Monsters at the Door 7 of 9

The Shaman took the pale skinned trim wrist of the girl in its great green leathery skinned hand, the long gnarled fingers searching for a pulse beneath her supple pink skin. It grunted to its companions as if to inform them that she was alive. And they grunted in return, forming a tightening circle around her fallen body as if to spatially convey their eagerness. Two of them wielded long pole-arms featuring curved blades on both ends. These creatures were hunters that stalked their prey through these winding mysterious caves.

The way Chelsea Pryce lay there unconscious at the feet of the monsters dressed in nothing more practical than her red skater skirt and pantyhose gave her the appearance of a vulnerable heroine in a storybook, who had traveled to a distant and dangerous realm. The ghastly ghouls stared down at her with their yellow beady eyes and sharp needling teeth with an agitated hunger in their mannerisms and beastly utterances.

And hungry they were. The skull faced cave mouth opened wide with unholy red light pouring into the chamber where the vicious goblins made camp. Nearby was a great stone cauldron filled with a boiling garish red broth that bubbled, popped, and hissed. Draped over the top was the unsettling wispy addition of a pair of gossamer women's tights, whispery sheer and ashen in color. The delicate cotton gusset and whimsical feminine flowery french cut of the panty felt grossly juxtaposed when sagging and soaking over the nauseating juices.

The sight of discarded pantyhose automatically conjures to mind the image of a woman that they might belong to. Who is she? Where did she go? And why did she leave her stockings behind? But anyone unfortunate enough to be in the goblin camp as an observer would find their curiosity satiated with troubling answers. Grimy stained bones piled at the sides of the stone cauldron, topped by grinning skulls amongst each pile. Both skulls were capped by blonde locks that gave a forlorn appearance. It was the empty black eye sockets staring into nowhere in the grim cave, that proved most haunting.

Charcoal flats with cute red feminine bows, a dainty and expensive looking woman's watch on a black leather band, and other trinkets all seemed to whisper about who these mysterious heroines were. Who they were that is, before they met their untimely ends as ingredients for soup in the goblin stew pot. While the girls had been unable to escape their fates, they had succeeded in providing proof to an age old adage that they had heard many times while growing up as impressionable young ladies: "Nothing beats a great pair of L'eggs!"

Well, Hanes corporation, there you have it. Your pantyhose rose to the top of the broth in the end. Go ahead and put that label on the package: "Our support hose are strong enough to survive! ...Even when you don't!"