The Legend of the Pickle Weasel

A pickle weasel is a curious creature. They have beady little eyes, and webbed feet, useful for swimming around in pickle brine. Their main prey is pickled cucumbers and cheese. At times a pickle weasel will attack a human that resembles a pickle in any way, but that of course is a case of mistaken identity ninety percent of the time. Pickle weasels emerge at all times through the day, however they are hard to identify because they look almost identical to commonplace weasels, with the exception of their jaws, which are enlarged so that they can fit their mouths around the most mammoth of pickles. In eighty percent of attacks on humans, the victims are male.
I once knew a man who raised pickle weasels on a farm. The place smelled of garlic from miles away. You could often hear him screaming that far when a renegade weasel got loose (Which tended to be quite often) and bit him when he was attempting to recapture it. People would say, "Sounds like the old boy got bitten by one of those monkey-rats again," and go on their way. It was a lucky thing that they do resemble both monkeys and rats. You see, the ladies of the village of Brineoble prided themselves on their prize winning preserves, and if word got out of these creatures being raised just three miles from their homes and that indeed they were not monkey-rats but predators of their prize winning pickles, there surely would have been trouble. He would have been in a pickle, to make use of a bad pun.
However, that is not what this story is about (thank god). I will now drop this snooty accent I have acquired to give atmosphere to the commencement of this story, and speak like a common individual.
Now, the real story begins as my pal Matthew and I were walking through the woods on a hot summer day.
As I was saying, my amigo Matthew and I were walking through the woods by the river one day. Matthew, who for some strange reason reminds me of Waldo (Where's Waldo books! Come on people, work with me!), was dragging behind him a piece of a neon green plastic bag on a string that he had named Fish. He also told me that Fish was a hamster, and in fact not a piece of a plastic bag. In response I inquired as to weather he had been smoking anything recently. He told me no, only Q-tips. When I asked him why he had been smoking Q-tips, he ignored me and said that if I didn't stop snooping, Fish would attack me. (A/N: I do not own Q-tips, so don't sue me!)
Where was I? Oh yes! We were walking through the woods, when we came to a bank, which was beside a small river. When we attempted to cross it, I made Matthew go first, because he didn't believe me when I said the water was probably infested with leeches. So in he went.
He walked in about a foot, and was just telling me how stupid I was, when he promptly sunk in the water up to his neck. I laughed at him and Fish. He laughed too, after he removed the giant leech that was sucking blood from his neck. Then I laughed at him some more, because I saw that if we had have walked a bit further, we would have come to a bridge that we could have crossed. Matthew decided that he would like to skinny-dip in those leach-infested waters, and he promptly removed his shorts and threw them at me. Then I laughed some more, called him a loser, and threw his shorts into a tree.
My friend Matthew didn't like that. He shouted some obscene words and phrases, then threatened to get out of the water. That was enough for me. I began to climb the tree to retrieve my friend's clothing.
I was about half way up the tree when Matthew began to scream. I said "Matthew, why are you screaming?"
And Matthew said, "Something is biting my crotch!"
I giggled as I finally got the shorts and climbed back down the tree. "Matthew my friend, why would anything want to bite your crotch?"
He replied, "Why don't you ask it?!"
I threw him his shorts. He was still screaming. He ran out of the water without putting his shorts on. I vomited.
When I finished vomiting, I looked over at Matthew, who now had his shorts back on. I said, "Matthew, you are one nasty looking guy."
Matthew said, "I'm sorry, but something was biting me!"
To which I replied, "There's a first time for everything."
I came over and stood beside him. He was looking down at the ground. I asked him why he was looking there.
"There's a little monkey-rat sitting there glaring at me. I just pulled it off my crotch."
I said, "How could it be glaring at you? Nothing could survive that!" as he picked a leach off of his stomach.
The monkey-rat began to speak to us in a low-pitched, masculine voice. It said, "How dare you trespass on the land of my tribe. The punishment for trespassing is to be eaten alive by hungry were-rabbits."
Matthew said, "Monkey-rat, why did you bite me in such a place? Weren't you taught any manners as a child?"
To which monkey-rat replied, "I am not a monkey, nor a rat. I happen to be a pickle weasel."
"What the hell is a pickle weasel?" I asked it as it stood there with its jaw jutted out like the top of its head didn't even exist.
"I am insulted by your incompetence," It replied. "That would be the explanation as to why I nibbled your friends crotch. I mistook it for a pickle."
"You call that a nibble?! Now I will never have children, you retarded excuse for a monkey-rat!"
"Matthew," I said, "Do not be rude to Mr. Pickle Weasel. It was an accident, after all!"
Matthew glared at me.
"What is your name, sir?" I asked the ugly monkey thing, not looking forward to being feasted on by were- rabbits.
"My name is Stephen. My friends call me Steve, but you are not my friend, so you will call me Stephen, or else suffer the wrath of Sir Stephen of Dillvale!"
"I will not call you Steve if you will not incur your wrath upon me and Matthew. We did not know we were trespassing. Will you show us mercy, oh great one?" I could hear Matthew trying not to laugh, and was having a difficult time myself.
"No! You must die. If I show you mercy, I will have to show mercy to the other prisoners, and that would mean a large pay cut, so I will take you now to my village, where you will feast on cheese and pickles, and then be thrown into the Pit of No Return. There you will await your painful death, while children of the village attempt to stone you and make you bleed."
"You must understand! We didn't know that this was your land!" Matthew cried as if he were afraid.
"How can you say that?! The trail is clearly marked. Can you not read English?"
"I don't see any mark." I told Stephen.
"Look, right there, behind that tree branch!
'Trespassers will be burned, hanged,
or sentenced to a slow, painful death'
He read aloud to us. Matthew and I looked at each other. That was right before Stephen yelled something in French, and something hit me hard in the back of the head. I heard Matthew drop to the ground beside me, just before I blacked out.

When I woke up, I was sitting in a room with a dirt floor. As my eyes focused, I noticed that Matthew was sitting beside me, smoking a Q-tip. I told him that he looked like an idiot, and Matthew replied that it shouldn't be a surprise. I looked around the small room again, and I saw Tarah, a girl from my school group, huddled in a corner whimpering. You see, we went into the woods to videotape a documentary film, but it was beginning to look like we would never return to school on Monday. I was beginning to have flashbacks of a cheap movie I had seen that summer.
I crawled over to Tarah (The roof was very low). I said, "Tarah, what happened? Where is Mitchell? He was supposed to be with you!" and Tarah said, "It's too late. They already took him to be tortured. There is nothing we can do for him now."
I said, "Poor, poor Mitchell. I hope he dies quickly. I would not want him to suffer any longer than he has to."
Just then, the door opened and another body was thrown into the room with us. It was Mark, the cameraman! Following him was Laura and after she was thrown in I distinctly heard the voice of Reilly, asking what the heck was going on, just before I heard Stephens voice telling Reilly to shut up least he incur his wrath any further, and Reilly came in on his own accord, with blood gushing out of his shoe. Apparently one of the 'troops' had attempted to bleed him to death by slashing the vein in his foot. I then wondered to myself why we were being slaughtered by creatures four feet smaller than us.

A/N: Isn't that weird? I will explain all in following chapters, and I will be joined by my co-author Tarah (Yes, that Tarah)