So ... back to the story!
No, wait, not yet. I don't know if I should make this a new chapter, or just let this one run kind of long. Hmmmmm. Ah, what the heck? A long chapter won't hurt anyone.
Now, back to the exciting conclusion!
* * * *
RANDALL HELD his arms out to keep his balance. The Dark One stepped closer. “Look within yourself,” he said. “Search for a secret long-kept. A revelation you have yet to accept.”
Randall closed his eyes, and the memories surfaced....
* * * *
GRANDMA UNFASTENED the final lock, and swung the attic door open. She took young Randy by the hand and led him upstairs.
The attic was filled with hundreds of crumpled pieces of parchment. Seated in a corner, holding a quill and scroll, he sat, unshaven and bleary-eyed. Sir Randall. Randy's father.
“Darn it, Mom! How am I supposed to get any writing done if you keep bothering me like this?” he hollered. “The muse was here and you scared it away! You scared my muse! How many times do I have to tell you that I need my muse! Go away! Go away and leave me in peace!”
Grandma led Randy back down the stairs, but not before the boy had a chance to grab one of the crumpled papers. Grandma began to relock the door. “I'm sorry,” she said, “but you had to see that. You had to know what your father's become.”
Randy uncrumpled the paper. The words, written in shaky handwriting, were so horrible to witness that Randy let out a cry. No. That couldn't be right. Not his own father! The characters on the page were kissing!
“That's right,” said Grandma, solemnly. “Your father writes girl books!”
And then Randy screamed and screamed.
* * * *
“YES,” SAID the Dark One. “Your father was a failed romance novelist. It became an obsession. It poisoned him inside. And now for another revelation...”
“Oh, I know this one,” said one of the guards. “I bet his father also ate slugs.”
Jack let out a whimper.
“Silence, you fool! Randall...I'm your father.”
“Daddy!” said Randall, stepping forward with open arms.
“Randall, no!” shouted Yvonne. “He's the bad guy!”
“Oh, yeah, that's right. And why should I believe anything I've been told?”
“Here is why,” said the Dark One, removing his mask. There was a collective shudder, and then various gagging and retching noises. And the Dark One stood, his face bare.
It was Sir Randall, no question about it. And he looked just like a slightly uglier version of his son.
“Eeeewwww!” said Yvonne. “Look at that chin—the cleft is crooked! And his nose is a little too wide ... his eyes are beady and too close together! It's grotesque!”
“Dad, how could you do this? You were such a big hero!”
“Listen to me, Son. I had finally got eight pages done on a book. Eight whole pages. Good ones! For the first time in my life, I was actually producing literature!”
“And then...?”
“And then I re-read them. And found it. An inconsistency. The lovers couldn't have met that night under a full moon, because the full moon wasn't until the following week according to the dates I'd already established! My book was worthless! I shredded it and ate the pieces, and vowed that one day I would bring this entire Generic Fantasy Land to its knees!”
“How tacky,” said Yvonne.
“And I shall succeed!” shouted the Dark One, raising his arms dramatically. “Guards, kill him!”
“Wait!” said Randall. “Don't do this! All of you—you've sided with the forces of evil! Look at him! Those dark clothes, the snarl in his voice—that man is evil incarnate! He's bad! If you work for the bad guy, well, that makes you all bad, too! And bad isn't as good as good! Otherwise bad would be good and good would be bad, and the world just doesn't work that way!”
“I think he's right!” said one of the guards.
“He sure is, but I wanna kill somebody!” said another.
“You mindless drones, I said kill him!” the Dark One roared.
“No!” said Randall. “I know how we can work this out!”
“How?”
“Two hundred years ago, there was another war between Good and Evil. After years and hundreds of bloody battles, the leaders finally came up with the proper way to settle their dispute. A game of Rock, Paper, Scissors. Loser gets filled with arrows!”
The Dark One considered that. “Very well.” He held out a fist. “On three?”
Randall held out his own fist. “On three.”
Together: “One ... two...”
All eyes were upon their hands.
“Three!”
They made their selections.
Randall chose rock.
The Dark One chose paper.
There was a moment of deep, reflective silence.
“Rock bashes the hell out of paper!” Randall shouted.
“Huh? But I thought—” said the Dark One, as a hail of arrows sailed at him, puncturing his armor. He screamed in the agony of defeat and tumbled over the side of the pit, falling into the lava. The sizzle of his evil body being dissolved would linger in the memories of all present for lengths of time varying from twenty-three years to six seconds.
Evil had lost.
“So ... now what do we do?” asked Scrivener.
“As his loyal servant, I'd say you should jump in there after him,” said Randall.
“I've got a better idea. How about we all make the change in our hearts and become good! We will rebuild what we have destroyed! We will make this land more beautiful than it has ever been! We will create a brand new Generic Fantasy Land!”
“Nah,” said Randall. “Jump in.”
“We can do it!” said one of the guards. “I hereby devote myself to the pursuit of total goodness! And I pledge my loyalty to our new leader, the great Randall!”
“Hail! Hail!” shouted the other guards in unison. “All hail Randall the Great!”
“I thank you for this honor,” said Randall. “But I'm afraid I cannot lead you. You see—”
“I'll lead,” said Scrivener.
“Hail! Hail!” shouted the guards. “All hail Scrivener the Great! All hail our new leader! Hail! Hail! Hail!”
As it turned out, most of them lost interest in their new pursuit after only a couple weeks. But for a short while things were pretty good.
Chapter 26
The Final, Final Battle
“ANSWER THAT, please,” said Grysh to Demon Baby as there came a tap, tap, tapping at the mausoleum door. “But first remove the silly antlers hat from the Sir William statue in case it's somebody dignified.”
Demon Baby removed the hat and quickly wiped off the beard and mustache he'd drawn on Sir William's face. When he opened the door, Randall and Shreddriff pushed past him and walked over to Grysh. Randall held a sword, and their expressions made it perfectly clear that they were not present for Happy Hour.
“You deceptive crone-woman!” said Randall. “There was never any Necklace of Power! But listen, I busted my keister to get a toenail from Jenstina and the berserker Shreddriff, as well as the crystal that was formerly in the Necklace of Powerfulness, so you better be able to undo the damage!”
Grysh snapped her fingers, and the crystal popped out of Randall's hand and flew into her own. “Ah, yes,” she said. “This will do just fine. There's just one minor little problem.”