Ping-Pong: A Short Story

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The House of Creepy Mr. Ping-Pong

I sat on the floor doused in yellow liquid moonlight mingled with shadows, waiting. But for what? I thought. A chance to escape? The window was small and too high for me to reach. For someone to rescue me? That was unlikely to happen. No one knew where I was. I was trapped in silence—ensnared by insatiable madmen. The door creaked open. A dark shape shuffled in then stepped into the light. It was one of the men who had grabbed me. I stared up at the tall, hulking mass of muscle with the bald scalp and goatee, which made him look slightly devilish as he smiled down, all teeth and gums. “Isn’t that a shame,” he said, glancing down at me. “You have spider webs in your hair.” Cobwebs! I
“I ask the questions here!” he snapped. “Now let’s try to stay on task, shall we? We were chatting about the stone, remember? You were just about to tell me where it is,” he said, and his eyes flared orange behind his glasses. “Where did you unpleasant little monsters hide my rock? Come on, you can tell me.” I swallowed hard as I tried to stall for time. “Ah, I’ve heard great things about an Asian’s sense of hospitality and their unrivaled gestures of generosity. And, um . . . I’m parched. My mouth feels like wasps have camped out inside and are using it for a nest. So, uh—” “Shut up!” he shouted and the wart on his chin that looked like the leaning Tower of Pisa frowned. I didn’t think it was possible either, but trust me this one was not pleased. “I won’t play anymore idiotic games of cat and mouse with you brats—I’ll just cut to the chase and it might get dangerous, if you know what I mean.” Breathe, I told myself. He’s merely a man, not a monster. He shut his eyes and massaged his temples. Then he smiled at me. “Such a precious little girl, I’m sure you’re the apple of your dear daddy’s eye. I know he wants you home unharmed. I can give him what he wants, as long as you start