Thor and Catrina stood in the broken, busted-up foyer of the Secaucus Holiday Inn and looked out over the plaza. Before them was an enormous, bulging werewolf, juggling a variety of appendages and heads with admirable skill.
“That’s new,” commented Catrina.
Thor scanned the rest of the plaza. To the left of what he had been assuming was some kind of escaped circus animal were three scientists: one looking on with curiosity, one looking on with a burlap sack over her head, and one sitting on the ground, clutching his knees and weeping. Thor pointed them out to Catrina.
“Think we should go talk to them?” he asked.
“You are aware of the giant wolfman between them and us, correct?”
“Yes.”
“The one playing with body parts?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re aware that we’re made of body parts, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you still think it’s smart to go over there?”
“Verily.”
“OK,” said Catrina, nodding her head, “have fun with that. If you need me, I’ll be grabbing the axe from the break room and then locking myself upstairs and hiding under my bed.”
“Like an axe is gonna hurt that thing,” replied Thor. “Besides, you know we never clean under the beds. There’s bound to be something just as terrible living under there.”
“Damn,” said Catrina, confused and upset that she was forced to agree with Thor. More importantly, that she was sober when doing so.
“Fine,” she relented. “But if you get me killed, I’m coming back and haunting the shit out of you. And I mean constantly. When you’re asleep, in the shower, when you’re flirting up some senorita, whatever. I’m not gonna be nice about it.”
“We’ll be fine,” replied Thor. “Just stay with me.”
He grabbed her hand and led her around the edge of the plaza toward the scientists.
The beast, singing “Frere Jacques” and balancing a severed arm on its nose, didn’t seem to notice.