“I think he’s hurt,” Dale said, already waddling toward the kid. “Hey there! Don’t you worry, we’re here to help!”
Dale smiled, wiping sweat from his bald head. “You think we’ll make friends with the locals?”
The kid’s eyes went wide as dinner plates. “Stay back! I know your kind! You’ll use my skin for a lampshade!”
What followed was a chain reaction of catastrophic misunderstanding. tucker and dale
Allison looked up at his massive, dripping form looming over her. She screamed, scrambled backward, and ran straight into a beehive.
And as the stars came out over the crooked little cabin, Tucker raised his beer. “See, Dale? Told you. Start of something good.”
“Oh my God, they’re mulching the pre-meds!” one of the remaining kids shrieked. “I think he’s hurt,” Dale said, already waddling
Dale sighed, set down the eggs, and said, “Look. We’re not killers. We’re just… incompetent homeowners. I’ve never even jaywalked. Tucker once cried because a possum looked sad.”
“This is it,” the kid whispered, trembling.
Dale passed around the pickled eggs. To everyone’s surprise, they weren’t half bad. “You think we’ll make friends with the locals
Chad, screaming, ran backward—straight into a pile of old two-by-fours. A board flipped up, smacked him in the face, and he tumbled headfirst into a discarded fishing net, which then got caught on a hook, which then swung him into a tree. From a distance, it looked exactly like Tucker had launched a college kid out of the wood chipper.
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!”