Todd "Squee" Casil stared at the formerly white wall of the Defective Head Meat Institute's finest padded cell when the door creaked open. The scribbled drawings taped around the room fluttered as if waving hello, or maybe trying to wave the visitor back from whence he came.
"I see you have draped yourself in the raiments of the dark ones to see me. You didn't have to do all that, you know." Pepito, because there was no one else that could be, admired the pentagram smeared onto his forehead and the forks stuck in his hair like horns. If Squee was less drugged to the gills he could have told him that the forks were from the doctors attempting to poke his brain through his skull. He might have even informed Pepito that the pentagram was placed there by a huge fan of Senor Diablo's work that had accosted him in the feeding area today. The ketamine they shot him full of earlier only let him slowly move his head and moan weakly, though.
"The doctors told me that they had to sedate you so I shouldn't expect words." He hung his head in obvious dissapointment before perking right back up. "But the doctors aren't psychic, even if the desk lady is. So I can still talk to you." Pepito scrambled over to Squee and sat right in front of him. Squee slowly looked away from the stained padding on the wall towards Pepito. The Antichrist squinted slightly, a visage of childish concentration. He raised his hands in the air and wiggled his fingers before grabbing Squee and slamming their foreheads together.
Squee saw stars for a long moment. When they cleared out, though, the only think he could see were Pepito's mismatched eyes. A sickly green and deep, bloody red, they sparkled like cursed jewels with Pepito's obvious delight. Squee felt something trickle down from his hairline. It might have been blood, but couldn't force himself to look away from Pepito's eyes to check.
Like this! Pepito shouted into Squee's mind. Father showed me how to do this yesterday. I am not yet a master at it, but I didn't explode your head. So I'm okay for now. Squee sure felt like his head was about to explode. Pepito's horns had only grown an inch from the last time they had been close enough to each other to touch, but it felt like a foot when they were jammed into his forehead.
Anyway, I hear tell that the food here is infernal. So Mom made some StoveTop. Pepito said(?), placing a hot tupperware container in Squee's lap, eye contact unbroken. Sorry if it's hot. I summoned it with my Spooky Doom Powers. Pretty neat, yes?
Uhh...yep, Squee said cautiosly. Pepito's eyes lit up with pride. His whole face lit up with satisfaction. Infact, Squee was pretty sure Pepito was actually glowing with the fire of hell right now. It was actually kind of painful, especially since he hadn't been able to close his eyes at all. It was almost over the top, but his mom really did make good StoveTop, so it wasn't all bad. Hey, Pepito. Squee projected. This feels kind of funny. Most of the spooky things Pepito did felt weird, even when Pepito wasn't using his powers on him, but on other people.
Dad says that wears off the more you do it. If we do it enough it shouldn't feel weird anymore. Something about souls and lifelines. I stopped listening because they were showing the blood monkey show on tv. It was the episode where they feed the babies to the alligators. Squee became more horrified as he went on. It was almost a relief when Pepito's eyes grew concerned and he stopped talking. And then finally, finally, Pepito blinked.
Squee was suddenly aware of his body and the sounds of the Institute around him. Among these sounds was Rosemarie Diablo, calling Pepito's name. The Antichrist drew his head back slowly, pulling his horns from in Squee's facial skin. Some of the pentagram on Squee's forehead had transfered over to Pepitos in a blurred circle.
"Sorry, Amigo. I have to go." Pepito's feet began flaming. "I shall return soon, though. I'll watch you as well. We have a great view of this place from the basement!" Pepito waved jauntily as the fire engulfed his form and he dissapeared, leaving only a plastic container of StoveTop, two bleeding head wounds and a large scorch mark in his wake.
Squee didn't sleep that night.
