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Mis-Staked - ebook View larger

Mis-Staked - ebook

A Comedy of Vampiric Proportions



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    Can a 35 year old virgin who still lives in his father’s basement truly be the hero that he’s always dreamed of being? Breathred E. Petrifunck is about to find out.  He is a vampire slayer with the mail order diploma on the wall to prove it, but is he ready to battle the Mother of Vampires on his first time at bat?



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    Mis-Staked - ebook

    Mis-Staked - ebook

    A Comedy of Vampiric Proportions



    EXCERPT

     

    Breathred leaned back, satisfied with his handiwork. The spell had worked just like the handbook said it would. He didn’t have long to dwell on his success. A prickling dappled his spine. A weighty pressure fell on the base of his neck. The prickling rapidly became a cold sweat. He was too late. His stupidity had let him become entrapped in the vampire’s grip.

    He tried not to move, even though the smell his own fear filled the recesses of his quivering nose hair. He forced his hand to reach for a stake, but found he was immobilized with fright. He tried not to dwell on the fact vampire hunters did not freeze up when faced with a vampire. It was just so unseemly.

    The vampire nuzzled his neck. The soft hair of its mustache sent goose pimples over the soft flesh. Breathred’s right eye slowly moved to his side. Hoping for a glimpse of his captor, all he could see was the monster’s shadow frosting the left side of his face.

    Then the beast struck. Four missiles of agony coursed through his neck. Breathred let fly an anguished squeal sounding like a cross between a game show contestant and an inebriated wildebeest. The sound seemed to weaken the vampire’s hold on his brain. Breathred shot from the floor like a monkey on fire, but the vamp refused to relinquish his bite. Streaking from one end of the kitchen to the other, he tried to dislodge the bloodsucker to no avail. The vampire wouldn’t let go.

    Breathred would have thought his girlish whimpering would have ‘caused the monster to release him, if for no other reason than to laugh at his hapless victim, but no such luck. A mad dash into the aging stove sent the old lady’s supper flying into the air. Luckily, for the floor, the majority of it landed on Breathred, scalding those areas not encased in leather and superheating those that were.

    Another round of shrieks filled the air. This time they were of a higher octave, but no less annoying in timbre. Amid the howling, Breathred decided he had had enough. He was a vampire slayer, by Gumby.

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