Donna of the Not Undead (...of the Not Undead Book 1) Read online

  Donna of the Not Undead

  by

  Bryan H. Mosier

  Cover art by Bryan H. Mosier

  Follow Bryan on Twitter at @bryan_mosier

  and look for upcoming“Donna of the Not Undead” art and more on Instagram at bryan.mosier

  Chapter 1

  “Observe gentlemen as I present to you the ultimate, the pinnacle, the apex of human engineering. Forged in the fires of divine justice from the last existing shard of the blade that made Arthur the king of legend.”

  “What is divine justice and why is it on fire?” asks the befuddled twelve-year-old Brandon as he jerks his head to the side to remove the errant strands of wavy long brown hair obstructing his vision.

  “If I am not mistaken, I do believeyou got that at Origins last year?” adds Justin,“the Game Science booth I think.”

  “Precision formed, laser etched, and blessed by no less than seven holy men from every faith of worldly significance” continues Bryan, standing and placing a grungy sneaker in his chair to present a more regal posture.

  “Seven? Which seven are you saying are significant?” asks the ever inquisitive Justin. “I mean we have to assume Christianity, Judaism and Islam and you also probably have to throw Hinduism and Buddhism in there to but that is stillonly five.”

  “This, the icosahedron of immortality, the twenty sided talisman of triumph, the dynamic die of destiny, shall bring justice and furious retribution to avenge you, my fallen comrades” continues Bryan, undaunted by the doubting cross-examination of his companions.

  “I mean do you count scientology?” adds Alex, poking his head over the frayed card stock barrier, abandoning his role as dungeon master for a moment to join in theimpromptu philosophical debate. “Oh crap did Tom Cruise kiss your twenty sider...” he adds with a sarcasm laden chuckle.

  “No but I bet he had to kiss Tom Cruise's you know what. At the very least Travolta got a ...” starts Justin but stops short, caught by a loud snort of laughter that sends a ripple of gleeful joy cascading through his bulky frame before he is able to verbalize the full hilarity of his own humorous jab.

  “YAAAAY!...” interrupts Bryan, raising his voice to regain command of the discussion,“though they fought a valiant, if ultimately fruitless battle against yonder beast of hells loins for twas too much for their meager abilities.”

  “Meager? I gottaplus three to evade” argues Brandon as he shuffles the pile of dog-eared papers in front of him,“yeah, right here, see. Unhh! What about them apples”

  “Yeah and I have equipped a plus five vorpalwith frost damage” adds Justin,“Nothing to be taken too lightly I would think.”

  “But fear not my fallen comrades, for your deaths shant be for naught. Though now you feast in the great halls of the gods, supping the delicious nectar of heaven with your brethren in epic fail, know that in your hapless struggle you did give me, legendary fighter extraordinaire, and dual classed archmage, the opportunity for greatness that you could never appreciate nor have hoped to achieveon your own.”

  “Just roll the dice already” commands the exasperated Alex, resuming his role as dungeon master.

  “Watch gentlemen, as I, Wurf the Dwarf doth achieve greatness and take my rightful place among the gods. Watch gentlemen as...I...DOTH...CRIT!”

  With a flourishing gesture and an exaggerated sense of style and panache the tiny twenty sided aluminum die is propelled through the air, hanging at the top of its crescent trajectory, ever so briefly catching a small glint from the solitary incandescent bulb struggling to illuminate the otherwise dreary basement. As it hits the old rickety wooden kitchen table, marred with the scars of battles and spilled soda from countless campaigns of yore, each bounce echoing off of the metal utility shelves heaped heavy with overstuffed boxes of old holiday decorations, canned green beans, and tattered back issues of US Weekly, the die finally comes to a merciful rest.

  With his head held high, eyes closed in self-aggrandizing adulation and with supreme confidence, Bryan says "Take it in boys, drink up the awesome...there's no cover charge"

  Raising in his seat a little to get a clear view, Alex peers over his cardstock dungeon masters screen, its edges frayed and tattered from years of use, and says with a giddy smile, "Uhhhh....yeah... how do I say this...um that’s not quite gonna cut it."

