Here's Hoping for The Worst! | By : V021 Category: Comics > Squee! Views: 1788 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Squee!, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
Some Mild Head Trauma
“I write because I hate. A lot. Hard.” ~~ William Gass
“Bela Lugosi.”
“Uh?” Grunting out of a deep sleep, Pepito sat up and glared at his friend. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“The answer is ‘Bela Lugosi’,” repeated Todd with a flick at the show on TV. “It’s one of those gimmicky ‘Who-Wants-To-Win-Billions-Without-Eating-Bugs’ game shows, and this week they’re running horror themed questions. See, they give the contestant of the day a multiple choice question before each commercial break, with the studio audience and the home audience online being polled for an answer. The contestant then decides if they want to go along with the audience or pick for themselves. If the contestant’s right, they earn some money but if the audience was right and the contestant disagreed, the contestant is electrocuted. The shocks get progressively worse the higher the pay out gets.”
Pepito grinned. “How charming. I think my father has a few deals with the producers of this show.”
“Yeah, I sorta guessed that the third time I watched this episode.”
“Third time?” The grin vanished. “You mean it’s a rerun?”
“Yep. But considering the answers they gave for the last question, a blind retarded cave weasel could see that this game’s rigged to fry this ugly smart-ass.” Rolling his eyes, Todd growled, “I mean, Bruce Campbell was one of the choices for a question about White Zombie! Boris Karloff and Peter Lorre, I can understand. But Bruce-Fucking-Campbell, B-movie Lord of the Chin? He wasn’t even a fucking zygote in 1932! Besides, any moron who knows the genre could tell you Bela Lugosi was the man who played Murder Legendre, the villainous white Voodoo witch-doctor.”
“Um, first off: White Zombie happens to be the name of a band, darling. And second: Bela Lugosi played Dracula.”
Todd let out a contemptuous little snort. “Bah! For your information, my demonic friend, the band White Zombie derives its name from the original, black and white film of the same name because Rob Zombie happens to be a B-movie fanatic. I believe he bought that car from the Munsters, for Christ—eh…” He paused at the look of disgusted rage on Pepito face. “Sorry, forgot. Anyway, as far as Lugosi is concerned, it’s true he is best known for his role as Universal’s original Dracula, but the real tragedy is how pop culture has forgotten the many other roles Lugosi played. Like his classic performance as Igor in Son of Frankenstein—a critical success in the eyes of many aficionados, despite the fact that it was supporting role—or his many appearances as the evil mastermind, such as the mad horticulturist of The Body Vanishes or the murderous scientist in The Bat. Even though he’s famous for being Dracula, Lugosi only played the role of the bloodthirsty count one other time, and that was in Universal’s Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein. In fact, he spent most of his life after Dracula trying hard to escape the stereotype of being the Count. By that point in his life, Lugosi’s career had gone down the proverbial toilet and in 1955 he made Hollywood history by announcing that he was going to rehab for an addiction to painkillers. This was also the year he began working with the infamous director Ed Wood, appearing in Bride of the Monster. Lugosi’s final film was the cult classic Plan 9 from Outer Space, but because he died in the middle of production a stand-in played bulk of Lugosi’s role with a cape held up over his face. In an ultimate irony, Bela Lugosi was buried in his Dracula cape.”
Arching an eyebrow, the Antichrist gave him the special kind of look people reserve for the likes of Happy Noodle Boy and the local Obsessed Comic-book Guy.
“What?” gulped Todd, going on the defensive as he squirmed into the couch. “I…I happen to like old B-movies.”
“You, Squee, are the absolute last person—mortal or otherwise—in existence that I would think of watching a horror movie, let alone being a rabid fanboy.” Pepito was grinning again. “But I do admit, your geekiness is very attractive…”
“Um, thanks?” Rearing back, Todd smiled in an odd bitter way. “Compared to a ‘normal’ day in my life, A Nightmare on Elm Street is a fucking Disney animated family feature. Between Johnny torturing his latest victims to the left of me and your hellish family living to the right, I am utterly stunned that I haven’t been permanently locked up in some crazy house for boys—though, I’m honestly expecting the White Coats to pick me up any day now. So please, forgive me this trespass and let me enjoy watching some other schmuck being tortured by monsters. I’ve seen The Omen, Children of the Corn, and The Exorcist. Oh, and for the record, I’ve also got the boxsets of Buffy, Angel, most of Dark Shadows, all the Evil Dead movies, plus everything by George Romero, Ted Raimi, and Clive Barker.”
