A-O Bomb Squad 4: The Final Blow

Monster of a Family

The hallways of the hotel were old and lifted from the floor; the only light came from the large windows, which were hidden behind dusty, torn curtains. A fire was crackling in the lobby of the hotel. Erie sounds filled the air: creaking of floor boards, howling wind, and screaming door frames.

An old man with glowing pale skin and a half sunken look in eyes awaits his guests' arrival. As he sits in an old chair, he smokes a pipe. It sends pure white smoke, which mimic the color of his few strands of hair, swirling into the air and dispersing throughout the room. In his lap sits the tale he intends to tell.

The book's spine is coming undone. The cover is discolored, likely from water damage. The man drums his fingers across the book as he waits. His patience stretches to no end as he waits. Suddenly, he hears the sound of a door opening followed by a pair of footsteps. The boards cry under the weight of their guest. As they settle into their determined seat, facing adjacent to the fire place, the man greets his audience.

"Hello, there. How are you this evening?" he smiles. The guest remains silent. "Ah, eager to hear the story? In that case, I won't keep you waiting. This is the story of a group of extremely unique individuals."

(The scene slowly fades into a haunted lake house in the middle of the night.)

"Humans are so overrated. I mean, Abraham Lincoln the Vampire Slayer?" cried Nicole. "Please, I was born before then, and he never did anything like that!" 

"Chillax, sweetness; don't get your fangs twisted," said a ghastly pale Sylvan Sr., who was hovering in the air next to his son that was playing with old wooden blocks. (Yes, in this version of the Bomb Squad tale, all the characters are alive to join in the fun.) Sylvan Sr. ironically died in a duel back in the victorian era, and soon met a beautiful Vampress in the afterlife and have been together for centeries.

"Don't even get me started on Harry Potter!" Miranda the witch screamed from above.

"That's nowhere near Shrek," Steve complained from the other side of the room.

"I thought The Little Mermaid was good," Taylor smiled.

"Easy for you to say!" Ariel's tiny voice rang out. "At least your name wasn't in the movie!"

Little Sylvan laughed as he family started to, once again, complain about how each of them has been wrongfully portrayed in fiction. "Junior, you better go upstairs and take a bath before bed. I'll bring up a drink for you in a little," said Sylvan.

"Alright. Night, Pa; night, Ma!" he said before getting off the floor, almost knocking down his wooden block tower.

A dog, well, what was left of the dog, woke from its bed and followed the boy up the stairs. On the boy's journey up to the bathroom, he passed by his uncle, who was busy lighting the candles on the walls of the hallway with his dragon breath.

 "Night, Uncle Gary," Junior said walking up to the man to give him a bro fist.

"Night, little dude. Make sure to bundle up; the temperature will chill about halfway till dawn. I know for sure I'm going to warm up under my heating lamp," Gary chuckled and winked. His black scales reflected the candle light.

Young Sylvan continued his way up the stairs to the bathroom. He made sure he said good night to just about everyone in the house. Once he made it into the bathroom, he turned on the water and began filling up the tub. As he pulled off his t-shirt, there was a knock on the door. "Come in!" Sylvan called. The door opened and his Aunt Rebecca flew in on a broom. "Oh, hi, Aunt Becky."

"Hey, sweetie. Need me to warm the water up for you?" she asked.

Sylvan hesitantly answered, "Okay, but please, don't make it boiling like last time."