Creepies And Crawlies

Potty Nutcracker Hashgate Peter(now Dracula) Robert(now Vlad) BlouseBlazer Iceman Dumper C5 Spot Hitchiker DunnyStumbler Spex LoudonTasteless Hamlet and dog Chad Dutch Donut Cloggs NonStick Yankit Tyree Premature Cerberus TinOpener Lilo and Emma the dog Betsy OldFart Lemming Mother Theresa Twanky BlowJob SlackBladder Whinge TC Baldrick Zebedee Florence ShutupWally and dog Bonnie Quack PoisonedChalice Mark Ruth PissQuick Glittertits Cheating HeadBoy

Hallowe’en Horror Hash

When shall we three meet again
In thunder, lightning or in rain?

The sky lowered. Grey and dark, the clouds bled rain on the three Weirds squatting on the pub wall. The Trembler, GnomeAlone and C5 squinted horribly as Hash Horrors flew into the car park. The Iceman cometh, black-eyed and becaped. Quack’s terrible nasal hair flowed wildly from his gnarled and blotched face, the awful sight matched only by that of OldFart – before he put on his mask. From a car deep in the bowels of the car park unfurled a tall creature so frightening that Greymalkin, the Donut cat twitched its’ cute little black nose and hissed. It was Dracula, previously known as Peter, with a deathly white face, teeth like enamel scalpels and an ankle-length black cape that whirled about him like huge bat’s wings. He levitated across with his evil henchman, Vlad, previously known as Robert, at his heels. Twanky rattled up in his car, dressed as a skeleton and DunnyStumbler floated ethereally surrounded by diaphanous ectoplasm covered in witch and pumpkin logos (it was a mauve net curtain really). The elf Lemming liked this so much he stole a bit and wound it round his neck (not tight enough some might say) and peered at everyone in a bizarre Marty Feldmanesque leer. BlowJob seemed very comfortable in her witch outfit and hat and carried a smaller replica of her usual broomstick. She confided that it’s very useful for beating rush hour traffic jams. ShutupWally’s little dog, Bonnie, had managed to catch an awesome, luminous green spider and attach it to her collar. She strutted about feistily with the horrible creature attached to her (the spider, not ShutupWally. Mind you…). Dracula looked singularly hacked off that Betsy, last week’s virgin, was now, shall we say, Hash deflowered. Especially as she looked so juicily enticing in red devil horns and fire-red running tights with pointy tail attached. Speaking of old bats Our revered GM, Spex called the alarming group together for a spell before sending them on their flapping, hopping and club-foot dragging way with a wild-eyed, “Fly my pretties! Hie thee hither and do thy worst!” The last exhortation accompanied by an eldritch screech of such intensity that a pensioner out for a Sunday morning stroll with her dachsund fainted. Dracula eyed the prone form with a sigh and floated off. No good. He likes a bit of a struggle. And a lot younger (see Betsy, above).

Not surprisingly, the cars on the main road screeched to a halt and the horrid group lurched across to plunge into the undergrowth. The normally attired Premature and Cerberus led the rush. Normally attired because Premature is unable to read either Gobsheet or Runsheet instructions and Cerberus is damned if she’s going to tell him. Pursued by the terrible creatures they opened up a gap, running for their lives over horse jumps and soggy fields until they fetched up at a riding school where another fearsome creature in a long coat and bearing a whip ordered them to walk. Rule number 1 – do not get on the wrong side of riding instructors. They’re a breed apart. Anyone who can force a few hundredweight of stroppy horse to back down by staring it in the eye has to be feared and obeyed. I understand SlackBladder is partial to this kind of woman – that explains a lot. We dutifully walked quietly… to the Regroup! Urk! It was a first for most of us. A Regroup, and no Checks up to this point.

The Hallowe’en Hares had a treat in store for us after this. We skittered down the road to be met with the sight of… the River Styx. Unfortunately, it was Charon’s lunch break. The grey water swirled worryingly over the ford, ready to suck the unwary into its’ murky depths, never to be seen again. We urged ShutupWally to give it a try. Surprisingly, he did, dragging his unwilling rat (Bonnie) behind him until the water came up to her ears. She looked slowly up to her master and gave him a canine telepathic message, “One more step, sonny, and my teeth and your a*se will be together quicker than you can say ‘rabies shot’.” He got the message and slowly backed out of the maelstrom.

The Pack screamed across several blasted heaths, stopping only to cackle manically at Glittertits. The fellow was coursing along like the hounds of hell (Emma, Chad and Bonnie) were at his heels when he reached a deep puddle of shiggy. On the entry side he was shod sensibly. On the exit he wore only his socks! The mud creatures had sucked off both his shoes. We enjoyed several minutes of innocent fun watching poor Glittertits fishing them out, emptying them and sliding the messy objects back on his feet, squidgy worms of mud wriggling out through the laceholes.

We came upon Poisoned Chalice as we entered a wood. He was carrying an umbrella (for reasons he explained at the Down Downs but which did not penetrate or remain in either my brain or Donut’s, who I quizzed immediately after on realising zero info had been retained) and, as Betsy, Mark, Zebedee and myself screeched past, mumbled softly something about a False. After ¼ of a mile it finally sank in what he had said, especially as we saw the rest of the Hash hurtling along a ridge at an angle away from us. So it was that I found myself running across the ferny forest floor on a damp October Sunday morning pursued by Dracula. There aren’t many people who can say that. Or would actually want to. I probably won’t be mentioning it in passing to prospective clients, bank manager, doctor etc.

By a lake (no doubt populated by naiads and a water dragon) appeared Motox, leaning heavily on a stick. Drunk as usual, we thought. In fact, we appeared far more incapable since no-one could find the trail for ages. Even when a lot of the pack zipped off down a track we couldn’t believe it so Spot and I stopped off in the bushes for a comfort break. I’ve just re-read that and I’d like to confirm we are both fiercely heterosexual. We were just minding our own/taking care of business. PissQuick (appropriately I guess) came up to me later and said, “We saw you having a wee in the bushes.” I wondered why she had been carrying those massive binoculars. The Trembler finally pointed out the way to us with an outstretched arm and (not surprisingly) trembling finger.

A long, wet drag to the second Regroup followed by an even longer wet drag through clinging brambles, soaking trees, driving rain and large puddles. Very nice it was too. Mark, the man-in-black led us eventually to the On Inn and it was quite amusing to watch the bedraggled skeleton, cat, assorted witches and, following rather a lot of sweat running down his whitened face, Vlad The “I’m Paler” Dracula staggering back, gasping for beer and the nearest thing to cooked human flesh – pork scratchings.

Nice one Hares. A devilishly good trail.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

Standin RA C5 presented the following :-

A (literally) swift half!

Spex retained The Sheep for a further week. She’s becoming attached to it. Or it to her.

Up and Coming