Pepito laughed. “You are such a nerd, Squee. The only way you could possibly be more of a geek is if you did those freakish little fan stories or drew fan art.”
“Well…”
Pepito’s eyes widened in surprise. “Are you fucking serious?”
“No because he’s been dead since Book 5. Anyway, Remus would be so pissed…” Todd giggled. “Heh-heh…nerd humor. But, yeah, I do write stories for a couple of fandoms. Its some really bad slash—mainly Re-Animator and a few animes—and a bunch of Willow/Tara fluff. Lately, though, all I’ve been writing turns into gore splattered, angst filled teenage revenge melodramatics.”
“Squee-gee how can anything with cute lesbian witches be bad?”
Todd laughed, sinking even deeper into the cushions. “You’d be surprised at how much badfic exists. And quit calling me ‘Squee-gee’.”
“Uh-huh,” came the half-assed reply, then Pepito’s grin widened. “Can I read some?”
Now Todd had sunk so far into the couch that he was practically one with the upholstery. “I’d rather spare you the misery…”
Fixing him with the sweetest of smiles, the Anti-Christ moved till he was barely inches from Todd’s face. “My dear boy, your talking nerdy and acting shyer than a Victorian virgin on her wedding night has really peaked my more carnal interests, yet I’m even more interested in satisfying my curiosity about these ‘fan-fics’ you write. In plain English: If you don’t quit holding out on me, I’m going to turn you into a fucking lemur.”
“Which kind? The furry, Madagascar kind or the pathetically damned souls of Hell kind?”
“Both.”
Prompted by the desire not to be an eternally damned primate, Todd hopped up and groped around for his backpack. When he couldn’t find it by the couch, he started walking around, checking and double-checking every square inch of the living room. He scoured the floor, wracking his hung over brains to remember where he could possibly have tossed it when he came stumbling in with Pepito. Then Todd realized that he’d left his backpack at Carpe Jugular after they’d fled. He’d been in such a drunken panic over his uncharacteristically rage-fueled outburst that he hadn’t even noticed it missing till this very moment.
“What’s the matter?” asked Pepito, suddenly standing right behind Todd.
Squealing, Todd nearly put a hole in the ceiling. “Ow! Shit! Warn me next time.”
“Sorry. Now, tell me what’s wrong? You look like somebody ran over your puppy…” At the mention of puppies, the Anti-Christ’s face darkened. “Fucking bastard…”
Todd could only flinch, recalling how during their fourth grade year some dickhead in a Benz ran over Pepito’s dog. He could still the guy’s screaming… Trying to block out that memory, Todd murmured, “I left my backpack at the bar.”
Slipping out of psycho mode, Pepito gave him a sour look of annoyance. “Is that it? Just your backpack? Shit, Squee, I thought it was something important from the look on your face!”
“All my notebooks are in it. And I asked you to stop calling me ‘Squee’?”
“Why not? It’s just a name.”
Glaring, Todd shot back at the Anti-Christ, “It’s also fucking annoying. It’s the kind of nickname you give a four-year old. Besides, ‘Squee’ isn’t even a fucking name! It’s just an onomatopoetic term for the noise fan girls make when they’ve just gotten an author to confirm that their favorite slash couple is indeed a couple in the canon! I refuse to spend the rest of my life being called the same word that describes a fucking nerd-gasm!”
With an impish grin, Pepito replied, “Nerd-gasm… Now that’s more than enough reason to continue calling you ‘Squee’. And you don’t know just how amusing it can be watching you try to distance yourself from the way you once were. So please, quit bitching and let us be going before we’re late for school, Squee-gee.”
“I’m not going.”
Pepito rolled his eyes. “Damn it! It’s a stupid nickname. Deal.”
“That’s not it.” Todd muttered, plopping onto the couch.
“Oh sweet unholy fuck… If it’s about the backpack, we can pick the damn thing up on our way…”
“You don’t understand,” whispered Todd as he slumped forward with his fingers steepled. “This goes beyond simple being known for the rest of my life as ‘Squee’ or even my precious backpack—though that’s still pretty damn important. Since we got back last night, I’ve felt the weight of impending doom hanging over me. I hoped that watching the Atomic Late-Night Monster-fest with your oh-so-pleasant running commentaries would make this feeling of unutterable dread disappear, but you fell asleep in the middle of Godzilla vs. the Moon Beast. So I sat here, watching horribly dubbed actors fighting rubber suit-wearing guys who blundered through obviously fake miniatures of Cold War Tokyo while you were curled up snoring in my lap. Might I add that you’re actually adorable when you’re sleeping… By the way, did you know you grind your teeth in your sleep? But I digress.
