The challenge: write a complete story in 500 words or less following these guidelines:

Setting: A deep freezer

Genre: Horror + ’90s redux

Trope: Wai-Fu (tiny girl who kicks ass)

Characters: Cleopatra + absent-minded professor

POV/tense: 3rd person/present tense

The result:

Mister Pointy Returns

It reads: Do not open.

Professer Wentworth purses her lips.

“What’s that awful odor, Stuart?”

Her assistant sighs. “You left yesterday’s salmon dinner on your desk.”

“It must’ve tasted atrocious,” she says. “Now, about this “do not open” situation. A deep freezer arrives from the estate of a murdered FBI agent. Dana Scully, right? With no other instructions. What do you suppose we should do?”

“Not open it.”

“You pathetic man. Where’s your curiosity?”

“I don’t want to end up being the cat.”

“Well it’s my laboratory,” she huffs. “I say open it.”

He sighs. “Fine. I’ll remove the padlock.”

He cuts the lock off and motions to the door. “Would you like to do the honors?”

She scoffs. “Grunt work? That’s why I have you.”

He tugs the handle. It refuses to give.

She snorts. “What a waste of testosterone.”

He gives it an angry yank. The door releases. Cold mist fills the room. Wentworth holds her nose. “It reeks worse than that blasted salmon.”

“It said do not open.”

She shoves Stuart aside. “Let the professional have a look.” She wipes frost from her bifocals and peers into the mist. “It appears to be two sarcophagi. There are name plates. Hard to read. This one reads B Summers. The other. C something. No other artifacts.”

An alarm sounds on her phone. Wentworth perks up. “I forgot. Tonight is Mister Fuzzykins birthday. We’ll pick this up in the morning.”

On the way out she trips on the freezer’s power cord, curses her clumsy shoe and dashes out the door.

The next morning Stuart notices the cord free of the outlet. As he plugs it in, Wentworth catches him on his knees.

“What now, boy?”

“It thawed out.”

“Providence indeed.” She orders Stuart to pry free the first sarcophagus. Inside is a woman, olive skin, long black hair. He opens the second. Another woman. Petite. Young.

“So this Scully collected women,” Wentworth says. “Odd.”

Stuart leans toward the first woman. “I think she moved.”

“Preposterous.” Wentworth shoves him away. The woman opens her eyes and parts her lips to reveal fangs, which rip the skin of Wentworth’s neck and lock onto an artery. Wentworth screams. Her blood splatters. The woman drains Wentworth and tosses her dead husk aside. “A bitter offering for Egypt’s Queen.” She eyes Stuart. “I trust you will taste better.”

Before he can move the second body sits up. “Bad girl, Cleopatra. Rude much? You’re barely awake and already killing people.”

Cleopatra turns. “The foul slayer.”

“I prefer Buffy. Hey cuddlemonkey,” she tells Stuart. “Throw me that broom-handle.” She catches and breaks it. “Hey, Cleo. Mister Pointy needs some love.”

Buffy roundhouses Cleopatra, pins her down and hovers the broomstick above Cleopatra’s heart. “This is for murdering my friends. And for baiting me to that lame FBI agent. And for getting me iced as a threat to the government.” She smirks. “Nah, I just like killing vamps.” She plunges Mister Pointy into Cleopatra, who turns to dust.

Image: (C) Ash Carli