Wait, Did You Mean The Movie Or Pulp Magazines?
rating: +32+x

In the dimming twilight of Baby Bone Wood, The Hook-Handed Man lumbered with a complete lack of grace, his right foot practically dragging behind him with a heavy limp. Though his groans were loud and laborious, it wasn’t clear if they were of pain, anger, desire, or something else altogether. He used his razor-sharp hook to slice through the foliage as he trampled through the undergrowth, often raising it as high as he could so that it would gleam in the fading light, in case there should be anyone nearby to see him in all his fury.

Truth be told, it was all an act, and The Hook-Handed Man (who actually carried the much less intimidating name of Sebastian) wasn’t much of an actor. He was a thoughtform, a being comprised of pure thought and sustained by the thoughts of others. He and the other thoughtforms of Sloth’s Pit put a fair bit of work into spreading the tall tales about themselves, but had seldom bothered to improve upon them.

Their folklore was outdated, cliché, and sometimes even outrageously offensive to a modern audience, but it’s not like they were trying to win an Oscar or anything. No, their stories needed to be simple and easily digested, easily accessible, noteworthy for their shock value or absurdity alone. The tales they spun were creepypastas, urban legends, pulp fiction. That kind of thing.

Sebastian ceased his racket for a moment to try to hear if there was actually anyone nearby. He was hoping to find tourists since the townsfolk and the Plastic’s people had long since grown wise to their game, and travellers were better for spreading stories beyond the confines of the Sloth’s Pit Nexus.

Summer was usually the best time to find tourists camping in the woods, but Sebastian thought that he’d try his luck at finding someone spending their Spring Break there. He also didn’t really care to be around Sinning Jessie near Saint Patrick’s day, who took it as an excuse to be as stereotypically Irish as possible.

But after hours of staggering through the cold woods and finding no one, having a green beer with a one-eyed, undead, thoughtform prostitute was starting to seem like the more appealing option.

Even as the temptation grew, he reminded himself of the real reason he had come out here. Last year, another creepypasta had managed to go viral; Momo, some kind of weird chicken woman that threatened kids on Youtube and WhatsApp. Adult fear was a good strategy for attention, and the image associated with her was admittedly creepy.

“Someone pins a crappy creepypasta to a weird Japanese statue and it goes viral? Of all the things,” Sebastian muttered to himself. He wouldn’t have had a problem with it, were it not for the fact that audience attention was a finite resource. The more people were thinking about Momo, the less people thought about him and the rest of Sloth’s Pit thoughtforms, and they needed those thoughts to sustain themselves.

They were in no immediate danger of starvation of course, but Sebastian liked to nip these things in the bud long before it ever got to that point.

If no one was camping, maybe he could go to the highway. Sometimes the Goatman would just run in front of cars at night, but since The Hook-Handed Man was much more human looking that probably wouldn’t be as effective. He decided he would wait for a lone woman to drive by, slash one of her tires, show up pretending to offer help, then reveal his hook hand and chase her for a bit. That ought to get him a few upvotes on Reddit.

He paused to get his bearings and figure out which way the highway was, when he heard an odd rustling behind him. He turned, and there was nothing. He heard another rustling to his left, this time with a blur in his peripheral vision. Still, there was nothing.

“Probably just the Hidebehind,” he muttered. He turned to leave, only to come face to face with a pair of bulging eyes and beak-like mouth held up by scaly, avian hands.

He screeched and stumbled backwards, landing on a pile of soggy leaves. The creepypasta monster perched on the tree in front of him just cocked her head in confusion.

“You’ve gotta to be shitting me!” Sebastian cursed. “You’ve got enough people in Sloth’s Pit thinking about you to manifest?”

The birdwoman’s smile just widened even more into a smugly satisfied grin.

“Well don’t get too comfortable. Me and my gang are golden oldies. We’re timeless. We’ve been around for generations, and we’ll be around for generations to come. You’re just a Tide Pod challenge, something on the internet to scare helicopter parents with! All those millions of people thinking about you right now won’t give two shits in a year! ’Til then, just stay out of my way.”

He turned in the opposite direction to leave, only to find her perched on another branch.

“What do you want? You want me to stare at you? Is that all you got? That’s been done, chicken legs. Find yourself a better hook, but not a literal hook, because that’s my thing.”

He turned again, and again she was straight ahead of him.

“You want this to get ugly? Because this can get ugly!”

He swung his hook at her, just as a warning, but she clucked like a frightened chicken and leapt on top of his head, pecking furiously.

“Hey, no, stop! Get off me you crazy meme!”

He dashed through the forest, frantically trying to swat her off. Crashing through low hanging branches and undergrowth, they eventually came to a steep hill and went tumbling down. They rolled and screamed and clucked until they finally landed on a footpath at the bottom. Momo immediately hopped on Sebastian's chest and began pecking at his face, while he tried to impale her with his hook. They ceased their combat when they heard a pair of high pitched screams coming from down the footpath.

They turned just in time to see two teenage girls running away from the sight of two urban legends, one old and one recent, locked in mortal combat in the depths of Baby Bone Wood.

“Well, that should make for one hell of a story,” The Hook-Handed Man remarked. Momo jumped off him and began strutting about joyfully, clucking with pride. “So, ah, thank you. Sorry I was so hostile, I just wasn’t expecting you is all.”

Momo gave an understanding nod, along with a soft, forgiving cluck.

“Do you want to come to meet the rest of the gang? There might be some green beer left, if Jessie hasn’t drink it all.”

Momo clucked enthusiastically and perched herself upon his shoulder.

“Exclusively on the internet; Momo Vs. The Hook-Handed Man,” Sebastian mused as he began walking down the path. “A crossover so trashy and ridiculous even the pulp magazines won’t print it!”

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License