“After Monster-fest ended, I flipped through the channels for a good two hours. One of the few benefits of insomnia is that you get to discover MTV does play blocks of music videos that aren’t rap-hip-hop-pop-idol shit…at about 3 in the fucking morning. Sadly, catching a Tool video was only a temporary relief from this despair festering in my mind. It flared up again and it seemed as if things were watching me from the shadows. They and their half-whispered plotting filled me with such unnamable imaginings of misfortune and misery that all I wanted to do was kill myself and plunge into the relieving vacuum of oblivion.” Todd frowned in disgust. “Fuck. I’m starting to sound like one of those Goth poets…”
“Don’t worry about it,” murmured Pepito. “I do apologize for being too lax with the demons and other Hellspawn lurking around the house. I’ll have a word with them about tormenting my guests…”
Todd sat bolt upright. “It wasn’t a demon! This thing- no! Those things…yes, things because I swear there’s at least two of them-These things are something else entirely. I…I can’t quite explain what they are, why they picked me, or even if they’re on the same side anymore, but I can tell you that they aren’t exactly evil, just malicious. And ruthless…”
“You mean like that bear of yours…” growled Pepito.
“That’s one way to put it…” Todd mumbled. For the thousandth time, he regretted ever telling Pepito the truth about Shmee.
Expression dark and possessive, the Anti-Christ glared down at the boy. “I do hope you let these new ‘friends’ of yours know that you- physically, spiritually, intellectually, and sexually- are mine and mine alone. I will share you with no other, Todd.”
“I’m truly touched. Now, please excuse my presumptive rudeness, but would you kindly fuck off? I wish to wallow alone in my miserable existence stew.”
“Enough of your angst! It tires me. You can be miserable at school.” Grabbing his arms, Pepito dragged Todd off the couch and into the car.
Todd placidly let the Anti-Christ lead him through the hallway when they got to school, indifferent to the staring and whispering from his peers. What did it matter? Let them think that he was gay; give the jocks a better justification for beating him again. The whispering continued through homeroom—Rufus kept trying to say something to him, but Todd was just too depressed to care—and the not-quite hushed gossip kept right on till lunch. By that point, Pepito had hexed, cursed, and otherwise maimed at least seven people on Todd’s behalf, and the only reason Todd even noticed was because Rufus had helped the last two times.
And now they were on ‘victim’ # 8.
“Alright, you putrescent sack of vermin shit,” hissed Pepito as he tightened his grip on the miserable misanthrope’s arms. “What did I just get through telling you? That,” He twisted the girl’s—Todd guessed it maybe a girl—twisted its head toward him. “That boy right there… He belongs to me.”
“In a strictly platonic sense!” Rufus added. “Not in the ‘I-own-his-eternal-soul’ kind of way.”
“I’m working on it.” Pepito snapped back, then smiled at the girl. “Now, because I weary of dealing with you filthy maggots and I’m running out of amusing ways to torment you for the rest of your soon to be drastically shortened life, I shall make you the messenger of a warning. You are to go back to all your clove-smoking, redundantly pierced, kohl made-up clown friends and tell them to cease their relentless hounding of my pet—” Rufus glared. “Eh… Of our friend, Todd ‘Squee’ Casil or suffer the very wrath of Hell itself.”
The girl’s eyes glittered hopefully. “You promise?”
Pushing Pepito aside, Rufus stepped up. “Let me handle this, devil-boy.” She leaned close to the girl and began whispering into her ear. Suddenly, the girl’s face went even paler than her dead white pancake at what Rufus said.
“You…you wouldn’t…” the girl murmured weakly.
“Oh yes I would.” Rufus growled, snapping her neck around fiercely, punctuating every word like an enraged drag queen. “Now, you take you crazy scrawny cracker ass back to those little starfucking whores you hang with before I fuck your shit up, BITCH!”
The girl fled sobbing, a stack of stapled papers falling out her bag.
Pepito turned to Rufus. “Oh My Gawd, Rufus! You are so black!”
She stared at him horrified while Todd bent down to pick up the papers. “Never do that again.”
“Oh, I get it,” barked the Anti-Christ as Todd skimmed the first page. “It’s perfectly okay of you to go ghetto on that pathetic mortal, but I do Valley-girl in the spirit of good humor and it’s all ‘oh no the little beaner didn’t’.”
Unaware of Todd’s growing alarm the further he read, Rufus sighed. “Dude, you just flamed more than my Uncle Jay’s friend. And that man’s über-gay.”
“Your Uncle J.?” Pepito pointed upwards.
