Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters belonging to one Mr. Jhonen Vasquez!

In a bustling, futuristic metropolis, there seemed to be one house in the entirety that seemed to be untouched by time. It lacked color, it lacked any general life, and most importantly it lacked any attention from the members of the city, save for perhaps a young black haired boy with a scythe shaped hair-cut. He observed the crumbling building's form in awe from behind bottle-shaped glasses. This was Dib and he was doing research on the city's most notorious/mysterious killer that seemed to have faded into legend. Before him was the killer's home. No one seemed to wander here, and not out of fear, but from the fact it was invisible to those who didn't look for it. He sat there, looking back and forth down the street to notice it was not in decaying ruin like the home, but for the most part it seemed abandoned.

Dib crept over the grass, noticing that it too was dead and gone. He managed to step on something... It looked like a BONE. The large-headed teenager shuddered in disgust. Hopefully it was an animal bone and not much more. His mind knew though, it knew that it was probably human, and that these rumors and legends were true. He jumped onto the cracked pavement and meandered up to the house. The walls were cracked, but upright, which was odd considering it was probably over a hundred years old. Honestly, was a Hi Skool assignment really worth this treacherous passing onto unholy land?

"Calm down Dib… You always did want to be a paranormal investigator… ZIM was more of an issue than this, right?"

Yes, Dib talked to himself. He did that a lot these days without Zim around… He shook his head and walked closer to the door. A small, rusted plaque on the front read "777"… He took a calming breath. There was excitement as much as fear coursing through his gangly teenage body. He gave the door bell and experimental ring, but nothing sounded… That wasn't odd, he supposed. The door hadn't been used in probably fifty years.

50 YEARS EARLIER—Sunday, March 16th 5:30 A.M.

The city was dry and rusty. It was nothing like the wide open range of meadows that had a lovely sunlight beckoning for you to come and have a picnic in. What the city did offer was a new life, one that a Miss Carrie Camble so desperately desired. It had its perks, the 24/7 on nearly every corner, a booming nightlife, and some quirky places to shop. That nearly made up for the horror of the numerous crimes committed there on a daily basis.

Maybe it was a bad idea to come here without any money, shelter, or a job to keep herself a float, but Carrie came anyways. She knew it was probably stupid, but she was much happier with a cold breeze and an empty belly than staying one more minute in the last town she was in. Even though it wasn't a great start, it was a fresh one.

The first day Carrie had come into town, it was on a bus that'd taken her two hours away from her small home town. She'd stayed all of two nights in a hotel, ate up what food money she had, and was now stuck. She supposed that she should've tried to get a job the first night she came into town, but she'd been so busy just trying to cope with what she has done. Now, reality was hitting her repeatedly in the face with a horrible smelling shoe.

Carrie Camble was a shivering form. She was short, chubby, and choppy brown hair. One could easily mistake her as a boy, which she found to be a blessing considering none of the sketchy men she had passed by in this concrete jungle tried to attack her. All she had was a ratty backpack with a one extra clean change of clothes and a few miscellaneous items she'd put away. It was probably for the best that she didn't have any time to pack so too much stuff, she probably would've been mugged at this point.

Her eyes were cast down as she walked the path of a sidewalk. At this point, her newest plan was to find an abandoned house and occupy it for as long as she had to until she got on her feet. It was a disturbing feeling, being homeless. There was no place to call home, or even some inkling of protection or safety to rely on. She searched long and hard. Most of the abandoned apartments were already riddled with homeless creatures; the kind that weren't escaping a terrible situation, but putting themselves in it by using drugs like heroine or meth. There was no way she was going to share quarters with those vile, disease ridden things. Ah yes, a picky homeless person, that's what she was now. She had a plan to search the more pitiful side of the suburbs in order to find a haven of sorts.

Carrie took note that this place was filled with mostly white trash… Big families with too many kids to take care of, a bunch of pit-bull dogs in one of the backyards, it was reminding her far too much of the life she was trying to put behind her. She shook her head and pushed those thoughts back. She shouldn't worry too much about it, since she will be on her own now and would be able to choose what would go on around her.

It was the early morning hours, so it was chilly with just a few slivers of light pooling over the edge of the city-scape that overshadowed the suburbs she'd chosen to walk through. She was so tired and hungry; she was nearly losing hope with her new plans. Fear seemed to spring into her belly at this moment. What if she died? What if she died out here? She couldn't go back, no. That would be a punishment worse than death waiting for her. She stopped and rubbed her face, fingering her sleepless eyes in frustration and worry.