  “My only regret is that I won't be able to share the vast spoils of this valiant conquest with my slain companions” continues Bryan, blissfully ignorant of the fate about to befall him.

  Dropping his voice by several octaves and adopting a heavy southern drawl, Alex smiles and says“I do, I say...I do believe that dat-right-dur is what’s known in the biiiiidness as, uh what’s the word fellas?”

  In unison the three spectators of this awkward spectacle announce with enthusiastic glee "FLUB!"

  In utter horror and dumbstruck wonder Bryan looks down at the faceted metallic object of his humiliation, its solitary number one face up glaring at him with mocking cold indifference.

  Mouth agape in abject amazement and apparently deaf to the cackling chorus of laughter from his fellow gamers Bryan can only stare, astonished at his horrible luck. With streams of numbers zipping through his mind in his befuddled attempt to calculate both the odds of him flubbing such a roll and the ever so minuscule chance that he might, in some freakishly lucky way, survive the inevitable backlash of his flaunting monologue, Bryan can barely mutter a " B-but...what...how?"

  "So let’s see, you rolled a, what was that, oh yeah a one and you needed, um let’s see here, oh there it is, a thirteen to hit. Now what does the Dungeon Master’s guide say about flubs. Let me look that up."

  "If I do recall" says Justin " I believe it states, and I quote, that in the event of a flub, as defined as a roll of a one or two, depending on the level of the participating character, occurring at a time as such that grievous harm shall result from the failed action it is at the discretion of the Dungeon Master to determine the nature and severity of the resulting failed action."

  ‘So what you're saying is…”

  “You get to do what you want.”

  With a look of total defeat Bryan says "This is gonna hurt isn't it?"

  “Oh, most definitely” comes the joyful response from Alex, the smile filling his face evidence of his barely contained glee.

  With a joyful giddiness sprouting from the remnants of numerous past adventures ruined by his cousin’s incessant need to find every loophole and short cut for the sole purpose of derailing all of his carefully laid plans Alex reaches down by his chair. Retrieving a large three ring binder and placing it on the table, Alex ever so gently opens the dingy plastic cover, its surface smattered with all manner of scribbles, sketches and random doodles. Containing his vast catalogue of past adventures, hand drawn maps, character sheets and NPC information, Alex turns to the back cover. With a quiet sense of long overdue justice, he pulls out a small red envelope, sealed with clear cellophane tape whose dingy yellowed edges betrays the unassuming object’s age. As he lays the envelope on the table it is clear to all present that this humble object is of some great personal importance to Alex. As they all stare at the little red artifact on the table they can each make out a solitary word scrawled in what is clearly Alex's all too familiar, nearly illegible hand writing. This one simple word tells all. Retribution. Breaking the cellophane seal, Alex carefully retrieves the folded blue lined contents of the envelope.

  Opening the pages and taking a deep breath that seems to fill him with a sense of peaceful bliss, Alex calmly begins. "As you swing your axe at the monster, you fail to notice a lace from one of your boots
has come undone. Snagging on the hook where the hand of the fallen cleric Thorvald should be, you lose your balance. Flailing unceremoniously, you lose your grip on the aforementioned axe and it flies into the air as you come crashing down on the hard ground at the feet of the ferocious and vile beast that has already taken the lives of your fellow adventurers. Looking up into the face of the creature you lock eyes with the beast. Looking for even the smallest glint of mercy your heart sinks into the pit of your stomach as you see there is none. With fear and dread in your heart you watch as the monster lunges at you with its acrid breath and gore littered teeth closing ever closer to your face, when suddenly it stops and inexplicably makes a soft, almost childlike whimper. In stunned amazement you look up to see your axe, having fallen back to earth, has miraculously struck the beast square in the forehead, burying itself deep into the monster’s skull."

  "Omigod, its dead? Omigod, omigod thank you thank you thank you...wait a minute, what happens next?"

