Work Text:
FEATURING THE CHARACTERS: onision, ernest hemingway
RATED ALL AGES
Ernest Hemingway, famed suicidal author, walked down the side of a random Idahoan mountain. It was night, the perfect time for him to wander the scrubs and drink to his heart's content. The desolation of the area and the lack of nearby people provided him with depressive privacy.
As he strolled along, he saw a figure hunched over something behind a pine tree. He heard wet slurping sounds, and a maniacal voice.
"DRINKS LIKE PEE AND SMELLS EVEN WORSE!"
Hemingway was shocked, and more than a little frightened. But his writers curiosity compelled him to draw nearer, to get a closer look ath
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—the terrifying humanoid creature. No, not humanoid. It was a human. A thin, greasy human with an ugly mop of dark hair. But Ernest had seen worse in the war. This oily excuse for a man couldn't scare him.
"DRINKS LIKE PEE! DRINKS LIKE PEE! I LOVE DIDDLING CHILDREEEENNNNNNN!!!!" the creature screamed at him, the man's maw spreading impossibly wide. Perhaps Ernest was wrong in his initial assessment of the specimen's humanity.
"Hello," Ernest said. "Why are you here?" He was just trying to enjoy his walk.
"Don't talk to him," someone said. Ernest turned around, coming fact to face with a middle-aged blonde man who had the ruins of youth about his countenance.
"Chris Hansen!" Ernest exclaimed. Despite Chris Hansen being born decades after Ernest's death, everyone knows who Chris Hansen is.
"This man is a predator," Chris continued. "I'm in the business of catching them."
The creature looked up, prompted by
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Chris's words. "EEEEEE!!! PEANUT BUTTER JELLY TIME!!!!"
He scuttled across the gravel on all fours, kicking up rocks and dust before continuing his wretched dance.
Ernest adjusted his turtleneck collar and chewed on his pen. "The one time I leave my shotgun at home..."
Chris placed a steady hand on Hemingway's big, broad, soldier.
"Don't worry, son," he said, despite being significantly smaller than Hemingway, "I have to deal with beasts like this all the time."
That's when Chris pulled out the lasso, whipped it over the creature, and dragged him away, kicking and screaming. Without so much as a word of goodbye to Hemingway, both Chris and the creature vanished in the distance. A faint bell rang in the background.
"Wait..." Hemingway remembered all the times he heard the bell toll for no apparent reason. Could it be that it was connected to the appearance of these monsters and the uncanny prowess of Chris Hansen to catch them? Was the bell a sign of victory, a hint of good prevailing over evil?
The mystery had been answered: Chris Hansen is for whom the bell tolls.
Fanfic created with #FranticFanfic.