Maybe it was the light or the spreading shadow on the ground that got her to look up from her pity-party. Maybe it was fate, a guiding hand of an angel, or maybe it was a demon that was luring her into a world of horror. She didn't know and at that moment she didn't care. In front of her was one of the most abandoned homes she'd seen, if not the only one. No one could live here, no one but her. A giddy sense of excitement washed over her at that moment.

It was a decrepit house with grey, withering walls that seemed to crumble with every blow of the wind, but the walls surprisingly seemed to stand straight and firm. Every single window was boarded up and seemed to have cracked windows beneath. The grass was dead and had been for a long time. The pathway leading to the door seemed like a golden road to heaven. The irony was, that she followed the gleam of the sun to a rusty plate that had "777" etched into what used to be a metal sheet. There was even more irony about this that she didn't know about.

All she knew was that this was her salvation. She had to stop and think, contemplating whether or not someone actually lived here. She crept closer and spotted a door-bell. She brought her finger up to press it in and listened for a ring. There was nothing, not even a faint whisper or electric whine. She licked her lips and looked around in an odd and paranoid way. She reached forward and knocked. She waited a moment, anxiety building up with every second. Oh god, what if it wasn't abandoned? She began banging on the door. "Is anyone here? Hello!" She called out, no answer, not a single sign of life.

PRESENT TIME— Monday, September 4th 4:45 P.M.

Dib made a humming sound as no one answered the door. He poked around a little more, knocked and knocked. No answer. This was a good sign that he wasn't going to be brutally murdered. He shimmied over to one of the windows, looking through the planked up window at the dark room that was before him. There was also a strange thing that stuck out to him. Despite being boarded up from the outside, the glass behind the wood was free of any cracks. He clenched the papers in his hand and adjusted his prized camera around his neck. He was going in. The large headed investigator moved to the door, he jiggled the handle and breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed it was unlocked.

The sunlight filtered in from behind him, casting a dusty and sepia like glow over the first room. It was obviously a living room. A living room that he found to be too well decorated for a psychopath like the one described to him. Dib scratched his cheek a bit and observed the room, not stepping in yet. The floors were supposed to be brown, but there were a few discolored patches where it seemed something was cleaned up with bleach of all things. His eyes widened just a bit and he brought his camera up, taking a picture of the overall room, then creeping closer to take a picture of the floor.

One more time, he looked over the room. The walls looked like they were wallpapered shoddily, some of the tan paper falling to reveal a rotting grey color beneath. He eyed the carpet again too. The workmanship looked like poor quality just as well. He rubbed his tongue over his teeth and nodded. He looked to the T.V. Boy, it was ancient alright. It still had a box back to it, and had antennae on the top. That was definitely out of place. There were a few obscure paintings on the wall. Really, they were probably the work of an amateur. Why would a murderer have a living room like this? Dib pulled up his note book and wrote down some questions and notes. He turned around and decided to shut the door behind him.

Upon doing this, he found another painting on the floor. It had been framed and the glass was broken and all over the ground near the door. How had he not noticed it before? He narrowed his eyes and crouched down before it. He hadn't done this when he'd opened the door; he would've heard it crack and fall. The painting was almost grotesque. There was no obvious subject, but really the piece of work looked like caked blood and smelled musky the closer he got. He took a picture of this too, a feeling of unease creeping into his stomach as well as a feeling of intrigue and excitement.

"Alright Dib, let's keep going…" He mumbled quietly to himself and sighed. He wished he had someone here to share this awesome experience with.

50 YEARS EARLIER—Sunday, March 16th 6:15 A.M.

Carrie had opened the door, the sunlight further gleaming into the room. It was beautifully abandoned. She didn't even note the stains on the floor and the wall. She didn't even care about it. The grey, rotting walls were almost like a warm embrace despite the house's coldness. She took a step in and one again, called out to see if anyone was around.

"Hello? Anyone home?" It would've been awkward if there was someone. But, she still doubted anyone live here. There had been a couch, but it was firmly coated in a nasty dust. She bet no one had been here in years. There was a T.V., it would require antennas and there seemed to be a gross stain on the top of it. If it still worked, it would be a blessing. Hell, if the electricity worked it would be icing on the cake, same with the water. She really, really needed to wash up. She stepped in farther and observed the walls closer now.

