“I’ve got you, miss!” he said, water streaming down his face.
Allison looked at the chainsaw. At the jar of pickled eggs. At the two most terrified, well-meaning faces she’d ever seen. And she started to laugh.
Allison looked up at his massive, dripping form looming over her. She screamed, scrambled backward, and ran straight into a beehive. tucker and dale
Tucker and Dale had absolutely no business being on that mountain.
“So… no torture dungeon?”
A moment later, a college kid in a pastel polo came tearing out of the treeline, tripped over a root, and impaled his backpack on a low-hanging branch. He dangled there, screaming, “The backwoods killers! They’ve got a shack of horror!”
“I’m telling you, Dale, this is the start of something good,” Tucker said, heaving a rusty lawn chair onto the porch. “Just two buddies, some cheap beer, and a wood chipper that only occasionally spits fire.” “I’ve got you, miss
The kid’s eyes went wide as dinner plates. “Stay back! I know your kind! You’ll use my skin for a lampshade!”