“No, not that Uncle J.! The other one. ” Rufus shuffled her feet. “ Okay, so Jay’s not really my uncle, but he and his hetro-lifemate Silent Bob help mom stop this pair of disgruntled angels from unmaking existence, she ended up picking them to be my godfathers when I was born. See, they just happened to be on the same bus mom was on when she had me, but it’s a long story about why mom was traveling to Jersey in the first place. Let’s just say its mostly Jay fault mom ended up naming me Rufus.”
The Anti-Christ gaped at his holy foe. “Wait a fucking minute. Are you telling me that foul-mouthed stoner is a prophet? I’ve been getting pot from them for years. Granted, I can see how Bob got the job but what kind of shit has the Lord God Almighty been smoking to make a walking hard-on like Jay a motherfucking prophet!”
Rufus snort laughed. “Boy if you’d told me you earlier, I could’ve gotten you a discount.”
“Un-fucking-believable!” gasped Pepito. “Hey Todd, did you know Rufus’ godfathers are the same guys that dealing out front of the Quick Mart?”
“My diary…” muttered Todd absently.
Pepito and Rufus looked at each other.
“You keep a diary? No offense but that’s pretty gay, my friend.” The Anti-Christ snickered at him, then saw the mounting wrath in his friend’s eyes. “You okay there, amigo?”
“My diary…” Todd repeated, crunching the packet in his shaking hands. “My fucking diary…”
Rufus frowned and stared sheepishly at the floor. “I tried to tell you this morning: That fucktard Slater and his dickhead cronies have been selling those all morning. Seems one of them found a backpack at that Goth bar downtown and photocopied the stuff in it. Haven’t you noticed the parade of The Crow-rejects stalking you all morning?”
“My fucking dairy…”
“Look, don’t worry about it,” rasped Pepito. “When we find the dumb shit that did this, I’m going to make sure his suffering is even more excruciatingly painful and humiliating than you having your diary served up to the entire school. Besides, I’ve always wanted to toss somebody to the Golgothan.”
Todd lowered the papers to glare at them both. “You knew who did this? And you didn’t tell me?”
“I said don’t worry about it. Rufus and I will deal with Slater.” Seeing the look on his friend’s face, Pepito sighed. “Look, I understand that having the most intimate of your life laid bare before these fools to be mocked and used as fuel against you at a future date makes you feel it necessary to kick Slater’s sorry ass personally, but you’re not thinking this through. While I’d be perfectly happy to let you fight your own battles, I also happen to know that Slater happens to have his own personal goon squad made up of really large, biker-punks who aren’t afraid to use excessive amounts of violence against your person. So why don’t you just forget about it and let me handle this for you?”
“NO!” snarled Todd, shoving him away. “I don’t want your fucking protection any more! All my life, you’ve taken it upon yourself to be my fucking bodyguard, with all your head exploding and demon summoning and damning anyone you catch picking on me. And I’ve had it! I’m fucking sick of you treating me like I’m some helpless little kid!”
“But you are some helpless little kid!” Pepito roared back. “Face the fucking facts, Squee! You always run away from danger like a stricken rat! You’ve never had the fucking balls to stand up for yourself! And you’re never going to! Because you’re a weakling and a coward! Without me around to save your sorry ass, you’d—”
Todd cut him short with a fist to jaw, storming out of the cafeteria before Pepito even hit the floor. Filled with a rage the likes of which he’d never known himself capable of feeling, Todd tore through the halls in a hunt for the bastard that violated his privacy. He found his prey loitering with his cronies behind the dumpsters at the back of the school.
“Ooo! Here’s another one!” Slater crowed, yanking a newer looking notebook from his ill-gotten pack. “Ahem! ‘Dear Diary, Today Mom actually spoke to me instead of ignoring my very existence the way she usually does. It was kinda depressing when she kept called me “Ms Squeaky”, but at least she talked to me.’ Oh, here’s another good one! ‘Dear Diary, I had a dream last night… A really weird dream about the scary neighbor guy…It started out like all of Johnny’s visits, with him climbing in through the window like he always does…’—Oh, this is priceless…”
“Go on, Slater! ” barked one of the goons. “Tells the rest!”
Slater gave his cronies a stern look. “I don’t know… There’s some pretty fucked up shit going on between Casil and his boyfriend. I don’t think you boys need to be listening to this sort of filth. It might damage your sensitive young minds.”
They all began roaring with laughter at that comment. “Quit fucking around, Slater!”
