SIXTH SUNDOWN
By Grand High Idol
I do not own Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends, nor any of its characters. The creatures and events of this story are purely extracted from my own thoughts.
WARNING: This story is rated "R" for graphic violence, strong language, religious mentions, sexual subject matter, and male pregnancy.
I.
"I—I can't believe it." Rusty was still shaking as he held his mug of hot cocoa, his face pale despite the heavy wool blanket he was wrapped in. He looked at Terrence, currently sitting beside him. "Wha—what h-happened back there…? What was wrong with you…?"
Terrence frowned and looked toward the cliff, where the paramedics were loading Chuck's bloodied corpse into an ambulance. He shook his head. "I…I don't know, Rusty," he replied. He stared at the ground, wondering. "All I remember is getting angry…then something at the back of my head told me that Chuck had to die…" His eyes wavered for a moment, then his features hardened. "But it was right."
Rusty looked toward him, confused. "What was right?"
"The voice." Terrence shook his head, wrapped his blanket tighter around himself. "Like it or not, Chuck was bad news. He was a drunkard and a date-rapist. Whatever happened back there…" He exhaled, his breath coming out in a puff of cold air. "It did this city a favor."
Rusty was shocked silent for a few moments before he finally spoke. "You're hearing voices, man?" The blonde shook his head. "That's not good. Maybe you should've spent more time in the hospital."
Terrence didn't listen to him, only stared out at the trees, thinking to himself. He was positive that during his last fight with Lucifer that the demon had taken away his powers, but what if that wasn't true? What if he still possessed them and the incident with Chuck had somehow triggered them again?
Had Lucifer lied to him?
He had to know. Making sure that Rusty's head was turned toward the ambulance, he slowly extended a hand over the dirt in front of him and concentrated, envisioning flames. Almost immediately the dirt sparked to life, taking flame before quickly extinguishing into ash. Smoke arose from the burnt earth, and he quickly withdrew his hand back inside his blanket, quaking in fear.
Lucifer had lied to him. He did still have his powers, and they were working at full-force. That meant that whatever he had done to him back there…that blow to the stomach…the digging and scooping of his guts…it had to do with something else.
But what…?
He snuggled against Rusty, suddenly in need of companionship. Rusty jumped slightly, then sighed and placed his hand around Terrence's quaking shoulders. Sensing that the raven-haired teen was afraid, the blond tried his hardest to make him feel slightly better, even though he was scared shitless himself.
"Whatever happened to Chuck wasn't your fault," he told Terrence gently. "I'm pretty sure that there's a scientific explanation for all of this."
"I don't…yeah…" Terrence gently leaned against his friend's shoulder, drifting off as the red and blue lights of the police and ambulance flashed near them. He refused to tell Rusty off. He was only trying to help.
"Typical." Rusty slammed his locker shut, trying to steady his science textbook with one hand. "We witness a horrible mutilation last night, and the very next morning they make us go to school."
"Didn't help that they spent two hours grilling us," Terrence added, picking up his textbook and slamming his locker shut with one foot. In truth, he was worried about the questioning because he thought something would slip—that he had murdered Chuck using supernatural powers triggered by anger—but everything seemed to be kept in strict scientific order—apparently these cops didn't believe in the word "soul". He was lucky there, but he was still troubled; his mind appeared to drift to other things, his stomach still hurt, and he still felt like he was going to vomit. But he still figured these were after-effects of his hospitalization and not a big deal, so he simply shrugged them off. Now, clutching his textbook tightly, he began to run down the hall toward his science class, Rusty tagging along behind him.
They entered the classroom the second the bell rang, and quickly took their seats before Mr. Hakshaw, their science teacher, noticed them lolling around. The man had been on the brink ever since the two had entered eighth grade and was determined to get them expelled…or at least in a record of detentions earned by a single student. As Terrence took his seat a wave of pain washed through his abdomen again; he moaned and clutched his stomach, trying to force it to leave, as Mr. Hakshaw entered from the backroom.
"Good morning, class," he proclaimed, then shifted his gaze toward Terrence and Rusty's lab table. "Terrence…Rusty," he added, his voice bland with annoyance. Rusty grinned weakly, while Terrence sighed and placed a hand to his forehead. The teacher returned his gaze to the front of the room. "Today we will be continuing our lesson on anatomy by discussing viral infections in the human digestive system."
"As if we need more anatomy after last night," Terrence muttered cynically; Mr. Hakshaw leered in his direction. A few girls in the class giggled, finding this amusing.
"Terrence, if you cause any more uproarious behavior in this classroom, I'll have to ask you to attend to the principal's office. I'm fairly sure he'll have a suitable punishment for smart-alecks like yourself." Hakshaw's eyes narrowed. "You have that clear?"
