ‘karma,’ Scott?”

S:  (Another deep sigh) “It means I must have been a horrible person in a past life to deserve what’s happening to me right now.”

J:  “What do you mean, what’s happening to you right now?”

S:  “You’re happening to me right now!”

J:  What’s the matter, brother? You gettin’ another one of your headaches?

S:  Yes.

J:  You get a lot of those, don’t ya Boston?

S:  Yes.

J:  Maybe you ought see Sam about those.

S:  There’s no cure for my headache unless Sam prescribes fratricide.”

J:  Fraternize…what?  Scott, will ya stop talking in words that have more than two syllables?

S:  Johnny, I’m proud of you.  The word ‘syllable’ contains three syllables!

J:  What’s a syllable?

S:  What’s a syllable?  You just used it in a sentence!

J:  I just wanted to show ya that ya ain’t the only smart one in this family. I wanted to show you I knew the word syllable.

S:  I don’t know if you can say you know the word syllable if you don’t know what it means.”

J:  “Jesus, Scott….ya sure are a stickler for rules…C’mon, Brother.  Daylight’s burning…you gonna help me or not?”

S:  (Even deeper sigh) “Yes, because if I don’t, you won’t let up.  Come on, let’s check under your bed.  Geez, for a former gunfighter, you continually amaze me!”

J:  “Wow, thanks Scott!”

S:  “That wasn’t a compliment.  Let’s get this over with.”

J:  “Do ya hear it, Scott?  Don’t ya hear that breathing?”

S:  “I don’t hear a darned thing!”

J:  “Well, look under that thing there that’s hanging off the bed.”

S:  “You mean the DUST ruffle?”

J:  “Oh yeah, that.  Stupid name, if you ask me.  C’mon, look under that there, DUST ruffle, Scott!”

S:  “Johnny, I’m kind of afraid to.  Your room is a pig sty…God only knows what I’ll find under there!”

J:  “Chicken? Bawk, bawk, bawk!”

S:  “No, I’m not chicken.  I just don’t want to catch some disease.”

J:  “Just look, will ya?”

S:  (Huge sigh) “Okay, okay.  If I look under your bed, will you stop bothering me?”

J:  “Didn’t think I was botherin’ ya, but okay!”

S:  “Oh, for God’s sake, Johnny!  I can’t even see the floor under here!  What kind of junk are you storing under here?  Speaking of chicken…why are there chicken bones under here?  And dammit, there’s half a chocolate cake under here!  So when I wanted another piece of cake, I thought there wasn’t any left.  Now, I know why….you are a selfish, inconsiderate….”

J:  “C’mon, Boston.  You’re gonna hurt my feelins if you keep talkin’ like that!

S:  “And damn it….there must be half a dozen of my ties under here! No wonder I can’t find a tie when I need one.  Did you ever hear of the term “borrow?”

J:  “Hell, yes….I’ve heard of the term ‘borrow.’”

S:  “Well, do you understand the concept?”

J:  “The concert….?

S:  “The concept.  What it means to ‘borrow’ something?”

J:  “Do ya take me for stupid, Brother?”

S:  “You don’t want to ask me that….Brother.”

J:  “Borrowing means that if I need a tie, I go “borrow” one from ya.”

S:  “You’re leaving out an important part.”

J:  “Like what?”

S:  “Like when you ‘borrow’ something, you return it.”

J:  “Oh.  Well hell, Boston.  What’s the big deal?  You must have a thousand of them ugly ties.  How are you gonna miss one or two of them?”

S:  “One or two, I wouldn’t miss.  But now that I’m reclaiming them, there must be at least twenty of my ties under here!”

J:  “Yeah well, I told ya that ya had too many ties!”

S:  “Forget it.  What else is under here?  Hey, there’s the copy of “War and Peace” I was looking for!  Surely you didn’t ‘borrow’ it to read it?”

J:  “Naw, I ‘borrowed’ it ’cause I needed to crack some walnuts.”

S:  “Which would explain all the broken walnut shells under here, too, I suppose.”

J:  “Brother, that Harvard education of yours sure wasn’t wasted, was it?”

S:  (Deep sigh and an indignant snort)  “And there are dirty dishes under here…looks like half of the clothes in your rather limited wardrobe are wrinkled up and thrown under here.  Yup, there’s that pink shirt of yours!”