  “What the hell?” gasps a befuddled Justin throwing Alex a questioning look.

  “No way you're letting him outta this!” protests Bandon, slamming his number two Dixon Ticonderoga pencil hard on the table, shattering the lead.

  Holding up his hand in a silent, somber gesture as if to ask for calm, offering a reassuring nod to the other two participants, Alex continues. "Writhing in pain, with its last dying breath the creature heaves its massive bulk high into the air in a pirouette of agony and despair, landing in a heavy heap on top of your helpless body, trapping you under its immense girth."

  “That’sit” says Bryan, seeing full well where this unlikely series of events is now heading.

  "Unfortunately when the behemoth lands on you its massive frame comes to rest in a particularly awkward and embarrassing manner."

  “Okay, yep, here it comes.”

  “Being a male member of the species, it was, how do I put this delicately, very gifted in some particular anatomical areas.”

  “Oh you bastard.”

  “Its massive manhood lands directly on your face. Trapped under its immense weight you are unable to free yourself from your tomb of monster frank and beans. As you lie there helpless, slowly suffocating on the beast’s scrotal musk, your last thought before you drift into the sweet eternal embrace of death is "Why do I feel like I've been here before?"

  Reconnecting in their previous chorus of laughter, the remaining members of the group, whose characters didn't just suffer the most humiliating death in role playing history, join as one in their shared joy of Bryan's suffering.

  “Have I mentioned how much I hate you guys?”

  Chapter 2

  “Well fellas there it is. Write it down and take it to the bank that was the single most epic three day Dungeons and Dragons marathon session in the history of gamerkind” declares Alex as he sets to collecting the assorted papers and dice littering the table.

  “I would think that good old Mr. Gygaxwould be proud” adds Justin. Upon the mention of the role playing icon’s name, each member of the quartet solemnly bows their head in a moment of respectful silence for their late hero. Putting two fingers to his lips and with a quick double tap of his chest Bryan points his finger to the sky, rather the rafters of the unfinished basement ceiling and gives a quick“Never forget”.

  “Now that is a proper way to celebrate a graduation” says Justin, as he presses his palms hard into the small of his arched back until a series of small cracking sounds indicates he has achieved his desired goal. “Oh yeah, that is definitelythe spot.”

  “Yeah, while all those other losers were out partying, getting wasted and probably engaging in crazy, end of the world kinda carefree, no strings attached sex, we just completed one of the most awesome campaigns ever” says Alex.

  With a look of abject pity Bryan and Justin mockingly agree while Brandon simply asks "What is end of the world sex?"

  “Never mind” says Alex,“I'm starving, somebody throw me the Doritos.”

  “Dude we ran out of Doritos on day two right after we slaughtered that village of schizophrenic Kobolds.”

  “Then hand me the twizzlers.”

  “Finished those during the dungeon crawl with the giant ambidextrous lemurs.”

  “ReesesPieces?”

  “Remember the gelatinous marsupials?”

  “Cheesy Poofs?”

  “Swarm of rabid squirrels.”

  “Fudge Rounds?” asks Justin.

  “Unless you’re referring to your boyfriend’s bunghole, nada.”

  “Not gay and you are horrible, you know that?”

  “Dude, do we have anything left?” continues Alex, “I’m freakinstarving over hear.”

  “Nope, we're totally bare in the snacks department dude. I thought your mom was gonna go to town and restock.”

  “She did say that didn't she. Wasn't that like yesterday or something?”

  “Dude that was like two days ago.”

  “Where the hell is she then. With a bellow emanating from the depths of his grumbling abdomen Alex cranes his neck back and lets loose a tonsil straining "Moooooooooooooom!" Getting no reply, he repeats his summons but again he calls go unanswered. "Huh, she must be outside. Let’s go up and get somethin from the fridge."

  Ambling up the rickety stairs on wobbly legs that have begun to atrophy from the three-day marathon of dinner table mayhem, the foursome emerge through the door at the top of the stairs like morlocks resurfacing from the darkness of their subterranean refuge. With eyes squinted as they are assaulted by an unholy onslaught of bright natural sunlight blaring through the sheer veil covering of the living room windows, Alex lets rip another " Hey Moooooooooom!"

