Killin Hood fiercely raged into the void while being sucked down a portal created by his wife. It was her last brainless action before she exploded from an overload of crystal power taking several blocks out with her. He might have defeated his step son in the battle, but he could have stopped the war long before now. If he had killed him on the operating table it would have saved himself from the current predicament. The vortex he flew through was composed of many different colors. It swirled around him in some kind of love boat tunnel. He tried to shut his eyes but the picture stayed twisting, turning and seemingly looping the same heart shaped geometry over and over again.

He had so many plans left to do as a ruler of humanity. It was so unfair that just as he had finally gotten the power he had desired all his lifetime before it was sucked out from underneath him. He had abandoned the logical principles of clean killing and wanted to get his rocks off hurting others and that had been his undoing. If only he had stuck to the cold hard life of just doing business this wouldn't be happening.

The picture changed to a golden hue while the free-fall seemingly continued forever. He checked his pocket confirming he still had a crystal switchblade on him. He was a patient man, but if this ride was ever lasting he still wanted his escape options. His pocket watch spun around faster than he was falling. He threw the useless thing overboard and it sounded on something far below him.A tunnel of rock opened around Killin Hood speeding by. The bottom revealed below him as he barreled straight towards it. The picture went black, the clanging continued, and pain overtook his legs.

“GRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAA!” he raged.

His evil rabid bloodthirsty eyes gradually opened revealing a neck buried deep in golden coins. He continued howling like a werewolf that had come home empty handed from a hunter's moon. He looked from side to side and piles of gold, silver, and diamonds formed a sea, while the twinkling ceiling was seemingly nothing but crystal formations. He tried to move his legs, but nothing happened. There was no telling where the walls were with it stacked in mountains all around him.

Killin Hood started digging himself out with his arms. He was making good pace having uncovered the scar on his chest where his old heart had been. At the time he had thought the candidate for becoming a royal was the perfect fit, but he had moved in on his prey too hastily. He laughed to himself on the revelation that this had now been the longest vacation he had ever had. All this self reflection came with the realization that he had been acting a lot more impulsive and fruity ever since the transplant.

“Farc this fucking royal family I should have just started a revolution instead. When I get out of here it's no more mister nice guy, bodies are going to be burned,” he said, taking a breather waist deep to pound his clenched fist.

He felt a rumbling starting below him as thousands of little objects began to move. A mountain of treasure started shifting from above. The coins came raining down pelting him with hits of currency. Killin Hood was covered up to his ears in gold and more seemed to be flowing every second.

“STUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!” he yelled, which reverberated around the prison.

Just as his head was beginning to be covered the back wall of the cavern had been uncovered. There was a massive vault door, and words written into the rock with stone. The last thing Killin Hood ever saw was. “QUEEN ELIZABETHY THE 13’s TOP SECRET VAULT NO EXIT!”

****************************

Meanwhile back on the ranch the night was well underway. Jed tried to sleep on the couch sweating a high fever. With fat stomachs filled with hearty food they had gone to bed in high spirits and had hoped for dreams finally turning good. Mule slept on a bed of blankets made on the covered porch. He kicked and rolled in the hay changing shape. His stomach turned sour as his dreams morphed into something more sinister.

Outside what remained of orange leaves were ripped off as the wind whistled. The old oak moved outside the house and tapped against the window, and the upstairs storm windows shook just holding on by rusted screws. The duel moons were full, and the wolves howled in a land far away. A solitary scarecrow guarded the crops, while the mist rolled over the open fields intensifying. The nearby small family cemetery plot sat between two trees on the edge of the woods. The farm animals hid as deep inside their locked pens as they could manage.

The old house banged, creaked, and made all kinds of other spooky noises as the night continued to drag on. The old sickly patriarch started coughing up a deathly fit in the next room. Jed stared at the ceiling hoping to drift into a better spot, but hours passed with no rest. He just watched the same cracked paint, and the blades of the ceiling fan circling.

The rooster ruffled its own feathers as it hooted and hollered in the morning. The suns were climbing high in the sky roasting away the first signs of frost that formed overnight. Bessie worked the fields underneath them alone. Her guests had slept in for today, but she wouldn’t extend them the same privileges tomorrow. She grunted, pulling a mesh of interconnected carrots out of the ground, and shook off the dirt before throwing them in the bucket. The next carrot top was the last of the bunch.

She walked to the wooden fencing to take a breather and leaned against the post. She rested in front of a pumpkin patch full of huge orange fruits in full bloom. The fall harvest had arrived what must have been weeks ago, and time was quickly running out to get everything undercover for winter. There was also the fall festival on the 28th which was next week. In the past it had brought in a great deal of folk to the town which was about 13 miles out. The family had a booth reserved due to their connections, but they hadn’t made it last year. It was going to take a lot of work to make it on time with enough fruits, and vegetables worth selling. For now they were just content to be surviving another day.

The dirt road running back to the farm was flanked on either side by overgrown grass. It hadn't been turned to hay like it used to in the old days. Her expelled breath formed a cloud of mist, as she took off her hat to fix her hair. She spotted a four legged creature kicking up a storm towards her. Bessie laughed, relieved to have the incoming helping hooves back with her again. Mule galloped through the open gate stopping beside her.

“It’s about time you rolled out of bead Mule, Now we can start the real work,” said Bessie, patting his toughened hide.

“Hey uhh sorry i'm a late farmer but you fed me too well that's why I slept in. And uh well Jed still aint right, he needs just one more day to rest up,” replied Mule.

