To be read as an odd story
“Invite the taxidermists in, I say!” the old witch crowed and cackled. And in through doors of bamboo wood came a large trumpeter, a rather young girl, and a baboon with sunflower boots caked in mud.
“Ah,” she said, her brow in a furrow, “not what I expected. But I suppose you’ll do, I’ll grab the shampoo! My cat died just this afternoon!”
“AHA!” said the trumpeter, brandishing his horn with a toot, a hoot and a BLEEEOOORRRN. It was a fine, if upbeat, funeral song.
“Um, am I in the wrong place?” the girl looked rather perturbed. “See, I fell through this door…”
“Not at all!” called the witch from the room just beyond. “We’ll just need some stuffing ‘fore we can get this all done!”
The baboon… well, he said nothing. He’s a baboon. But he scratched his behind, and he kicked off his boots and sprayed mud all around, and the girl’s yellow hair turned instantly brown.
“Um,” said the girl, “I’m quite sure this isn’t right…”
“What do you mean?” said the trumpeter. “Who’s to say if it is or it ain’t?”
The baboon shrieked as the witch reappeared, the frozen-stiff corpse of her cat on a lead. “Here it is, here it is!” She presented it proudly, like a stick of cotton candy, though the poor fluffy wretch was not looking dandy. Its eyes had leaked green through its tufts of dark fur. Its ears were missing and those eyes stared on blankly.
“Um,” said the girl, growing rather insistent, “I really, truly, don’t think I should BE HERE.” She balled up her fists, ready to scream.
“Nonsense,” the witch grinned with her grey, pointed teeth, “you’re the stuffing! Just what we need.”
