SpamFic: Buffy Meets Hannibal Lector-Part 2 (Was OT: fantasy)

[Mad Hamlet <Mad-Hamlet@xxxxxxx>]

Greetings,
 

> > Trust me, Buffy and the Scooby Gang, as much as we all love them, wouldn't
last ten minutes against Hannibal Lechter. 

The soft leather of the glove slide effortlessly over the brash knob. No
smears or oils mared the fine polish on either. He prefered to enter cleanly
and leave like wise. 

The occupants were totally unsuspecting; he'd be in and out quick as march
hare, neat as pin with a fine dining experience soon to follow.

The door opened without a sound, well oiled hinges gliding along their
preordained and limited paths. He stepped across the threshold. No tell tale
squeak of floorboards to give away his presense. The members of this household
still slumbered on the sofas and chairs surrounding their God.

'Television,' he thoughthimself. 'One of them more destestable inventions of
the modern era.'

He reaching into his pocket and pulled out the long, thin skewer of the ice
pick. It gleamed slightly; the dull glow of streetlamps outside flittering
along its polished steel.

'One quick thrust,' he mused. 'Location is an issue though. They're sitting so
between the fifth and sixth rib is not an option.' He discared the idea. 'Tend
to flop about with punctured lungs; too unsubtle.'

He turned the blade slowly, admiring the sheen. 'Such simple, fatal elegance.
So hard to find in these troubled times.'

'The temple then,' he decided with a nod. 'Who first?'

He flared his nostrils, picking through scents and smells. 'Pepperoni with
anchovies,' he sighed slowly. 'Barbarians.'

Another careful, quiet inhalation to taste, sample the scents in the room.
There were three here. All young, all not fully adult yet not children either.
Straddling both worlds a most terrifying time for the living. One, a blond,
slept upon the sofa, body streched across, a light blanket over her. Across in
two chairs were the others. A redhead curled up in a tight ball, legs tucked
beneath her, head cradled in her hands; the third, a slob of a boy. Sprawled
across his chair, slouched almost horizontal. Head flung back, the errant
snore occasionaly disrupting the darkness. In his lap a half finished bag of
chips.

"Ahhhh," he whispered. 'The blonde, she smells,' he exhaled just as quietly.
'superb.' 

He eased around the end of the sofa with sure footfalls. The throw rug made it
all the easier to move in total silence. He crouched down next to the end of
the sofa where the blonde lay, her head lay on the rest, eyes closed. Lips
pursed slightly. He watched her intently.

He was oddly excited; the hair on the back of his neck was on end. His palms
were clamy in their leather gloves and he had the urge to remove them. He
could feel his heart thundering with the thrill and anticipation. He paused,
his mind racing, analysing the sensations. 'Odd,' he considered. 'I feel some
trepidation about her.' He shook his head slightly. 'Foolish old man,' he
grinned. 'Acting like an errant and naughty school boy. I should know better
by now.'

The young blonde girl whispered something, her lips pursing as worry lines
worked across her otherwise peaceful features. A moment later she relaxed,
calm and sleep smoothing over any troubled thoughts within.


'What dreams she must be having,' he thought. 'Ah, tis best to leave the coil
in times of dreams.' With that in mind he brough the tip of the ice pick scant
centimeters from her temple he raised his other hand, over his head, ready to
deliver the hammer blow that would send the tip through skin, tissue, bone and
finally brain; snuffing out the spark within in one single violent thrust.

'Now,' his mind spoke calmly. 'The moment is perfect, let it be now.'

He struck.



Without waking up Buffy reached out, slapped the blade aside, grabbed the
intruders neck, a savage twist severed vertabrae and nerves. 

'How unexpected,' was his last thought as the floor came rushing up to meet
him.

The crack of bone and thud of a body hitting the floor startled Xander Harris
from his slumber.

"Hu- What?" He blinked sleepily. "Vampire?" he asked.

"Lector," Buffy replied eyes still closed. 

"Bury him tommorow then," Xander mumbled rolling to find a more comfortable
position. 

"Good idea," Willow chipped in, her voice heavy with weariness. "Better idea:
Quiet. It's sleepy time now."

"Uh-huh," Buffy and Xander voiced at the same time.

They slept.


END


It just called to me.

Some might recall this is not the first little dity I've done with Buffy and
Lector. If I can find that little blurb, I'll repost it.

I remain, as always,
Mad-Hamlet







I was born modest, but it wore off.
                         -Samuel Clement(Mark Twain)


Look upon my work ye mighty and...ah skip it.
http://www.realmoftheshadow.com/madhamlet.htm
                                    -Mad Hamlet




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                     'Choices'

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