Chapter 17: Emotional Damage Must Be Paid in Full
The trio stared at the old woman who squinted her milky, lidless eye in their direction.
"Well, well, if it ain’t a trio of two delusional dames and one soggy disappointment of a boy," she rasped, puffing out a green cloud of cabbage-smelling smoke. Her pipe farted. Audibly.
Beside her, the demonic chicken screeched. Its eyes glowed red. It clucked in Latin.
"Uh... hi?" Finn managed.
The old woman rocked once in her chair—an abomination stitched from bones and what sounded like two skeletons grinding at a haunted prom.
"I’m Granny Plops," she croaked, then cackled like a swamp witch mid-meth bender. She patted the chicken beside her. "And this here’s Clemothy. My closest companion and part-time tax auditor."
’And somehow... you’re more insane than the girls.’
"If you wish to cross this bridge," she said, voice dropping theatrically, "you must offer me three things."
Finn narrowed his eyes, "And what would that be?"
Granny Plops raised one crooked finger. "First, one deeply embarrassing memory."
Another finger. "Second, an interpretive dance from the soul."