By Forrest Landry
Jolts of pain shot up Don's arms as he slid down the electric cable to the old castle. It was so dark he couldn't even tell when he was close to the wall. Then a crack in the heavy clouds gave him just enough moonlight to see he was about to smash into it.
He kicked his legs up and brought himself to a halt. The weak lunar glow showed his hands just inches from the other line. If he moved wrong, he'd be fried.
Still, there was space to reach up and grasp the pipe which ran across. He hoped it would hold, then jerked himself up and inward.
The pipe held. He clambered up over the ancient stones and stood on top. The faint light limned the rotten wood decking just below.
"Lousy maintenance," he thought.
A sharp gust threatened to topple him. Now pissed, he grabbed the rod standing up from the crenulations.
"Come on, there's GOT to be a way to get in there."
The clouds didn't help, closing tightly and shutting off the moon.
"Well, no time like the present. Charge!"
The ancient crone standing in the dark window across the inner courtyard waved her fingers. One snap and lightning struck the rod, searing Don's membranes into chitterlings.
He didn't fall, just stood there, burnt to a crisp.
"Did you get a charge out of that?" the old woman asked.
[Forrest writes stuff. He makes stuff up. He blogs at forrest-landry.blogspot.com and has a web presence at www.lulu.com/forrest-landry. In his spare time, he tends two old cats and a kitten who acts like she's on methamphetamines. ]