They were a gross grey, a very unpleasant grey. If she stayed here for very long, she would have to fix it up. Put down some better wall paper. Carrie would need to find a job first, of course. She looked to the floor next. There were so many stains and that was saying something since the floors were wooden. She would have to mop and clean them up; maybe even put some carpeting down. The aspect wasn't something she detested, no, she loved it.

As a matter of fact, she could do anything she damn well pleased now. This place would be hers and hers alone. She was going to decorate it how she pleased. With a firm nod of her head, she decided that she would even be the one to create any of the decorations that would go on the walls. She walked over to the couch and stared at it longingly. She couldn't go to sleep just yet. She had to go and check on the rest of the house. With that, she put her bag down on the couch and went to close the door.

Next, she would just have to go on into the kitchen. Oh, it would be great if there were any cans in there… If they were expired, then at least it would give her a clue as to how long the place was abandoned for. She wandered over to an archway at the back of the living room, closer to a closed door that might've lead to a bedroom or a hall way. She bet it was just a bedroom because of how small the place was.

PRESENT TIME – Monday, September 4th 5:00 P.M.

Dib stalked through the living room and eyed two doors he could cross into. It was almost like a forked path. A choice. He looked at the closed door on his right and licked his lips. There was something behind that door that seemed to ward him off; like he would be encroaching on the one shrine in this devil's play house. He then looked to the archway that invited him in without blocking his path. Through that door he found a window staring back at him with the glimmering rays of sunset touching a dusty counter.

He knew he would have to take a second trip back to this place. Dib would give the kitchen a once over before leaving, of course. He shuffled in, his shoes sticking to the tile in the kitchen. He frowned and looked down. A big brown puddle of some dried, sticky substance coated the floor. It wasn't dried blood, it was too syrupy. He took a picture of it anyways. It was odd, like a spill that was never cleaned because no one had the time. It wasn't like it was a gooey kind of sticky. No, the kind of sticky you get after leaving glue on the pavement for a long time and it never seems to dry or some kind of soda that you left spilt on your desk.

He brought his eyes back up to glance over the kitchen. There was a small table with two chairs nearby. One of the chairs was broken on the floor, some of the pegs were scattered around the table. He took a picture of that, and then he looked at the fridge. It seemed normal enough; he walked over and opened it, grimacing as a puff of musky dust greeted him. Inside the fridge were quite a few rotting and degrading items. It had been well stocked at one time. He noted the gallon jug of milk that was now a solid mass. It had barely been touched. He closed the door and walked over to the sink.

Now this was psycho-murderer worthy. There was a great big bunch of rusting knives in the sink and some on the counter. Butcher knives, chef knives, a dagger or two, and utility knives occupied the area. An old, dry sponge was near the bottom somewhere. Dib supposed they were being washed when something happened. There was one in particular that drew his eye. A custom made machete with little smiley decorations on the handle. He took a picture of the mess, his stomach twisting. He was so excited, yet the fear was growing with every passing second. This was beyond ominous. He pulled the machete up and looked it over.

"So. Cool," His voice was a stressed squeak that nearly seemed to shatter his ears as he spoke.

It called to him. Oh yes, it did. He wanted this thing; it would be one of his many souvenirs of being a paranormal investigator. Did this really count as paranormal? It could be able to prove a long lost legend of one of the worst, unrecognized killers in history. He placed it in his trench coat's pocket. Honestly, it was a very good thing that the blade was so dull and chipped or it would've been dangerous or would have damage his cloak.

With a little more exploration he found that most of the counters had deep scars from cutting marks, probably from food preparation more than anything he assumed. He checked a microwave and found himself a surprise. It seemed like a bowl filled with Skettios. They were brown, crusty, and dried up, but there was no doubt that the circular canned pasta was what it was. Something must have happened that drew the occupants away from dinner of all things. He pulled back and took pictures. He would have to add that into his report.

Dib pulled back and adjusted his glasses before taking a picture of the microwave. He then looked out one of the boarded up windows and blinked. It was pretty dark, definitely time to head back home. He held onto his stuff and nearly ran out of the house. He was eager to write about what he found. He even stopped to take a picture of the bone he ran across earlier, but he couldn't find it with the darkness closing in. So, with that, Dib rushed all the way home to begin work on his paper.

