Witchcraft and the Problem with Mould
Mr. Mouldy wasn't the adventurous type. In fact, he would
rather sit in some poor Neopian's inventory eating chips than be out on an adventure.
Inventory, you say? Well, yes. Mr. Mouldy is a mouldy potato.
One day, 74_Witchcraft_74 the blue Uni was patiently
waiting for her owner 74_countrychick_74 to return from Mystery Island when
she spotted the potato. It was mouldy and brown, with green fuzz growing out
of the sides. Picking it up without actually touching the fuzz, Witchcraft looked
at it and gave it a name.
"You shall be Mr. Mouldy, and you shall save
all of Neopia someday!"
She found some scraps of material, thread and
a needle, and made clothes for him. First, a smart black pair of pants with
six pockets, then a white top with one, a cap with - surprisingly - no pockets.
With some difficulty, she pulled the roughly made clothes onto the potato and
*whallah!* There was a potato with clothes. The Uni next got a carrot top and
stuck it on Mr. Mould's head with supergloo. Next, two small rocks were jammed
into his head to make eyes, and the tip of a carrot for a nose. After much rummaging
around in the useful-but-kinda-useless stuff drawer, Witchcraft pulled a bunch
of thumbtacks out and jammed them haphazardly under Mr. Potato's nose, giving
him a demented, lopsided look. The look of a hero.
Suddenly, Mr. Mouldy was a brave potato, out
to save Meridell...
Here he was, standing on a hill, the cheese rolling
hill, to be precise. He sighed. He better not be going on an adventure. Adventure
was too scary, and dangerous, and too hero-like.
Suddenly, wheeeeeeeeeeeee! A cheese came rolling
out of nowhere and whapped Mr. Mouldy in the stomach. OOF!
He fell onto his backside (if potatoes have backsides)
and sat there for a minute. That sucked. He got back up, slapped the dust off
of his clothes and walked away from the hill.
Suddenly, an Usuki emerged from the trees and
walked up to him. It squeaked.
"Why hello, pretty Usuki. What's your name?"
Mr. Mouldy asked.
That was strange. Usukis didn't walk! Or squeak!
The Usuki gave a jerk, and drew a sword out of
thin air. A very sharp, evil-looking sword, with bloodstains on the tip.
"Erm, we don't need any violence, pretty Usuki,"
said Mr. Mouldy, drawing out a wet snowball from his pocket. The Usuki advanced,
closer, closer until...
SPLAT!!! The snowball hit the doll in the face.
It fell over, picked itself up and screamed,
water and snow dripping down its pretty blue dress.
Mr. Mouldy sighed with relief. It was just having
a hissy fit. No harm done. He backed away slowly.
He stumbled and fell over a range of other Usuki
dolls. He was surrounded!
Drawing a blandfish - yes, a blandfish - from
his pocket, he sliced through the air with it. SLAP! One Usuki down, two, three,
four. But they kept coming.
Suddenly, Mr. Mouldy grabbed one of the evil
dolls by the ears and swung it around and around. Two revolutions, five, ten,
thirty-seven. It screamed and Mr. Mouldy dropped the shrieking doll onto the
ground. He himself fell to the ground, dizzy and disorientated. What was happening?
Evil... Usukis... closer...
Then the disorientation passed, and Mr. Mouldy
"What am I to do?" cried Mr. Mouldy in despair
as the Usukis closed in. "Somebody he-"
"Witchcraft! What are you doing with that disgusting
potato????" cried 74_countrychick_74 after arriving home. "Get rid of it!"
Witchcraft sighed. "Why?" she asked, clutching
Mr. Mouldy tightly.
"Because it's disgusting, old, smelly and foul!"
Countrychick cried. "It's gross!"
"No buts; throw it away."
Witchcraft grumbled, stamped and squealed, but
no matter what she did, Countrychick would not give let her have the potato.
Finally, resigned to the worst, Mr. Mouldy was unmercifully thrown into the
Later, when it was evening and countrychick had
gone to bed, Witchcraft walked over to the bin and pulled the potato out. One
of its eyes was missing, and its shirt had Tchea fruit stains on it, but it
was still Mr. Mouldy. The adventure could continue.
"-elp me! Please!" cried Mr. Mouldy in despair.
There were too many Usukis. The potato fished in his pocket and found a rotten
left boot. He waved it about, and the stink waves knocked every Usuki within
a hundred feet to the ground, clutching their heads. It even made him dizzy.
Mr. Mouldy ran. Away, away from the hill, dashing
through trees, past a grumpy Kacheek, through a crowd of Meerca and around a
fountain. He jumped over ditches and bogs, logs, even small woodland creatures.
All the time, Mr. Mouldy could hear behind him a crunch, crunch, crunch of Usuki
feet, and raucous peals of laughter and squeals. It was horrible, terrible;
he swung around, launched himself into a ditch and watched as the Usukis ran
over it, past him, not noticing that there was a rotten, mouldy potato in between
some leaf-litter. Mr. Mouldy jumped up, shook himself off, and ran into the
backs of the Usukis, scattering them and making them yell and squeal in frustration.
"Witchcraft!" cried countrychick, flicking on
the loungeroom light.
"What did I say about that potato? Get rid of
Arg. Witchcraft forgot that her owner got up
for a drink of milk around nine o'clock at night.
The Uni didn't move.
"Now, before I decide not to buy you a birthday
"Yes, mum." Witchcraft sighed.
Cue 74_Avalon_74. The red Xweetok lumbered out
into the lounge room, shielding her eyes from the light. Blindly, she stumbled
into Witchcraft and unshielded her eyes.
"Wow, a potato with clothes!" she cried, reaching
out to hold Mr. Mouldy.
Countrychick rolled her eyes. Such stupid things
kids used to amuse themselves.
"GET RID OF IT! NOW!" she bellowed.
"NO!" cried Avalon. Well, that was the last straw
for countrychick, it really was.
"GET TO YOUR ROOM! I DON'T KNOW WHY WE'RE ARGUING
ABOUT A MOULDY POTATO BUT JUST GET RID OF IT!" screamed countrychick.
It was just too much. She had no control over
her pets; they were all up in the middle of the night, they were all tired,
and yet they were screaming their heads off so that Neopians six blocks away
could hear them. It was so pointless. Countrychick stormed off to bed, leaving
a trail of anger in her wake.
Witchcraft pinched Avalon.
"Now you've done it! She'll be fuming tomorrow!"
"Well, it wasn't my fault!"
"Yes it was!"
The two kept on bickering until the old red Mynci
next door yelled an annoyed 'SHUT UP!' at them.
"Well, I better get to sleep," said Avalon, yawning.
"Same," replied Witchcraft. "G'night."
Sighing to herself, the blue Uni pulled Mr. Mouldy's
clothes off, pulled out his thumbtack mouth, shoved them back in the useful-but-kinda-useless
drawer, fed the body to her petpet ditsy, and went to sleep, mulling over the
pointlessness of the day.
Author's Note: Let this just serve as a reminder that your imagination is
one of your best friends; even the most rotten jerks can become wonderful friends!