1. Chicken

   An ivory moon lightly airbrushed with misty clouds illuminated only a small portion of the night sky, its lunar radiance sublty fading into an immense firmament of darkness. All was still, not a living soul in Lumbridge would ever be up this late at night, all but two that is. Perhaps to better understand my situation it would be necessary to explain the events preceding my present predicament. It was only yesterday when I was entrusted by my sister with the task of caring for her pet chicken, Mimpy, while she was away on an "important quest". For one thing, I hate chickens, foul, feathered, razor-taloned abominations, yet my sister just happens to adore the one creature I loathe and on top of that, she one day decided to adopt one of these grotesque beasts as a companion. There's only one time I do enjoy the sight of these fowls: when they're over an open flame skewered on a spit. So as one could imagine based on my boundless animosity towards chickens, that when I was endowed the task of  "birdy-sitter" I wasn't even remotely close to a  content emotional state. After my sister's long emotionally stenuous, heart-felt speech on the importance of the bond between her and her bloved chicken and how I must do everything in my path to preserve such an eternal link by not allowing any harm to befall upon her pet, she finally handed her bird over and departed on her journey. As soon as she left the house, I plopped the chicken onto the floor, squatted and looked straight into its devious, beady, black eyes.

"Now I don't want any trouble and you better not give me any, for by the gods I swear if you inconvenience me anymore than you already have I won't think twice about throwing your feathered behind into a cauldron of boiling water!"

Perplexed, the hen cocked its neck and replied with a simple ba-cock. I sat on the ground and watched in disgust as the bird walked around the house with an awkward stride, each step followed by a foward thrust of the head. Being cooped up in the house with responsibility made me irritable and extremely bored. I paced around the house and thought some fresh air might help me relax so I cracked open a window. Eventually the simple minded creature, Mimpy, found a straw matt and fell asleep. Seeing this as an opportune moment to escape, I swiftly left the house and continued to Michael's house, my best buddy and since birth. I took a cobblestone walkway into town, crossed a bridge and found Michael sitting in front of his house throwing stones at a tree stump. His eyes sponyaneously lit up with excitement when he saw me as if I was his only salvation from boredom. We returned to my house in hopes of finding a reasonable activity with which to occupy our time.

"Mimpy!" I called out as soon as I entered the house.

"Mimpy, you awful fowl where are you!"

Imaptiently I briskly walked around the house and checked every room, but no sign of Mimpy was evident.

" Hey! Check this out." Michael said with a dumbfounded curiosity.

The tone of his voice was unsettling. Slowly, I reluctantly walked over to where Michael was standing; by the window. The window was cracked open, just as I had left it, and something  caught my eye. There blatant as daylight on the windowsill were claw marks that could've only been inflicted by a taloned fiend. I looked out the window and sure enough there were three-toed foot prints outlined on the dirt.

" Crap." I sighed.

"Well come on, what you waitin' for let's go get it." Michael said.

"Fine, but if it's dead it's dead and I don't mind stealing a chicken from the farmer down the road if it means saving me from the wrath of my sister, besides a chicken is a chicken, she'll never know."

So we followed the tracks all the way to the gate of the graveyard. The imprints stopped about a foot in front of the gate. I squinted into the graveyard. How that accursed bird found it's way past the 16 foot gated perimeter will forever remain a mistery, but there it was roosting on top of a headstone. Unfortunately, as soon as she caught a glimpse of us, she quickly fled for safety, trotted towards a hole in the ground and disappeared into it.

" Crap! How am I going to get that bag of feathers back? We can't enter the graveyard without getting caught by a town guard!" I yelled.

" Aw come on, don't you know where that tunnel probably leads?" Michael questioned.

" No, and I dont want to."

"Sure yah do, it probably leads down to them catacombs, you know the ones that are supposedly crawlin' with zombies and giant rats!" 

" Mike, zombies aren't real and even if they are I don't want anything to do with them."

 " Aw come on. What? You Chicken?"       


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