A note from the Authoress: Hi. Remember me? You probably don't. But I used to write this story, along with several other [quasi] masterpieces. I went through a sort of identity crisis and spontaneously decided to change my Pen Name. But I'm truly Pink Pigeon, back forever (that's a lie. I'm only here until Megavideo decides to stop being a goddamn jerk and let me watch Doctor Who. In that time, I figured I could sort of throw together a chapter for you, because I'm nice. You're welcome).

This idea comes from a review from random-girl101. Thank you, dear. I was too lazy to think of something on my own, and you sort of save me there.

Now, allons-y!

(Additional note: This chapter sucks. Deeply. I'm sorry, but I rushed, because my show's loaded. Send me more chapter ideas, and I'll try to not take so long this time. Review, please!)

Chapter Eight: You've Come Across A Nightmare. Face It, You're Screwed

Welcome to the Inkworld, where you're pretty much guaranteed a painful and gruesome death. I mean, there loads of ways to die here. The best part is half of them are made public spectacles. Screw movie theaters and television, we've got live action beheadings!

However, with most deaths, there's usually some sort of way to get out of trouble before the axe comes down, if you're smart enough to figure it out at least. There's bargaining and sweet-talking. Some people just make a run for it. But it's common knowledge that the one death there is absolutely no chance escaping is death by those goddamn Night-Mares [1].

Night-Mares are scary, let me tell you. I had one as a pet once. It bit me. And once they've set their minds on killing you, you're screwed. I've sort of seen one in action, based on a Council-operated experiment, and I'm still not entirely sure what the hell happened, but I'm pretty sure poor Dennis is no longer with us, unless he's just ridiculously good at hiding. Which he's not, because I've seen him at parties, playing hide-and-seek. He's that kid who stands there and covers his face with his hands, reasoning that if he can't see you, you can't see him.

Let's just say his brother gave me grief about the ordeal.

Anyway, Dennis's death sort of backed up our belief that we're all screwed with Night Mares are involved. Wild ones, at least. Trained ones only bite.

Now, the only remaining question is: what happens when someone is killed by a Night Mare?

Answer is, we in the Council have no clue, and no one's willing to find out.

We are currently accepting human sacrifices for further research. Apply within.


[1] People in the past have asked what a Night Mare even looks like. Well, it's sort of a cross between a penguin and an elephant who was born slightly deformed. And has rabies.

Further elaborated in a later chapter.