Her eyes almost popped out of her head on this revelation.

“You can talk?” she sputtered.

“Oops I forgot to keep the act up. It does get tricky always having to reveal myself when the time's right, as a talking animal named Mule,” said Mule, bowing his head.

“Well I’ll be” she dirtied her chin resting on a hand to concentrate on thinking. “Well I suppose I told you a little too much information the other day thinking you didn't understand, but guess I can’t shun a gift horse for speaking to me,” she said.

“True, besides I don’t judge much, because I’ve been a mule for even the most despicable in my younger years, but anyway let's stop blabbering and get back to work now,” said Mule, walking towards the plow.

“Alright if you say so.. let me just get rid of these carrots first, and I'll meet you there,” said Bessie.

********************************

Down the road at the county morgue it was a pigsty overflowing with dead. A grimy place lit either by candlelight or oven. It was always full of humidity and the horrors of war.

A dead witch was hauled in through the back door. The man inside grunted not looking up from his current project on the table he had cut open just like a car at the garage. The ancient crone was thrown on top of a pile with the other bodies. The two man delivery crew signed a clipboard, placed it on the feet on the table, and departed the premises for the next round of specimens.

“Thanks guys,” said the mortician, adjusting his glasses.

He did a double take. The old woman's head was caked in blood, and some of her scalp had been blown off and lost somewhere else with a clean shot. Her skin wore deep wrinkles, with her tongue sticking out, and robes that reeked of only the smell ancient folk carried with them. Her face looked like a creepy rubber mask made for kids, or bank robbers. She had come from the desert a ways off, and tagged on the foot as such. The most important thing though was that this witch must have had a rich family because she had a golden ticket tagged to behind the yellowing overgrown nails that curved back into her big toe.

He giggled as he pulled a special key from his pocket made of bone, and inserted it into a medicine cabinet. The overfilled shelves were rummaged through as the hoarder looked for his prize. A skull formed a medical container that had been slapped with a warning label. The mortician began to whistle as the top of head was unfastened revealing a single zombie crystal. He almost never got a chance to revive a fresh cadaver due to budget cuts.

“Now let’s see it says here handle with care Isabela is 102, and extremely powerful…well you don’t look a day over 90 honey,” he said, picking up the corpse with a chuckle.

The previous patient was thrown into a heap with the other trash. He closed the five clamps on the bed and bolted down one by one. The mortician’s eyes lit up as he drew out the dark crystal. It slowly descended towards the dead hag. His arm started shaking with nervousness as he grew close to the eyeball that was cloudy white.

“Phew… I’m out of practice with this,” he said, setting it on the desk for now.

A hot pot of coffee was steaming in the corner. He grunted and pushed over a pile of rotting corpses to get access to a mini fridge. A bottle of whole milk emerged after a wrapped concoction. The mortician poured the milk in his cup, filled the rest with bean water, and then let down his mask revealing a face with graying stubble. He took a big swig.

“Aah.. Now where the farc is my assistant at Jimbo I need you in here at once for a job of the year,” he yelled, pulling back the covers on a foot long sandwich.

The juices seeped out of the end of the club composed of several types of mystery meat. The sauces were sweet onion, red wine vinegar, and hot relish. The vegetables lettuce, tomato, pickle, green pepper, onion, and jalapeno. He devoured the sandwich like a man who had been starving at the bottom of a well. Then he started hiccuping, and tried to wash it away with coffee. The door swung open, creaking on its un-lubed hinges. The zombie crystal started to shake on the other table until a rotting hand grabbed it. A zombie dressed in clothes covered in dried blood glared at the mortician.

“HICCUP!”

“Hold on Jimbo, I know you were running the incinerator, but this one needs an extra set of hands.. Hiccup,” said the mortician, cautiously lifting the mug to his lips for the last drips.

The man then tied his apron, fixed his surgical mask, and pulled the gloves over his hands. The dead worker waited patiently while studying over the exposed brains of the witch with great interest. The witch's body twitched as the zombie crystal went straight into her eye. She thrashed on the bed, but the metal straps held her for now.

"Well aren't you a live one, says here your new master is named Killin Hood. Oh boy Jimbo this guy always tips well according to my friend back in the swamp,".

Jimbo groaned in acknowledgment.

"Now let's get her comfortable until he gets here with payday… Wait a sec don’t touch that," said the mortician, his voice growing irate.

His assistant had started fondling the exposed brains. The witches gray matter lit with sparks, as she started twitching vigorously. Jimbo flew against the far wall tweaked on black magic. The mortician dropped his bone saw, as the room began to come alive. He ran for the exit as the groans for brains intensified. The bonds holding the witch smashed apart as her arms cracked still under rigor mortis.

The man ran into the next room, locking the door, and pushing a filing cabinet behind it. He continued running while the iced lockers were beaten on from within. He sprinted towards the sunlight coming in through the open door. A cut off hand grabbed his leg and pulled him to the floor where his glasses broke. The door burst open as the dead limped out with Jimbo leading the pack.

"Hey you wouldn't do this to me Jim, I always treated you right," he pleaded putting up his empty hands.

"Brains," they drooled, closing in on the neck.

They piled on the screaming man ripping open the flesh pulling out the prized guts. The floor was already so bloody it blended right in. The man screamed his last gurgles of life while he was torn apart alive. Undead Isabella watched the action with her eyes growing beady red. She might have been deceased, but she vaguely remembered her final moments. Her grudge had not died with her brain, and neither had her stomach. The horde of plain zombies buried with magic so that their new queen could savor the choice cuts herself.