It's funny how things can go so horribly wrong when you least expect it.

At first it was like he was being roused from a deep, restless slumber, feeling numb and disoriented as his mind scrambled for focus and clarity after being incapacitated for so long. He had the odd sensation of floating above the ground, or at least being suspended from some surface. He waved his squeaky styrofoam arms in front of him. All he felt was cool air swishing around his limbs. One stubby leg twitched and hit something flat and solid behind him.

It was then that Psycho-Doughboy opened his eyes, or rather, became suddenly aware of the visual input from his surroundings. The room was dark, with only a few dim yellowish streaks filtered through the boards nailed across the window. D-Boy blinked. He could see a little more clearly now.

He recognized the dresser and mirror across the room, along with the oddly-placed curtains hanging from the ceiling. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the window and a set of dusty, unused sheets on a sunken mattress.

He was in Johnny's bedroom, for some reason. But this time, something seemed a little... off. For one, the entire room was covered with a fine layer of dust and debris, without footprints or the sweeping patterns left by a broom to indicate that someone had lived here recently. The only blood stains on the walls were old and dark, putrid brown, as if they had been there for months or years. Furthermore, the dresser's drawers and the bedroom door were haphazardly left open and skewed. That was particularly odd. Johnny always made sure to close them all the way. It looked like he had left suddenly, or was in a rush to get out.

But that was impossible. The bedroom was perfectly neat and tidy on the last day. D-Boy had seen it with his own eyes.

Furthermore, Johnny was dead. Of this D-Boy was certain.

He could still hear the gun going off. A single sharp crack, like the clap of thunder. He saw Nny's entire body jerk backwards and collapse on the floor. Blood sprayed across the room and pooled underneath the maniac's still body. D-Boy remembered its sour, metallic odour. He remembered feeling happy for the first time in his short, miserable life. Happy because he knew it was finally over. He remembered the spiked tentacles clenching around his fragile neck and then nothing, blessed nothing.

But now he was here. Back on the wall, even though he managed to pry himself free before.

Even worse, he was alive again.

A heavy, choking feeling plummeted in his stomach and weighed his shoulders down. D-Boy could practically feel his entire face drop.

Why now? He thought he was gone for good. His Master was set free from the wall. Johnny was dead. He felt the wall monster tear his head clean off. And after that, he couldn't even remember. There was a blank spot in his memory. A period of nonexistence, just like he'd always wanted.

And then, for some reason, he was brought back.

A panicked sensation was welling in D-Boy's chest, which would have left him perspiring and wild-eyed and short of breath if he were human. Even now, the pressure threatened to strangle him where he hung.

What had he done wrong? What had he forgotten? Had he failed his Master?

D-Boy tried to turn around, but realized that he was unable to move his head. He felt something pinned through his face, deeply lodged into the wall behind him. The doughboy crossed his spiralled eyes and could almost see the handle of a knife jammed through his nose. He reached up with both arms to try to pull out the knife, but the handle was angled too far for him to reach. His short arms could barely reach his own face.

He struggled for a few minutes, and then gave up, letting his arms fall to his sides, squeaking as they rubbed against his Styrofoam body. The panicked feeling hadn't left him, and his body was starting to tremble. If he could breathe, D-Boy would be hyperventilating right now.

He was stuck, and he had no way of getting out.

The doughboy pushed and kicked against the wall, trying to gain some momentum so he could get a hold of the knife, or at least dislodge it from the wall a little. He knew it would probably do no good, but he didn't have anything better to do, and any idea was worth trying out. Unsurprisingly, the knife didn't budge, and D-Boy couldn't reach the handle no matter how much he squirmed against the wall.

Defeated, he slumped his limbs and sighed. He supposed he'd have to wait for someone to rescue him, though he couldn't hear any noises in the house.

It was unsettlingly quiet. Whatever victims remained in the dilapidated shack must have died ages ago. There weren't even footsteps or the skittering of vermin from between the carpentry.

Maybe this wasn't so bad. Maybe if D-Boy just closed his eyes, he could pretend he didn't exist. There was no noise to distract him now. Hell, even Mr. Eff wasn't around to pester him, like the younger doughboy usually did.

But as he tried to relax, D-Boy's mind was flooded with unwelcome thoughts and worries. Even if he did manage to assume a facsimile of nonexistence, it didn't change the fact that he was still knifed against hard, cold plaster. And he still couldn't explain how he came back in the first place. Before Nny killed himself, D-Boy could sometimes hear his Master throughout the house, creaking under the floorboards and roaring and hissing in ventilation pipes, hungry and impatient for fresh blood.

Or whispering commands in D-Boy's head.

Release me.

Kill the boy.

Let me out.

Half the time D-Boy couldn't understand it. But he knew what it wanted. And he knew what he'd receive in return for his obedience.

But the groaning in the walls and pipes were absent. Whatever happened before, his Master sure wasn't here now. And it hadn't taken the doughboy with it.

D-Boy huffed. So much for that promise.

Maybe he was wrong about his Master. Maybe the eldritch horror never intended to set him free from the world.

Maybe Mr. Eff was right.

That left an unpleasant feeling in D-Boy's chest. There was no way Eff could be right! He refused to even allow himself to think about it!

Given his present circumstances, though, he couldn't think of a more reasonable explanation. Which only made him feel even worse. The tight-chested feeling merely intensified and the surface of his foam body felt like it was crawling with insects.

What else had he been wrong about?

D-Boy shifted uncomfortably against the wall. God, since when had lying against a flat surface bothered him so much? He really wanted to stand or lean on his own two feet again.

An idea suddenly crossed his mind.

If D-Boy was still alive, perhaps Nny was, too.