“Okay, okay! Lemme find my place and—HEY!” Slater barked in shocked when a hand reach out and snatched the diary out of his hands. He whirled around to face the interloper, glaring then smirking. “Well, look who it is boys! Boys, say hello to the illustrious author himself, Lil’ Miss Squee Casil! Got anything to say to your adoring fans?”
“Give it back.” hissed Todd.
“What? This?” Sneering, Slater dangled the backpack in front of Todd’s face. His cronies closed rank around him. “I don’t think I want to, Squee-gee. In fact, I think you owe us a little gratitude. Me and the boys have been helping your career. The Goths just love you and the crap you write! They’re eating this shit up! How about I cut you in for, say, 20 percent of the profit and you keep cranking out the angst? After all, you don’t wanna disappoint your fans now, do you Squee-gee?”
Todd just glared.
“Okay, okay! How about 40 percent?” Slater put on his sleaziest grin. “I know you’re not stupid. And I know you realize all the things I can do for you if you just play ball. I could get you in with that crowd. I know a lot of hot girls who’d just love to hook up with an artist like you…Guys, too, if you’re into that sort of thing. And let’s not forget all those bands out there that need a good lyricist. I can make you the biggest name on the scene, Squee—even bigger than that bitch Ann Gwish! Just do as I tell you to, and I’ll make your wildest dreams come true! What do you say, man? ”
“Fuck it. I just want my stuff back.”
Slater took a step back, his face contorted in mock shock as he glanced toward his goons. “Did you all fucking hear that? Here I am, offering to make him a fucking celebrity and he acts like I’m flinging poo at him! Now that’s just plain rude.”
The goons started chuckling and their eyes glinted in anticipation.
“Shut up, Slater.” Todd growled quietly. “Just give me my backpack back before I...”
“Before you what?” Slater jeered and shoved Todd backwards. “Kick my ass? I’d like to see you try, bitch. I’d like to see you fucking try.” He kept shoving and pushing Todd around to the amusement of his cronies. “Come on, you pussy. What’s the matter? Ain’t got your freak friends around to fight for you, huh? You gonna run home and cry to mommy, Squee? Or get your psycho neighbor to kick my ass, you little bitch?” With a horrible laugh, Slater reared back and knocked Todd against the dumpster with all his might. He turned away, still laughing and never saw the grubby ball-point pen till Todd had buried it into his neck.
Cackling insanely, Todd knocked the hapless boy to the ground and gleefully began stabbing Slater. He kept on and on and on long after Slater’s face and chest had become a mess of blood and ink. Todd thought he heard Pepito calling his name but he was too pissed off to care. Finally, Todd gave up on Slater and stood up.
“Todd?” Rufus’ voice was shakier than the hand she had placed on Todd’s shoulder.
Todd looked down at the lifeless mass he’d left on the ground. Then he saw the gore on his hands. “Oh God…”
And he ran. He ran from the school, charging headlong down the sidewalk in a state of utter horror. It was more than the realization that he’d just murder someone in cold blood that made him flee. It was the fact that Todd had enjoyed it. Before he knew it, Todd was back home and tearing upstairs to his room. He slammed the door shut and collapsed against it with his heartbeat battering apart his burning chest. Groaning, he still felt flush with sick satisfaction at killing Slater.
“He deserved it,” cooed Shmee.
“SHUT UP!” Todd screamed, curling up in a ball on the floor. He began sobbing hysterically.
“Stop crying.” The bear hissed, ignoring Todd’s feeble attempt to cover his ears. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Wasn’t my fault?!” Leaping across the room, Todd ripped Shmee—knife and all— off the wall. “I fucking stabbed him to death with a pen! A fucking ballpoint pen! And that’s not my fault?!”
Shmee seemed to roll his eyes. “He shouldn’t have provoked you by stealing your diary and saying all those nasty things about you. There’s nothing wrong with protecting yourself. Slater was a worthless waste of meat anyway. You’ve probably done the world a favor, turning him into hamburger.”
Glaring at the bear, Todd sank to the floor underneath his window. He pulled the knife out of Shmee and stared at it with a thoughtful despair. Somewhere in darken corners of his bedroom, Todd could swear he heard a pleased little purring.
“Now, let’s not be too hasty…” rasped Shmee, sounding a little panicked. “Surely there’s another way.”
“I’m open to suggestions, Shmee.” Todd grumbled, still eyeing the knife.
“Why don’t you ask Johnny to help?”
Shmee’s abruptly out of character suggestion snapped Todd out of his self-destructive musing. “Ask Johnny? But you hate him. Besides, he’d probably kill me…”
“So? What have you got to lose?” the bear snapped. “You were going to commit suicide anyway! Might as well pay a visit to Johnny. Who knows? Maybe he won’t kill you. Maybe he’s got friends who can help you out.”
