WARNING: This story is not for anyone who knows or has known a person named Bart Bales. All characters in this story are fictionally created and any relation to actual persons may be reported here. This story was written in 1999 by myself, with illustration by Guy Miller (colored by Ryan Buck). It was created in response to an English assignment that required that we write a story about an article that we found in the newspaper. We looked in the obituaries...
One ominous stormy night, Bart Bales, expert tree climber, came home a drunken wreck. He decided he would go and do some "tree prunin'" in his peaceful back yard in the flatlands of Palm Bay, Florida. He staggered into the house to inform his wife of his "idea."
"Hey Tammy, I think I'll go *HIC*, fix our, *HICCUP*, trees!"
Tammy was not interested in hearing more of her drunkard husband's crazy idears. "Go ahead Bart, knock yourself dead." Ironic choice of words.
Bales sort of tripped out the door and into the garage. He picked up his tree climbing gear, the largest chainsaw he had, and a pack of Marlboro's. Crawling out to the yard, he hooked up his equipment and set to work on the first tree. After about twenty minutes, he had successfully delimbed and cut down the entire tree (other than a ten foot spike right in the middle that he forgot to remove).
Dragging his stuff over to the next tree, he set to work again. This time he started to "sing" an old Irish song that his driking buddies had taught him at the Oasis.
"JOE MCWILLIS!!! HE'S A MAN OF THE MOUNTAINS AND A MOUNTAIN OF A MAN! JOE MCWILLIS!!! HE BUILT THE TITANIC AND SUNK THE BUGGER TOO! JOE MCWILLIS!!!
The man had slipped into insanity. The drunken stupor wasn't that strong, but it was enough to push him over the edge. He lit up his cigarrette and started his cutting. After about twenty minutes, all he had was the butt of the cig and about half the tree left to cut.
He reached his hand up to remove his cigarrette from his mouth, holding the chainsaw with the other. Just when he had it in his grasp, Bales' insanity gripped control of his body. The chainsaw spun toward his head, but the man managed to duck out of the way. Unfortunately, he forgot to move his hand as well. The blades sawed off his index and middle fingers, sending them falling to the ground. Bart screamed hystarically, as blood poured out of his hand. Combined with the pain, the cigarrette was burning into the wound.
At that moment, he heard a high pitched squeling sound. He turned around and saw a mutated bat with a three foot wingspan hurling torwards him. At this point, he had dropped the chainsaw and what was left of his cigarrette in order to fend off the vicious creature's attack.
The winged rat clawed at Bales' head and chest, trying to tear apart the victim to get the blood that it so greatly desired. All the while, Mrs. Bales was inside the house sound asleep, unaware of the fate that was taking its toll on her doomed husband.
Bart was still attempting to thwart off the mighty spawn's attack, but it was to no avail. Amidst the flurry, the bat cut the safety rope that was holding the man on the tree. Immediately, the harness gave way and Bales began his fifty foot descent to eternity. Ten, twenty, thirty feet flew by. His life didn't even have time to flash before his eyes, he met the stump of the other tree like a foot meets the exoskeleton of an ant. The spike drove through Bart's heart, and the life was drawn out of him. The bat finally got what he desired.
The next morning, Tammy found the lifeless body of her husband impaled on the tree's stump. "Figures. Crazy son of a gun gets drunk every night, it had to end somewhere. Moron."
The bat was seen at other times, late at night, wandering about town. The last sighting was somewhere around Lockmar, at the playground of a nearby church/school. It had grown to the size of a large adult male, and its fury was even more intense. The moral of this story: don't get drunk, and BEWARE THE BAT!!