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Friends, I present to you the prologue to the very first story in my new fanfic series, "Stranger Than Muppet Fan-Fiction", which combines the Muppets with the most popular franchises out of film and television.
First up: Ghostbusters.
------------------
Most spooky tales can begin with something as corny as “it was a long, dark and stormy night,” but we’re not gonna go there with this one. Yes, it was long night. And of course things would be dark—why else would they call it “night” for cryin’ out loud? But this night was anything but stormy. In fact, it was quiet and hot (Whew! Somebody turn on the fan! God! Why the heck did I choose the spring season to narrate?).
Frances “Frankie” Foster was driving through Manhattan from her grandmother’s mansion in downtown, where they ran a foster home for real imaginary friends whose creators outgrew them (would you believe there were 2,038 imaginary friends in that household?). Thanks to the carelessness of one imaginary friend named Blooregard Q. Kazoo, Frankie was forced to go out and find a new mirror to replace the one that Bloo had busted from a prank that he set up for his friend and creator, Mac.
If it were not for the fact that Mr. Herriman, the president of the home (a giant rabbit created by Frankie’s own grandmother), Frankie would be sitting at home, drinking a nice cold lemonade, and watching the new season of Lost. But Mr. Herriman stated precisely that “the sooner a new mirror is purchased, the more trouble you save forgetting about it entirely.”
So there Frankie was, driving in her long bus and making her way to the nearest pawn shop in the city. She passed by familiar areas on her way there: Pete’s Diner, the Muppet Theatre, and the Happiness Hotel. All of these places had one thing in common—Muppets (if you hadn’t figured that out by the time you read “Muppet Theatre,” stop reading this very minute). The residents of Foster’s Home For Imaginary Friends had been great fans of theirs, ever since Madame Foster and the oldest friends of the house went to see their first performance at the Muppet Theatre with special guest, Juliet Prowse. They had even went backstage a few times to meet the stars.
Even though thinking about Muppets eased her tension, by the time Frankie had gotten to the pawnshop, she became a little frustrated again (she was more than that, but we’re gonna limit our use of the “P-word” for this tale), as she parked her bus outside the shop. The moment she stepped inside the shop, she knew that she didn’t want to be there—not just because it took her away from free time, but it was one creepy pad.
“Can anybody say ‘Wes Craven’?” Frankie muttered, as she gazed upon all of the unusual items inside the shop: shrunken heads, monkey’s palms, large tiki masks, brains and other living organs in jars, a garlic necklace, a wooden stake, a cross, a case of silver bullets (which you can get for free with a .22 revolver), an Egyptian amulet, a torch, and a pitchfork. “Man! What kind of pawnshop is this?”
Frankie walked up to the front desk and dinged in. And just as soon as she had done so, two figures popped up from behind the desk, nearly scaring the life out of Frankie. One was a human celebrity and the other was a blue, dragon-like Muppet monster. “May we help you, madam?” asked the human celebrity, who Frankie seemed to recognized right off the bat (no pun intended).
“Wait…Vincent Price?” She said. “Aren’t you supposed to be…?”
“Living in Beverly Hills?” Price quickly interjected. “I was, but the sun wasn’t doing much for my skin, so I decided to come here and start up my own personal business.” He snapped his fingers and there came a small display of fireworks over Price and his partner’s heads. The unveiling of a banner that hung at that very spot, which read, “Price & Deadly’s Little Shop of Terrors”, soon followed it.
“Our motto is always that ‘You can kill two birds with one stone, but it would be worth more the price to just buy a gun’.” Uncle Deadly stated.
Frankie seemed the least bit impressed. “Look, I came to the wrong place. I just wanted to purchase a mirror to replace one that was busted back at my house.”
She was about to make her way towards the exit, until Deadly disappeared from behind the desk and popped up in front of Frankie. “Oh, we have plenty of mirrors in our possession, my dear!”
