Disclaimer: All characters belong to Marvel.
Author's Notes: Here it is. The epilogue. I'm sad to see it end… *sniffle* But it's been fun! Thanks for getting me up to this many reviews! I love my readers! *hugs all around*
Beware! – Epilogue
It was a bright day. A clear day. As fine a day as anyone could wish for. The birds were singing, and the trees were a beautiful green.
Nature could have such an ironic sense of humor.
Peter Parker stood in the cemetery for the third time inside a year. Once it had been for the killing of Uncle Ben. And then, the death of Norman Osborn. Now… Aunt May.
Although she had chased him around the house with a meat cleaver, eaten his beloved uncle, eaten his friend's father, killed his parents, and tried to kill his best friend, Peter had still loved the old woman.
Actually, looking back at the long list, it was turning into more of a love/hate relationship…
Harry stood beside his friend, trying to be sympathetic. But it was hard to summon up the sympathy when you were rejoicing over the passing of the deceased. Aunt May had deserved to die, in his opinion. His therapy bill was still racking up…
The solemn words of the preacher drifted around them, unheard. Harry was staring fixedly at the coffin, as if Aunt May herself would spring out and sink her fangs into his neck. And Peter simply stared ahead.
They were about to lower the coffin into the ground when Peter spoke.
"I… I'd like to see her… one last time…?"
He gestured to the lid of the coffin. The preacher smiled condescendingly.
"Of course, my child."
Obediently, the two men opened the coffin…
Harry staggered backwards, an inhuman shriek ripping from his lips. He began to stomp around the graveyard howling and cursing.
The workmen exchanged confused looks.
The preacher's mouth popped open.
Peter just stood there, a 'this can't be happening' smile on his face as he stared at the contents of the coffin.
Somewhere on an interstate several hundred miles away, Aunt May turned up the oldies station on her car stereo. Her stomach rumbled. Perhaps she would pull over for lunch soon…
She patted the cooler beside her, its' label reading 'BEN/NORMAN - ON THE GO'.
Of course the drink hadn't been poisoned. She preferred to kill her prey personally, if at all possible. The heavy drug had induced a death-like state… with no ill effects after she woke up.
There would be others to prey on. There always were. Perhaps she could get a job as a nanny… or a foster grandmother…
After all, who wouldn't trust a little old lady?
And now the choice is yours, dear readers.
Motherly old lady?
Or psychotic cannibal?
Do YOU support the Aunt May Conspiracy?