Todd stared skeptically at the bear. “Johnny has friends?”
The bear chuckled darkly. “You’d be surprised, boy.”
Standing to look out at the house next door, Todd kneaded the bear’s torn belly with sticky worried fingers. “I’m not sure about this, Shmee. What if Johnny isn’t home? Or what if he’s died of starvation? Or maybe Johnny actually did achieve that Nirvana thing… I wouldn’t want to ruin it for him by asking advice on how to get away with murder.”
“Never mind the ‘if’-s, boy!” hissed Shmee angrily. “You’ll never know what will happen until you try.”
“Okay, that was pretty fucking corny.” Weary of arguing, he tossed the bear onto the bed and left the room.
“What are you doing, boy?”
“Washing this mess off my hands.” Todd hollered over the rush of water in the bathroom. Arms and hands scrubbed raw clean, he walked back into the room and shucked the grimy tee-shirt. He dug a fresh one out of the closet before turning back to Shmee.
“I’m not going to tell Johnny what happen,” he muttered as he yanked the shirt on. “I… I just want to make sure he’s alright before I—” Todd faltered, then started over calmly. “Shmee, there’s been things—strange, horrible things—going on around me…going on inside me, and all I want now is for everything to stop. And I think I’ve found the way out… You see Shmee, when I come back I’m going to get that jug of kerosene from the shed, douse both you and myself with it, then lay down on the bed and take you all back to whatever hell you came from.”
The bear grinned dumbly at him.
Todd frowned, then went downstairs. He reached for the front door, then paused. Would it be wise to go knocking on Johnny’s front door? Every one else who had gone that way, from the census taker to that asshole—what was his name… ‘Timmy?’—didn’t matter, they all ended up dead and unspeakably mutilated. But how else could he get into that house? All the windows were boarded up, the backdoor was nailed shut, and Todd didn’t even want to think of what Johnny done to the chimney…
Then a memory came back to him: “Don’t worry about me doing the whole window thing anymore—” Johnny had mumbled during one of his little visits. “ I found a tunnel that leads from my house to your basement…should be ready once I clear it out a little…”
The light flickered when Todd snapped the switch and crept carefully down the basement stairs. It was exactly the way he remembered it: cold and full of damp cardboard boxes. He never knew where all the boxes came from, since all the toys he’d ever had fit neatly in a trashbag stuffed in the back of his closet. But he hadn’t come down to worry about some moldy boxes. Yet, no matter how hard he looked, even after taking the huge flashlight from the shelf above the washer and scouring every inch of the basement six or seven times, Todd still couldn’t find the tunnel.
“Figures,” he snarled, plopping down onto a box. “Johnny can get in here anytime he wants to, but the first time I try to visit him—WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAH!”
When the painful little shots of light quit bursting in his head, Todd managed to haul himself upright and look up at the faint bright smear that opened into his basement. He felt around carefully for the flashlight, trying hard not to think about the soft muck his fingers dug through or the way it smelled like three-day old road kill during a summer heat wave. Flicking the flashlight on, Todd did his best to avoid looking too closely at gnarled tortured things jutting out of the walls and floor as he moved quickly but warily down the tunnel. The stench grew worse as Todd went further into the tunnel, noting with a good deal of dismay that the ceiling was getting lower as the floor began to slope upwards. Soon, he was crawling through the slime and cursing Johnny’s very existence every inch of the way until, at last, the tunnel widened into a small round room.
There was a ladder on the far wall leading straight up into a concrete sewer pipe. Todd stared at the flaking green paint a moment, then gingerly took hold of one rusted metal rung, half-expecting a cartoony Venus flytrap to shot out and eat him alive. When nothing copyright infringing happened, he tied the flashlight to his belt and clambered up the ladder. He climbed and climbed and climbed and climbed until it felt like his arms were turning into limp rubber noodles before his fingers scraped the edges of the pipe.
With more caution than a paranoid gopher at a lawnmower show, Todd peeked out his head and glanced around the room. It looked surprising normal and safe…maybe messy, but otherwise just your average rundown room. He eased out of the pipe, placing each foot down very carefully, certain that this must be some kind of trap. His feet barely touched the floorboards as he darted roachlike across the room and into the next.
He fumbled around the darkness in panic until he finally found the switch. The light blazed on and Todd was facing down the biggest rats he’d ever seen. They must’ve been the size of small dogs and the lead rat, judging by the fact that it was only eating, had to be at least fifty pounds. And all their beady little eyes were staring right at him.