“Yes, indeed.” Price said. “Some of the finest mirrors imported from all parts of the world: London, Paris, Cambodia…”
“…Shanghai, Amsterdam, Peru, and Transylvania!” Deadly added.
“Well…okay.” Frankie said, while pondering over what kinds of scary-looking mirrors could be sold at such a shop. She looked up towards one that was placed on the shelf near the spot where the banner hung. “I guess I’ll take that one right there.”
Price and Deadly looked up at the particular mirror and both grinned. “That is one of the finest mirrors imported from London and brought to America in Middlesex, Massachusetts in 1692, just as the Salem Witch Trials had begun. Now only one experienced in the forms of witchcraft can make such a selection. Are you a witch, my dear?”
“What?” Frankie exclaimed. “No! I…I’m not…really!”
Price and Deadly instantly started laughing after Price’s (lame) joke. “Forgive us, madam. It is just the master’s attempt at seventeenth century humor.” Deadly told Frankie, before disappearing in front of her and reappearing behind the front desk, going up a ladder near it and getting the mirror for Frankie.
After Deadly came back down with the mirror, Frankie was able to get a perfect glance at it. It appeared to be an average-looking mirror, with a heavy wooden frame and reflective glass. But the craftsmanship of the frame was what spaced Frankie Foster out. The design included the faces of demonic goblins and owls, and a humanoid goblin at the center of the upper portion of the frame with sparkling and yet intimidating rubies for eyes. Frankie knew that the frame was too frightening to keep around the mansion; she was already getting a creepy aura just staring at it.
“No,” Frankie said, “I’m sorry. I can’t take it.”
“Why not?” Price asked. “It is very valuable.”
“Just look at the frame on this thing.” Frankie indicated. “This is a mirror for Marilyn Manson, but not Frankie Foster.”
Price retained his creepy smile. “My dear, it is simply art. The designer intended on it to be a way of protecting the owner, fending off trespassers or thieves who dare enter without permission.”
This bit of information intrigued Frankie, although she still found the mirror creepy as sin. But she knew it was a ploy for getting her to purchase the thing, and she wasn’t going to fall for it. “Nice try. But you have to get up pretty early in the morning to pass one on me.”
“Just take one look in the mirror, my dear.” Price encouraged. “See how clear the glass is. I must note that the mirror has been passed on through six millenniums. And not once has it been in need of cleansing.”
Frankie rolled her eyes in disgust. This guy doesn’t know when to give up, does he? she thought, before gazing upon her reflection in the mirror. She admitted that the storeowner did have a point. Not one single speck or smudge was on the mirror. Of course, it could’ve meant that they recently cleaned it and made it appear as if it hadn’t been for centuries.
Then that creepy feeling came back, as she stared at her reflection. It must’ve either been her eyes playing tricks on her or she was exhausted from the trip to the shop, but she could swear that her own reflection was grinning viciously at her. And then after that…darkness.
Within moments, the bell above the door ringed, signaling that the customer had left the shop, and the purchase had been made. Price and Deadly continued to stand by the front desk, both having the creepiest smiles on their faces. But soon those smiles had faded, just as pillars of black flames and white smoke appear at the corner of the room. As they vanish unexpectedly, the dark, sinister form of Death entered, towering over Price and Deadly.
“YOU HAVE SOLD THE MIRROR?”
The two storeowners tried their best not to cower before the sight of the dark figure. “Yes…we have,” Price answered. “She was a bit reluctant at first, but the mirror was able to convince her otherwise.”
“AND SHE DID NOT SUSPECT A THING?”
“Of course not, old friend.” Deadly responded. “All of the pieces of the puzzle are falling into place.”
“EXCELLENT. SOON OUR HOUR WILL COME, MY FRIENDS. NO LONGER WILL WE BE RESTRICTED TO THE SHACKLES OF LIFE. WE SHALL HAVE OUR FREEDOM.”