Maybe he never escaped being knifed to the wall in the first place and just had a bizarre dream. And if Johnny was still here, he could get D-Boy off this damned wall. It wasn't much, and it didn't make much sense, but for fucks sake it was something.

"Johnny?" called out D-Boy. "Can you hear me, Johnny?"

There was no response. Only more eerie silence.

"Johnny C., I require some assistance! Get over here this instant!"

"Don't waste your breath," said a gruff voice, accented with a familiar synthetic squeak. "He isn't here."

D-Boy tried to turn his head in the direction of the voice, but was immediately impeded by the knife through his head. He only managed to turn half an inch at most. But even if he couldn't clearly see around him, he knew who that voice belonged to.

"Mr. Eff? Is that you?"

"Who else would it be?" said the other doughboy. The typical cheer and mania in his voice wasn't there. Something about him had changed.

D-Boy sighed. "So you got brought back too, hm?"

"Clearly. And before you ask, it's only the two of us here. No sign of the bunny anywhere."

They both paused. While D-Boy was a bit cheered up by the company, he wished it could have been someone else. Anyone else. Anyone but Mr. Eff.

Oh well. He might as well try to make some conversation. It would keep D-Boy from overthinking about his present situation.

"How long have you been awake?"

He heard a rubbery clench, as if Eff had shrugged his shoulders in response.

"Days. Weeks, perhaps. It's hard to tell with nothing to do. All the days appear to be the same when you're pinned on a wall through the chest. Or the head, in your case." D-Boy was certain that Mr. Eff smirked on that last line. He could practically hear the smugness dripping from every word. And it hadn't ceased to irritate the living hell out of Psycho-Doughboy.

"Then you must have seen me wake up. Why didn't you say anything earlier?"

The younger doughboy chuckled.

"Why not? Watching you freak out is the most entertainment I've had in ages."

"I expected no less from you, Mr. Eff."

D-Boy rolled his eyes and slumped against the wall. He glanced to his side, and realized that if he looked from the very corner of his eye, he could sort of see the contours of Mr. Eff's frame, along with a few specks of white and black and violet. He saw something waving around – most likely Eff's arm – and noticed that the younger doughboy was shifting around and huffing in frustration. His body was making that odd squeaky noise again.

"What on earth are you doing over there?" asked D-Boy.

At first, Mr. Eff ignored his counterpart as he struggled for a few more minutes. He then gave up and hissed impatiently, tilting his head towards D-Boy.

"Trying to get off this wall, of course. What's the point of being alive again if I'm stuck here for the rest of eternity?" He prodded at the blade in his torso. "This thing's shoved in pretty deep. I think I may have loosened it a little, but I'm not making much progress."

"Right. Alive. How wonderful. Thanks for reminding me," D-Boy said flatly. He cringed. Of course, there was that uncomfortable little detail. Coming back after Psycho-Doughboy was so convinced that he won and being yanked out of the empty, pleasant void he'd craved for so long certainly put a damper on his mood. At this point, he wasn't even sure if Johnny's suicide and his own death at the hands of his Master had actually happened, or if it was some convoluted delusion he dreamed up. The only thing he knew for certain was that he passed out sometime after being knifed to the wall.

But even that didn't make much sense anymore. For one, somewhere between being attacked by Johnny and waking up a few minutes ago, he'd been relocated to Nny's bedroom. And he must have been here for a while if he didn't notice any footprints on the floor or other identifying marks of life in the room. Somehow Mr. Eff wound up here with him, though D-Boy couldn't possibly tell when that happened.

What was even more confusing was that D-Boy could no longer detect his Master's presence.

He'd calmed down a little while talking with Eff, and now it was easier for D-Boy to think clearly. Mr. Eff had been awake for longer, right? Perhaps he had some insight into why they were back here in the first place.

"Mr. Eff?" he asked. "What happened after Johnny pinned me against the wall?"

He noticed the upper portion of Eff's silhouette jerk in his direction, as if he suddenly turned his head.

"Well, D-Boy, from what I remember, Nny started ranting about how he was in control of his life. You know, like he always did. He flicked a switch on that gun apparatus, and I believe you said that it was never turned on to begin with? Anyways, he yelled for some time until the phone rang. He seemed surprised, like he was never expecting a call to begin with. And then he answered... and the gun went off, shooting him through the head."

"And did he die?"

"Yes. I'm sure of it. If not right then, he certainly bled out later in the evening."

The younger doughboy's voice quavered on the last line, as if he were recalling a bad memory. D-Boy groaned internally. Well, that only complicated things. If Johnny was dead, then how did the two of them wind up in this room? D-Boy felt his head start to throb. All this overthinking was starting to exhaust him.

"Alright. That's what I thought. Then what happened?"

Mr. Eff sighed heavily. He seemed to be growing impatient with this conversation.

"After that, you managed to get off the wall. I'm not sure how. I don't think I was paying attention.

"Then we wandered around the halls a bit until we saw those two other humans. They asked questions, you said stuff that I can't be bothered to remember, and before you know it that damned tentacle beast was right behind us and had us in its clutches. And after that... I can't remember."

So their Master really was released. And they really were removed from existence, at least for a brief period of time. Either that or both D-Boy and Eff had some odd shared hallucination. Psycho-Doughboy wasn't sure which thought was more upsetting.

Mr. Eff wasn't even looking in D-Boy's direction anymore, and was still rambling to himself, though D-Boy could hear him loud and clear.

"And you were so fucking smug about it, too! You were smiling and laughing out loud and taunting me about my misery. Quite the change of pace from your usual demeanor." He prodded at the knife in his chest again.

"But I guess I have the last laugh, hmm?" D-Boy could practically hear the broad, toothy grin in Eff's voice. "It must be terribly disappointing to wake up, in here of all places, after all that fanfare."