  "YO, Aunt Normy" yells Bryan receiving only silence in response.

  "She's probably at a coven meeting again" says Bryan. The coven being their reference to when she and her two sisters' one of which being Bryan's mom, Sharon, and their aunt Velma, get together for coffee spiked with whatever alcoholic additive they can get their hands on. "Yeah, you know how they get when they get their drank on. We'll be lucky to see them again for a week" exaggerates Bryan.

  “Ah crap, the fridge is freakingempty” exclaims Brandon,“Unless you feel the urge for some fuzzy balogna.”

  “Justin likes the fuzzy Balogna. He likes it a lot" says Bryan in another not too subtle attempt at innuendo meant to question Justin’s heterosexuality.

  “No, no I think you're wrong. Justin's more a salami person" adds Alex "Hard salami is definitely his preferred tube shaped meat".

  “Horrible! Horrible people!” protests Justin with frustration clearly born from repeatedly having to defend his manhood from a seemingly never ending onslaught of similarly juvenile attacks.

  Glowing in the success of their verbal assault, Bryan and Alex turn to the youngest of their group. “C’mon, you can do this. We just set him up now you gottafinish him off little bro” says Alex, offering encouragement.

  “Yes….FINISH HIM!” comes the gravely growl from Bryan.

  Feeling the pressure from his companions as they look to him to take his place among their ranks as self-proclaimed put down artists, Brandon’s adolescent mind begins to race. Caught in a whirlwind of potential verbal insults and finding himself unable to settle on one, his young brain reverts to the simplest, most base of options. “Yeah, you’re…you’re just a…a faggot.” Before the last syllable can escape his mouth Brandon feels the jarring impact of three hands smacking him hard in the back of his head in rapid succession. Grabbing the back of his head, with a painful grimace on his face, the youngster, holding back his anger manages“What the hell?”

  “We don’t use that kind of language, you know that” comes the admonishing tone from his older brother.

  “But you guys just…” starts Brandon, trying to offer some sort of defense.

  “We made jokes. Humor…true comedy requires thought and intelligence” adds Bryan“It’s not meant to hurt, it’s meant to be funny.”

  With
a nod of agreement Justin completes the thought“Comedy can be brusk and course but that kind of talk? That stuff is just base and ignorant. You have to be better than that.”

  Seeing the recognition on Brandon’s face, Justin adds,“Now let usfind us some food you little fart knocker.”

  Feeling his stomach gurgle with an audible growl, Alex gives his little brother a gentle smile and then returns to the crisis at hand. “Dudelars, this ain’t good. You know what this means” saysAlex, the look of concern clearly drawn on his face. “We’re gonnahave to walk to the store. And you KNOW what THAT means.”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “You cannotbe serious. We might have to…”

  In unison the foursome slowly crane their necks towards the large bay window, the soft pink morning light filtering through the thin pastel curtains covered in some random arrangement of indistinguishable species of flower. As one they exclaim in sarcastic horror“Go outside… NOOOOOOoOoOooooo.”

  As the foursome slowly turn and peer towards the window with the sun drenched world that lies beyond the paper thin pane of glass that is their sole protection from the scorching ultra violet rays that they have worked so hard to avoid for the majority of their young lives, they shrink back as if they were primitive man gazing for the first time upon a flame, unsure if they should run away or attack, both instincts rising from a primal, unexplainable fear. Now, for the first time seeing the world beyond the protective, climate controlled walls of their small, suburban home, they see something is different. Outside, they see people. All sorts of people.

  “What is going on out there?” inquires Justin.

  “Hey is it a block party?” asks Bryan.

  “Cool, maybe the Ferguson’s are having another cook out?” says Brandon,“Mrs. Ferguson always makes the best hot dog sauce.”

  “Yeah, and she also has the nicest buns too” snickers Bryan.

  “C’mon, let’s go before it’s all gone.”