50 YEARS EARLIER—Sunday, March 16th 6:25 A.M.

Carrie stepped into the kitchen and noticed that it was a checkerboard tile sort of floor. That was a bit of a pick up after seeing such boring decorum in the first room. This would need some clean up too. There seemed to be a lot of brown gunk near the sink, on the sink, on a few of the counters, on even some of the walls. She noticed the same types of stains in the living room. She didn't think much on them, they could've been mold. No need to dwell on it.

She looked in the empty sink and crunched up her nose in disgust. Yeah, it would need a proper scrub down with some bleach like the rest of the house. She reached forward and gave the knobs of the faucet an experimental turn. Nothing came out for a second… Then, rusty water poured out of the sink like some sort of golden water fall to Carrie.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes!" The chubby lass chanted, jumping up and down in joy at the prospect of having running water. She bit her lip and shook her rump in a victory dance. She would be able to clean herself when the water began to clean up. She shut it off and turned on her heel. That reminded her of the electricity and she stumbled over to the light switch in the kitchen.

What once was a room illuminated by a dull sunrise from between boarded windows was lit, barely, by a dull bulb that shortly blew after it was turned on. She was so excited that she didn't even care that it all went dark again. Electricity and water! The city must have completely over-looked this place! Honestly, she couldn't have been more amazed and happy.

Her happiness died down when her curiosity and hunger pulled at her. She managed to find a microwave on the counter near the fridge and opened it, grimacing; looked like someone put a cockroach in here before they left. That was raunchy. Carrie closed it and decided to clean it later. She went to the fridge and found it completely empty, but it let out a cool blast of air. The fridge worked too. This place was a homeless person's mansion. It really, really was.

Then, she checked the cabinet. There was one lone can of Skettios sitting there. She picked it up and wiped the dust off. The can was readable. This can of food expired four years ago. That's pretty amazing, seeing as how those things lasted forever. That helped her determine that the house was abandoned for a fact. She didn't even feel the compulsory need to dive further into the house.

No, now she felt the creeping ache of sleep begging her to take comfort in the dusty couch. She no longer felt like she was in danger or that she might die. She felt safe and happy. Something she hadn't felt in years.

Carrie crept into the living room and pulled her backpack off of the sofa and sat down, sticking the sack onto her lap. Carefully she opened it and removed a brown, leather journal from her bag. She would lie back against the armrest and pull a pen from the journal. The very first page was blank, but not for long. She scribbled down her first story. What made her come here, what the struggle was like, what the house was like, and how much relief she could feel were all amongst some of the things she wrote about.

Then, she closed the journal, put her things to the side and fell asleep. Curling into the dusty covered fabric of the worn sofa, she managed to find even more salvation amongst her dreams of the future.

57 YEARS EARLIER—Saturday, December 31st 11:59 A.M.

On this day, years and years ago, Johnny C. had abandoned his home. He had abandoned his young friend Squee, or Todd if you will, and all of the mental characters that had plagued him. It was time for a new start. It was time to leave. He was done with being a tool, he thought, a tool of Senior Diablo and god to rid the world of the filth and trash. Oh yes, he still hated the festering cretins of the world. But, he wanted to get rid of them on his own terms.

He also wanted to live life for himself, something he can't ever recall doing. As a matter of fact, the dark crevices of his mind never allowed him to remember much from his own adolescent and childhood days. Maybe he could find out who he was. Something would be done, of course. It wouldn't be just another town to kill in, but another chance to maybe… Fix him. He'd been turned off, but no one had fixed him, so he needed to do it for himself, he decided.

Before he left, Johnny made sure to do a little something for himself. He removed the corpse from the living room, he pulled the decaying bunny ears off of the T.V. and he pulled all of the body parts from the sink and counters. Then he opened the door to the hallway, which lead to three other doors. He walked down to the very last door and opened it, throwing everything down the stairs into the leering basement filled with dungeons and tunnels.

He might be a changed man when or if he came back at all. He wouldn't want to have to deal with that mess if he had to come back. The sanest thought he had then and there, was that he wouldn't return to this place for ten years if he could help it. Now, it was time to say good bye to Squee. How he would miss those terrified little noises the boy would make. He wondered if they would ever meet again.

With those thoughts, the infamous mass murderer left his home. He shut the door and didn't lock it up. It would be vulnerable now.