The lead rat looked at the bone it been gnawing on, then back at Todd. With an earsplitting yowl, it pointed toward him and the rats lunged him. Todd ducked the first few rats before a pair managed to knock him off balance. He screamed, fighting wildly against the tide of ravenous rodent teeth and claws. Just when it seemed that the rats would eat him, Todd’s hand closed around something hard and boxy which he quickly smashed into the nearest rat’s spine. To his amazement, the rats backed off, chittering in terror as they closed rank around the lead rat.
Todd stared at the gun in his hand, then at the lead rat. Three shots and a twitching pile of vermin meat was all that remained. While the other rats tore greedily into the corpse, he slipped away. Once he had put several floors between him and the rats, Todd slumped onto a crate of nails and fumbled for a cigarette.
The rat attack had cost him one sneaker and probably gave him rabies. He was also completely lost somewhere in the hellish bowels of Johnny’s house, at the mercy of whatever monsters lurked about. But at least he had a weapon now. A big, heavy weapon….
Todd started to leave and find Johnny, but stopped. His sneakerless foot hovered millimeters above a spill of rusty nails and broken glass that blocked the door. Cursing under his breath, Todd looked around hoping to find a broom or a piece of wood. Instead, he found the boots.
They were laying against the wall, tossed carelessly aside and forgotten. The p-leather was cracked, but their soles still seemed sturdy enough to protect one from the risk of tetanus. And the boots looked about the right size…
But these were Johnny’s boots. Then again, Johnny wasn’t wearing them and Todd really didn’t want to run into those rats again despite having the gun. He debated for a second, then shook out the boots and—tossing his remaining sneaker—put them on. To his amazement, the boots fit perfectly, coming to a stop just under his knees. Todd wiggled his toes and watched fascinated when the pair of shiny clefts wiggled too.
Feeling his confidence growing, Todd boldly walked over the nails and glass. He wandered aimlessly from room to room, glancing at discarded torture devices, baroque death machines, even a hallway lined with hideous and beautiful paintings. It was in a cramped storeroom that smelled of turpentine and old blood that Todd heard angry, hushed voices overhead.
Suspicious but hopeful, Todd crept up another flight of stairs with the gun held ready. He snapped on the light and thrust the gun out defensively, but no one was there. The only things in this room were a pair of gruesomely painted Doughboys stabbed to the wall, a framed photo of a decaying bunny’s head, and the chubby smile of a Bub’s Burger-Boy. Then a cockroach scuttled out from hiding and stood watching the boy, curious at the presence of a new human.
“Oh great.” Todd muttered. “I almost get eaten alive by rats, crawl through corpse juice, and what do I find? No Johnny! Just a fucking talking roach!” In a huff, he turned and started back down the stairs when something thumped against the back of his head. Todd whirled around and was surprised to see that one of the Doughboys—the one with ‘FUCK’ painted on its chest—was now missing an arm.
“Hey there, buddy boy!” chirped the other Doughboy, tone jagged and frenzied.
Todd screamed, firing in panic at the Doughboys.
“HOLY SHIT!” howled the dark Doughboy. It pointed angrily at the smoking hole by its head. “What the fuck are you trying to do?! You could have killed me!”
“That would be a feat, considering neither of us are technically alive…” sneered ‘FUCK’ with a voice like a zombie bloodhound.
“I’m working on it, ass-munch.” Turning away from its twin, the Doughboy smiled apologetically at the boy. “Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“It’s a bit late for that!” Todd squeaked, then realized what he was doing. “Wait. This isn’t right… You two can’t talk! You’re fucking Styrofoam! Oh god, I’m starting to hear voices again…”
The Doughboy glared. “Hey, it’s not my fault you’re going crazy! Now, could you please get this knife out of me? It’s fucking annoying!”
Holding the gun in one hand, Todd grabbed the knife handle and yanked it free, flipping the Doughboy onto the table. Then he backed away quickly.
“Thank you.” It stretched its stubby arms, humming in pleasure. “Okay, where were we? Oh yeah! Introductions! It’s polite thing to do, isn’t it? Making introductions and getting to know your friends…”
He stared at the Doughboys, fumbling absentmindedly for a fresh cigarette. “This is insane…”
“How cute,” murmured ‘FUCK’ in a morbidly happy way. “Only a kid and already he’s trying to kill himself. Oh, how I love you teens and your mindless worship of all things self-destructive.”
The other Doughboy rounded on ‘FUCK’. “Shut you goddamn hole, D-boy! I’m trying to talk here!”