J:  “I done told ya and told ya….it ain’t pink, it’s faded red!”

S:  “You keep telling yourself that, Johnny.  And, speaking of red, why are my red plaid riding pants under here?”

J:  “I was doin’ you a favor.  I’m beggin’ ya, don’t ever wear those again!  Besides, I kicked them there ’cause I figured they’d scare away whatever’s under there!”

S: “Do you want my help or not?”

J:  “Hell…yes!”

S:  “Okay, shut up then, Johnny!  I really cannot believe how much stuff you have crammed under here.  Murdoch’s pipe…I’m not even going to ask.  Teresa’s hat….I’m not going to ask.  Jelly’s smelly cologne….I’m not even going to ask….Cip’s sombrero…I’m not even going to ask…Sam’s stethoscope…I’m not even going to ask…Widow Hargis’ corset…I’m not gonna ask…Maria’s wooden spoon….well, I can guess why that’s under here.”  

J:  I’m tired of her hitting me with that damn thing!  

S:  Oh, God…there’s the gift I got Murdoch for his birthday.  Talk about embarrassed!  I mean with my Lancer money and my Garrett money, I must be worth a cool million!  So what do I give my father?  An ugly painting of a fawn that looked like it was done by a four-year-old with a paint-by-number set.  Murdoch deserved the “Father of the Year” award by pretending he liked it.  I don’t mind telling you, I nearly died of embarrassment!

J:  I think he liked my Lancer “L.”

S:  “How can you be so sure?  Did he ever make a belt buckle or paperweight out of it like he said he was going to do?”

J:  “Come to think of it…no!  Ya know what?  I think he had another one made…did you see Teresa’s new earrings?…”Hey, ya sure as hell have pulled a lot of stuff out from under there so far, Brother!”  

S:  “My point, exactly! Hey, good Lord…we finally found Jimmy Hoffa!”

J:  “Who the hell is Jimmy Hot Dang?”

S:  “Hoffa.  Oh, sorry….guess I went all ‘AU’ on you there for a second.  My apologies!”

J:  “Well, ain’t ya almost finished?  Can’t ya see what’s left under there?”

S:  “Oh wait, Johnny!  OH…MY…GOD! I do see it….them!  There’s dozens of them….and they’re huge!  Oh God, Johnny…One of them has got me!   They’re all pulling me in! Save yourself!”

J:  “Scott, Scott!!….they’re draggin’ you under my bed?!  Oh God, what do they look like?”

S:  “Oh God, Johnny!  They’re hideous!  They have red eyes, big sharp teeth, wicked-looking claws!  Don’t try to save me, Brother!  It’s too late for me…Save yourself!  Tell Murdoch it was great while it lasted!  He’ll get over it; you were always his favorite anyway…AAAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH, it’s got me, Johnny!  RUN AWAY! RUN AWAY!

J:  “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”  (frantic shrieks, the sound of spurs jangling across the floor, and the slamming of a door.)

S:  “WACHOO!” (fierce sneezing erupts as Scott wiggles back out from under Johnny’s bed.)  “Ugh, I am covered with DUST and crumbs and Lord knows what else!” (The usually elegant, breathtaking and pretty Bostonian DUSTS himself off with a look of disdain, then snickers.  “Boy, for a former gunslinger, Johnny sure took off screaming like a little girl!”

Scott tiptoes across the floor and cracks the door of Johnny’s room just a hair so he can be a witness to the events unfolding below in the Great Room.  He reaches for the chocolate cake, takes a look at one of the forks he pulled out from under Johnny’s bed, tosses it over his shoulder with a disgusted sneer and decides to use his fingers instead.

S:  “Mmmm, Maria really does make a mean chocolate cake although I hardly get more than one piece or maybe two, if I’m lucky.  Johnny really is a selfish pig.  (The normally fastidious Scott licks the frosting off his fingers and smacks his lips.)  “Now let’s hear how Little Brother explains to Murdoch that his Number One son was devoured by Killer DUST Bunnies!  (Scott bursts out with an evil chuckle as the explosion comes from downstairs.

“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN?…..SCOTT WAS EATEN BY WHAT?….WHERE!?”

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~ end ~

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