The first chapter arrives (as planned) on Tuesday, March 25th.
First up: Ghostbusters.
------------------
Prologue
Most spooky tales can begin with something as corny as “it was a long, dark and stormy night,” but we’re not gonna go there with this one. Yes, it was long night. And of course things would be dark—why else would they call it “night” for cryin’ out loud? But this night was anything but stormy. In fact, it was quiet and hot (Whew! Somebody turn on the fan! God! Why the heck did I choose the spring season to narrate?).
Frances “Frankie” Foster was driving through Manhattan from her grandmother’s mansion in downtown, where they ran a foster home for real imaginary friends whose creators outgrew them (would you believe there were 2,038 imaginary friends in that household?). Thanks to the carelessness of one imaginary friend named Blooregard Q. Kazoo, Frankie was forced to go out and find a new mirror to replace the one that Bloo had busted from a prank that he set up for his friend and creator, Mac.
If it were not for the fact that Mr. Herriman, the president of the home (a giant rabbit created by Frankie’s own grandmother), Frankie would be sitting at home, drinking a nice cold lemonade, and watching the new season of Lost. But Mr. Herriman stated precisely that “the sooner a new mirror is purchased, the more trouble you save forgetting about it entirely.”
So there Frankie was, driving in her long bus and making her way to the nearest pawn shop in the city. She passed by familiar areas on her way there: Pete’s Diner, the Muppet Theatre, and the Happiness Hotel. All of these places had one thing in common—Muppets (if you hadn’t figured that out by the time you read “Muppet Theatre,” stop reading this very minute). The residents of Foster’s Home For Imaginary Friends had been great fans of theirs, ever since Madame Foster and the oldest friends of the house went to see their first performance at the Muppet Theatre with special guest, Juliet Prowse. They had even went backstage a few times to meet the stars.
Even though thinking about Muppets eased her tension, by the time Frankie had gotten to the pawnshop, she became a little frustrated again (she was more than that, but we’re gonna limit our use of the “P-word” for this tale), as she parked her bus outside the shop. The moment she stepped inside the shop, she knew that she didn’t want to be there—not just because it took her away from free time, but it was one creepy pad.
“Can anybody say ‘Wes Craven’?” Frankie muttered, as she gazed upon all of the unusual items inside the shop: shrunken heads, monkey’s palms, large tiki masks, brains and other living organs in jars, a garlic necklace, a wooden stake, a cross, a case of silver bullets (which you can get for free with a .22 revolver), an Egyptian amulet, a torch, and a pitchfork. “Man! What kind of pawnshop is this?”
Frankie walked up to the front desk and dinged in. And just as soon as she had done so, two figures popped up from behind the desk, nearly scaring the life out of Frankie. One was a human celebrity and the other was a blue, dragon-like Muppet monster. “May we help you, madam?” asked the human celebrity, who Frankie seemed to recognized right off the bat (no pun intended).
“Wait…Vincent Price?” She said. “Aren’t you supposed to be…?”
“Living in Beverly Hills?” Price quickly interjected. “I was, but the sun wasn’t doing much for my skin, so I decided to come here and start up my own personal business.” He snapped his fingers and there came a small display of fireworks over Price and his partner’s heads. The unveiling of a banner that hung at that very spot, which read, “Price & Deadly’s Little Shop of Terrors”, soon followed it.
“Our motto is always that ‘You can kill two birds with one stone, but it would be worth more the price to just buy a gun’.” Uncle Deadly stated.
Frankie seemed the least bit impressed. “Look, I came to the wrong place. I just wanted to purchase a mirror to replace one that was busted back at my house.”
She was about to make her way towards the exit, until Deadly disappeared from behind the desk and popped up in front of Frankie. “Oh, we have plenty of mirrors in our possession, my dear!”
“Yes, indeed.” Price said. “Some of the finest mirrors imported from all parts of the world: London, Paris, Cambodia…”
“…Shanghai, Amsterdam, Peru, and Transylvania!” Deadly added.
