Fan Fic - Visions, but only illusions...

[TogetherAgain]

Alright, Beau. Since you've finished posting your part of "Muppet Terror," the time has come for me to come back to nagging you on this. So, who's driving the car?

 

[theprawncracker]

I second that remark! I'm dieing to know who's behind the wheel!

 

[The Count]

Animal: More story!

*Breathes heavily on Bo so he'll get the hint.

 

[Beauregard]

"Hey, who are you? What are you doing? Why are you breathing on me? You look like an icecream man from Hello Dolly."

Sorry....couldn't resist. Will post more tomorrow!

 

[theprawncracker]

Alright, I'm gonna hold you to that, or Elmo will get you!

 

[TogetherAgain]

Yeah, and so will I! Er... I'll hold you to it, I don't know if I'll get you for it if you don't, er... well, I mean, um... oh, forget it. Just be true to your word.

 

[redBoobergurl]

I'm with Lisa, I'm ready for some more of this story too! I only have one more week before I'm gone for a week, so get lots of it written this week so I don't miss that much! (Nothing like a little pressure huh?)

 

[Skeeter Muppet]

Beau, if you don't get the next part of this out soon, I'm prepared to hold out longer on posting part 3 of the Faffner Hall section of 'Muppet Terror'...

-Kim

 

[The Count]

*The Newsman comes in running up to behind his desk.

This just in, a fast-breaking Muppet News Flash!
It seems that a Mr. Bo Regard has refused to update the second in his Rainbow Collection series of fanfics. To which, other fanfic authors on the forums here at Muppet Central have banded together again and formed a strike. Yes, it seems they're promising not to update any of their stories unless Mr. Regard posts the next portion of his brilliantly-colored Visions But Only Illusions.
So it seems like no news is good news tonight.
*At which a giant noose drops down and hoists the Newsman, somewhat chokingly, away offscreen.

 

[Beauregard]

Oh Fozzie...next time strap in when you are told...also staring two familiar faces, a familiar car, and a familar monkey, but not for long...our friends may not yet be destined to meet...

__


Tires kicked up snow as they ploughed across the streets. Frozen windscreen wipers scratched back and forth across the windshield. Gonzo hands span the steering wheel, and the speedometer rose steadily. He had not come this far to give up.

Fozzie clung to the seat with one hand, and scrambled for the belt with the other.

Gonzo skidded on a corner, and Fozzie was tossed into his lap. “Watch out!” Tires bumped up the pavement, and they careered into a trashcan.

Fozzie started to sit up, his head getting in the way of Gonzo’s face. “I can’t...” Gonzo said, but Fozzie grabbed the steering wheel for support, yanking it left, spinning across the street. “…see,” Gonzo finished.

“Sorry, whoops. Look out!” Fozzie dove aside, and crash-landed on the floor of the passenger seat, with his feet in the air.

Gonzo span the wheel, and set himself back on course up the center of the road.

Fozzie pulled himself up with the dashboard. “Are you always such a careful driver?”

“Mainly,” Gonzo said. He checked the mirrors. The slick, black car was behind them, keeping perfect speed and control.

They took a right into a deserted back street. Pale moonlight illuminated row-front houses. They sped down it, bumping over potholes.

“You should take more risks,” Fozzie said.

He did. Gonzo made a last moment decision, and turned down a one-way street. Mirrors. No black car. Wait! He slammed on the brakes.

Fozzie’s face mashed on the windscreen. “A little warning…”

Looking over his shoulder, Gonzo reversed rapidly. Ahead, the back car drove towards them. “How’d he?” Fozzie began. “This is a one way street! He’s, he going the wrong way.”

“Nope,” Gonzo said. “I was.” He hit a handbrake turn.

“Wahhah hah!” Fozzie yelled, falling sideways across the seat. A siren wailed. “The police!” Fozzie shouted. “Oh no, we’re done for. They found us.”

Gonzo took his eyes off the road for a second. “Fozzie,” he said. “You’re sitting on the siren controls.”

Fozzie leapt up, and stabbed at the buttons. The siren changed pitch, lights flashed.

“Time to wrap things up,” Gonzo said. He changed gear, stepped on the pedal.

“Gonzooooooooo!” Fozzie shouted, as he was thrown by speed. “What are you doing?”

“About seventy-seven knots!”

*^*^*^*

They emerged from an alley opposite a dark nightclub. Club Dot. The car rushed across the street, and skidded to a stop in front of the club.

Black double wheels crunched on icy-snow as the black vehicle turned after them.

The sirens were off now. They’d been hauling from side-road, to alley, to street for half and hour now, yet the black car seemed relentless in it’s pursuit. Somebody wanted them dead before Christmas…A joy-rider? Scrooge? Gonzo remembered he’d read about Scrooge in school. Dickens. Silly story.

Where they’d stopped by the pavement, a red convertible was ahead of them, and behind them on the other side, two old men sat on the curb. One looked asleep, the other was drinking from a bottle.

The black car slid up beside them, and shut off its engine, blocking them in against the curb. Black boots stepped out of the vehicle. The door slammed shut.

Gonzo held tight to the steering wheel. His knuckles going white. “Ready Fozzie?”

“Ready.”

When he had planned this move, Gonzo hadn’t been expecting drunk old men in his way. Never mind. He’d have no choice… He looked at the convertible. It had custom plates. J0NNY SA1. Gonzo glanced at Fozzie.

A gloved hand rapped against the window. Hard.

“Go,” Gonzo said.

Fozzie smacked the siren controls. It burst to life, its scream wrenching the air, lights flashing. Gonzo fired the engine high.

The man with the boots leapt back, tripped, fell tangled into the old gentlemen.

The police car leapt forward, slamming its edges into the black car as it scrapped between the gap of it and the convertible. Fozzie cringed at the screeching sound. Gonzo flinched at a crunch from a side mirror. The revves shot higher. The car burst out the gap, leaving scratches and dents in both cars. Sadly the convertible looked rather worse for the ware.

A monkey came screaming out the door of the club.

The police car pulled away, fast. “Wait!” Fozzie yelled. “I forgot to strap- ouch!”

*^*^*^*

They abandoned the police car by an unfinished building site. Metal pylons, and piles of bricks reared they ugly heads on the deserted blot of land. Rusted pieces of machinery stood like skeletons scattered from place to place. A crane. A cement truck.

Gonzo got out of the police car and shut the door. Fozzie had directed him to the site. He seemed to now this part of town like a map. “Wow, what is this place?” Gonzo said.

Fozzie shrugged, and shut his car door. “I call it home.”

They ducked under the wire fence, and walked between half finished walls. “Why was it left?” Gonzo asked.

“No one knows,” Fozzie said. “It was rumoured to have ghosts.”

“Cool.”

“There’s an empty staff caravan,” Fozzie said, pointing. “It’s where I sleep.”

“In it?”

“Under it. It’s locked.”

“I thought…”

“Yeah,” Fozzie said. “I already did. But, I keep it locked for myself. I…keep stuff in there.”

“Stuff?”

Fozzie sighed. “You want me to show you?” He stifled a yawn. “Can it wait till morning?”

“Sure,” Gonzo said. “Sure it can.”

“You wanna join me under the trailer?”

“Nah.” Gonzo looked across at the cement mixer. “I got a better idea.”

“Good night then, Gonzo.”

“Good night, Fozzie. And, Fozzie. Merry Christmas.”

Coming up next, the ghosts, the hopes, and the dreams.