I couldn't stop myself from writing this.

This fic is inspired by a song.

"Heebie Jeebies" by Unwanted Houseguest.

The music video depicts a headless girl which, in my opinion, looked a hella lot like a real-life Roxanne. And the song is sung by a blue guy wearing black, sooooo.

Just watch the music video (note that it does have flashes of blood). Creepy but super catchy. It was on repeat while writing this XD.

He wasn't quite sure why he kept coming back to Metro City's downtown canal.

The underground transit was a slum; crude graffiti, trash, dubious stains, poorly lit walkways, suspicious personas, the like. If he was still enough to not draw attention, he could count illegal activities down here like he was counting sheep.

Yet, this wasn't why he was drawn to this place. It was because of a decapitated girl.

Megamind had been able to see the dead for nearly his entire life. Maybe it was an alien thing, or maybe it was some flux in his brain. Or maybe he was just crazy. Wouldn't be the first time he's been accused of being insane up to his eyeballs. No one wants to hang out with Cole Sear.

But it was—very convincing, the things he could see that no one else could. Sometimes it frightened him. Sometimes he felt like he knew a secret people would kill to know.

Minion, bless him, tried to understand. Megamind knew the fish tried with all his might. But—this was not something someone could just 'understand'. Though his one and only friend was older than him, Minion couldn't recall anyone on their long-lost planet being able to see ghosts. For the longest time Minion thought he was mistaken, but-

When a pedestrian passed him in the street with a slit open throat, pale blue skin and dead eyes, it was rather obvious.

When the kind nurse tried to help him out at the prison when Metro Man'd done a number on him, he knew because she was missing her eyes.

When the employee at the junkyard waved at him with his whole arm in the other hand he… well. He knew.

The dead, he discovered, tended to come back in some non-physical form when they had gone through a particularly gruesome death—not necessarily murder. The second reason was the overused cliché: unfinished business. Yet surprisingly people were ready to just die for good after they kick the bucket. Its the death that really seals the deal if they stay or go.

A year ago he'd gone through an awfully failed attempt to defeat his nemesis. Terrible, as he'd been sleep-deprived at up to his ears in problems with the children he had to babysit that "ran" the underworld in his absence. Honestly. Did he have to do everything around here? Metrocity really was a dump. If anything, Metro Man hadn't fixed problems that really mattered. Megamind had the city's shit to clean up behind news cameras.

But, during this terribly failed ploy, miraculously he managed to slip away before behind hauled back to prison. Good. Another day he could avoid Warden's disapproving glower kept the depression away. More or less. (Not really but it made him feel better to not see the old man {that's a lie too}). Once he was away, he managed to stumble down into the canal.

He hated it there. It smelled. It gave him—what's the word—He Bee Geebies?

But, using his de-gun he managed to scare away the mid-night stragglers that were lurking down here, and managed to get a whole cart without anything to bother him.

Sighing, he crumbled into a dirty yellow seat. It had been such a bad day…

Out of the corner of his eye, under the shuttering fluorescent light of the train car, was a woman. Instantly he was on his toes, upright and growling with his gun raised.

But.

But.

He sat back down with a blank face.

This woman sat with pale blue eyes that matched her equally pale blue skin, seemingly soulless as she stared ahead at nothing in particular. She was a small thing, smaller than him, and wore clothes much too thin for this winter weather. A white tank top, no bra, rugged jeans. She was stained all over in dark splatters, but she kept her hands busy by clutching her own head, fingers intertwined with her short, pixie-cut hair, the color of chestnut. Her neck looked like it was made of shredded meat.

Well, fuck.

Megamind wasn't sure how to react at first. This wasn't his first ghost. Some of the dead did respond to him, a few engaging in conversation like the one-armed guy at the junkyard. Other ghosts seemed to forget themselves entirely, staring at him as if he was speaking an alien foreign language. Sometimes, and he hated these sometimes, ghosts tended to be… far from Casper the Friendly Ghost. Quite the opposite.

This girl seemed to be between the first and last type of ghost. Lost. Desolate. Empty.

He sniffed, and then let out a little warble of greeting.

Unsurprisingly, she did nothing.

Once again, he attempted to speak to her, this time addressing her entirely. "You there! Miss, in the white top!"

This time she did look his way.

The girl seemed comically startled, for a moment, before her expression of shock fell to—

He thought she would wave at him, in case her voice was already gone. Some ghosts, if dead long enough, lost that ability. At least to him. But, when she moved—

Her hands came down, and so did her head.

Like the headless horseman, or horsewoman, he held her head up in one hand by the hair, it swaying in the rickety cart. Oh, well, I wonder how she died.

"Don't lose your head, dearie, I'm just saying 'ollo."

She didn't respond.

"Do you speak?"

Again, nothing.

He huffed. "Anything at all?"

She just stared at him. And she continued to stare at him, as if trying to pick him apart with her glassy blues. This went on until the cart stopped closest to his Lair. A part of him hoped she would be one of those clingy ghosts, chasing to "haunt" him until he could find out enough about her to h— move her forward in her afterlife. Not help. No. He didn't help people. He was evil. Not a saint. He didn't help dead people go to "the other side". Nope. Not him.

But she just watched him as he got up. He met her eyes, feeling disturbed as she continued to hold her cranium in her fist by the hair.

He left the subway feeling… something. Once he got home he would look up on the deaths that had occurred down there. He didn't have to guess how she died. Fall off the walkway at the wrong time and splat. She had to be someone, too. He'd get a name eventually. She couldn't have been here long... not in that outfit. He tried to forget the little pebbles that were her stiff nipples through her tank.

Unbeknownst to him at the time, this wouldn't be the end of the headless girl.