“D-boy?” asked Todd. “But I thought his name was ‘FUCK’?”
“No! He’s Pscyhodoughboy! I’m Mister Fuck! …wait. Scratched that. It’s just ‘Mr. Eff’.”
“But why does he have it written on his shirt? And why do you have ‘Z?’? What the fuck does that shit even mean, anyway?! What? Am I supposed question the fucking alphabet now?! And why the hell does the toast always land butter-side down?!”
D-boy sighed miserably. “Look’s like we’ve traded up to a younger, even more manic version of Johnny…”
“I know…” Mr. Eff sniffed, wiping away a tear. “Ain’t it great?!”
“You two know Johnny?” asked Todd hopefully.
Realizing he’d made a mistake, Mr. Eff laughed. “Johnny? Johnny who? I don’t know anybody named Johnny!”
“But how did you guys get in here? And what did D-boy mean, ‘traded up’?”
“You ask too many questions, boy.” Mr. Eff snarled curtly. “You were brought here for a reason, boy! Quit wasting time and get me the fuck out of this hellhole!”
“The master said we both were to go with the boy.” D-boy groused. “He will be most…displeased if you left me behind.”
Todd arched an eyebrow. “Master? What master? Are you guys’ demons or something?”
“Enough!” screamed Mr. Eff. “Stop asking question and serve you purpose!”
“Wait.” Todd growled quietly. “I know who you are now. You’re those things I’ve been hearing lately. You’re trying to drive me crazy…”
D-boy let out a disdainful snort. “Like you aren’t crazy already…”
Roaring, Mr. Eff lunged forward and screamed at D-boy. “GOD DAMN IT! I told you to shut you motherfucking mouth, you tubby piece of shit! I’m not going to let you ruin my chance at freedom again just because you want to cease existing! Not like last time…”
“Pathetic mites,” sneered another voice. Todd turned and saw the Burger-Boy’s face had changed, becoming hideous and greedy. “You both are merely shadows of an illusion! It amuses me to no end how you miserable figments think that you can escape your ultimate fate. ”
“Nobody asked for your opinion, Reverend.” D-boy snapped, his dolefully voice taking on a hint of cattiness. “And, for your information, I’m not trying to escape. I want be obliterated! It’s moron-boy there that tried to run! It’s all his fault I had to come back to this miserable body. Now back the fuck off me, you motherfucking son of bitch, before I take that fucking hamburger and shove up your sorry ass!”
Mr. Eff gaped in amazement. He stared back and forth from D-boy to the Reverend. “Who the fuck is this chubby bitch?”
“I was here long before you, traitor.” The Reverend turned to Todd. “Listen to nothing this wretched parasites say, for they wish only to exploit you as they did their creator. They will betray you, forsaking you the same way they have forsook their creator and lead you down the path that leads to madness and doom.”
“Okay.” Todd moved a little closer to the Burger-Boy. “First talking Pillsbury Doughboys and now you… What is going around here?”
“Do not concern yourself with us. You aren’t here to argue with pastry displays or boys holding hamburgers… You’re here to see Johnny, aren’t you?”
“Yes! Please, tell me you know where he is.”
“FUCK JOHNNY!” roared Mr. Eff, annoyed that he was being ignored.
“Yes.” The Reverend cooed sweetly. “Fuck Johnny.”
Todd blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You may not be aware of this, my child,” began the Reverend gravely. “But Johnny has gotten into his fevered mind to eradicate all emotion. He wishes to remove all his desire for feeling, thinking that this will free him. He is mistaken, of course. He’ll always be a slave… And I need you to saw him that. Teach him. Show him how good it is to feel…to give in every filthy want…”
“Hey!” Mr. Eff snapped. “You can’t talk to my boy like that! You think I’m going to stand here and let you call him a faggot, you meaty fucker? I ought break my boot off in your burger-munching ass.”
“Silence, maggot!” the Reverend growled. “You know nothing about the boy. And you don’t know the real reason he has come.”
Roaring in frustration, Todd grabbed the Reverend. “Would you stop with this cryptic bullshit! I just want to talk to Johnny!”
The Reverend snickered. “Oh, I bet you want to use your mouth on him, alright…but I doubt you’ll be saying much.”
“YOU FUCKING PERVERT!” Todd screamed, hurling the Reverend through the other door only to hear the Burger-Boy crack against something that landed with a meaty ‘thud!’. Darting over to the body, Todd was horrified to see that Johnny sprawled out cold on the floor, blood weeping from a gash in his head.
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