“Well…okay.” Frankie said, while pondering over what kinds of scary-looking mirrors could be sold at such a shop. She looked up towards one that was placed on the shelf near the spot where the banner hung. “I guess I’ll take that one right there.”
Price and Deadly looked up at the particular mirror and both grinned. “That is one of the finest mirrors imported from London and brought to America in Middlesex, Massachusetts in 1692, just as the Salem Witch Trials had begun. Now only one experienced in the forms of witchcraft can make such a selection. Are you a witch, my dear?”
“What?” Frankie exclaimed. “No! I…I’m not…really!”
Price and Deadly instantly started laughing after Price’s (lame) joke. “Forgive us, madam. It is just the master’s attempt at seventeenth century humor.” Deadly told Frankie, before disappearing in front of her and reappearing behind the front desk, going up a ladder near it and getting the mirror for Frankie.
After Deadly came back down with the mirror, Frankie was able to get a perfect glance at it. It appeared to be an average-looking mirror, with a heavy wooden frame and reflective glass. But the craftsmanship of the frame was what spaced Frankie Foster out. The design included the faces of demonic goblins and owls, and a humanoid goblin at the center of the upper portion of the frame with sparkling and yet intimidating rubies for eyes. Frankie knew that the frame was too frightening to keep around the mansion; she was already getting a creepy aura just staring at it.
“No,” Frankie said, “I’m sorry. I can’t take it.”
“Why not?” Price asked. “It is very valuable.”
“Just look at the frame on this thing.” Frankie indicated. “This is a mirror for Marilyn Manson, but not Frankie Foster.”
Price retained his creepy smile. “My dear, it is simply art. The designer intended on it to be a way of protecting the owner, fending off trespassers or thieves who dare enter without permission.”
This bit of information intrigued Frankie, although she still found the mirror creepy as sin. But she knew it was a ploy for getting her to purchase the thing, and she wasn’t going to fall for it. “Nice try. But you have to get up pretty early in the morning to pass one on me.”
“Just take one look in the mirror, my dear.” Price encouraged. “See how clear the glass is. I must note that the mirror has been passed on through six millenniums. And not once has it been in need of cleansing.”
Frankie rolled her eyes in disgust. This guy doesn’t know when to give up, does he? she thought, before gazing upon her reflection in the mirror. She admitted that the storeowner did have a point. Not one single speck or smudge was on the mirror. Of course, it could’ve meant that they recently cleaned it and made it appear as if it hadn’t been for centuries.
Then that creepy feeling came back, as she stared at her reflection. It must’ve either been her eyes playing tricks on her or she was exhausted from the trip to the shop, but she could swear that her own reflection was grinning viciously at her. And then after that…darkness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Within moments, the bell above the door ringed, signaling that the customer had left the shop, and the purchase had been made. Price and Deadly continued to stand by the front desk, both having the creepiest smiles on their faces. But soon those smiles had faded, just as pillars of black flames and white smoke appear at the corner of the room. As they vanish unexpectedly, the dark, sinister form of Death entered, towering over Price and Deadly.
“YOU HAVE SOLD THE MIRROR?”
The two storeowners tried their best not to cower before the sight of the dark figure. “Yes…we have,” Price answered. “She was a bit reluctant at first, but the mirror was able to convince her otherwise.”
“AND SHE DID NOT SUSPECT A THING?”
“Of course not, old friend.” Deadly responded. “All of the pieces of the puzzle are falling into place.”
“EXCELLENT. SOON OUR HOUR WILL COME, MY FRIENDS. NO LONGER WILL WE BE RESTRICTED TO THE SHACKLES OF LIFE. WE SHALL HAVE OUR FREEDOM.”
The first chapter arrives (as planned) on Tuesday, March 25th.
). Just give me a few or so days, and I'll have it ready for you all. It's going to be awesome.