"That wasn't uproarious," Terrence declared.
"Terrence Kraigen."
A few more giggles from the girls. The teen sighed and placed his head in one hand, nodding in response. Hakshaw turned his gaze back toward the class, began his lesson. Let's face it, the dude hates me, he thought to himself, shaking his head. Everyone else gets to make comments in class…especially during that reproductive session…He grinned at the thought, but his smile quickly faded when he felt a jabbing pain in his stomach, followed by another wave of utmost nausea from the back of his throat. He quickly clapped one hand over his mouth.
He was going to vomit this time. He knew it.
"…So, the lining of the small intestine is covered in small fingerlike projections called vilia," Mr. Hakshaw continued, pointing to a diagram he had drawn on the board. "Most nutrients are absorbed through here and into the bloodstream after leaving the—"
"Hakshaw?"
Mr. Hakshaw drew in a breath through his teeth. "What is it now, Terrence?"
Terrence swallowed, fought to keep down the rising bile in his throat. "I—I really think I need a bathroom pass, man. I—I'm gonna vomit or something here."
"Terrence, if this lesson disgusts you, I'm sorry. But I am not allowing you to leave this classroom until classes are dismissed." He folded his arms. "Whatever it is, I'm sure you can keep it under control."
Terrence opened his mouth to protest, but Rusty elbowed him in the shoulder, giving him the "don't-try-it" look. The raven-haired teenager slumped back down against the desk, nodding obediently.
Mr. Hakshaw turned back to the board. "Now, then…a common place viruses can breed is normally in places such as the stomach and small intestines, because most of the work is done here during digestion. Many commonplace side-effects take place as a result of the virus, but, as our dear friend Terrence here stated, the common effect is vomiting…"
The nausea was growing worse with each passing second. He whimpered silently to himself and clutched his throat with one hand, stomach with the other. If he didn't get to a private area soon…
"…There are several viruses that cause this effect to take place, one of which is the common stomach-flu virus, or, as it's known in its original Latin name…"
It was too late. He clapped his hand over his mouth; fought to keep it back, but the gagging started almost immediately. He quickly turned his head away from his desk toward the linoleum floor…
"…Now, can someone name another virus that causes vomiting?"
Terrence gagged, then made a choking noise and finally upchucked what was left of his stomach contents. Mr. Hakshaw gasped; the class turned to look toward him. The entire room was silent for a moment, then…
Laughter.
"I cannot believe you did that," Rusty proclaimed later, during lunch. The two were now standing in the line; Terrence appeared slightly shaken, but apparently that didn't affect his appetite. The teen had already taken first dibs on everything. "You're probably going to go higher up on Mr. Hakshaw's shit-list now after that incident. Did you see how red his face got?"
"You're acting like I did it on purpose," Terrence muttered, stepping out of line. Several of his classmates passed by the two, their hands over their mouths, hiding obvious mirth. "Which I didn't."
"I know, I know, you wouldn't train yourself to vomit on-cue just to get on Hakshaw's bad side." Rusty grinned. "It was kinda funny, though. And the timing was perfect. Just after he says the word 'vomiting'—SPLAT! It's all over the floor." He placed a hand to his head, laughing. "Oh, God, I think you've made yourself a living legend."
"An embarrassing living legend." Terrence took his seat underneath a nearby tree; stretched himself out, and immediately began devouring what he had taken from the line. "They're gonna be laughing at me for weeks."
"Yeah…" Rusty stared at him for a moment, then his features contorted into an expression of disgust. "How on Earth can you manage to eat that stuff? And after what happened this morning, too?"
Terrence shrugged a shoulder, then stuffed some poorly fried tater-tots down his throat. "It tastes okay to me," he said. "Besides, I'm fine now. I think that whatever I was feeling since I got out of the hospital was just some weird after-effect." He downed a pint of chocolate milk; tossed the carton over his shoulder. "Oh God, Rusty, you should try this corn. It's not as horrible as it looks."
Rusty shook his head, folded his arms. "When we went to that pizza place last night you wouldn't touch a thing, and suddenly now you're some human garbage disposal?" He stuck his tongue out of the side of his mouth, expressing disgust. "In all my years here I have never heard someone refer to the cafeteria food as 'okay'. And that's a long time, man. I was held back in seventh grade for two years because I couldn't ace damn Earth Science class."
"Yeah, Rusty, I've only heard it about a million times." He shoved his tray aside, then eyed Rusty's. "Hey…you gonna eat that pizza?"
Rusty eyed him. "Hell no. Do you know what they even put in that stuff? It's only five percent cheese, from what I've heard around here, and they serve the same stuff day after—"
He stopped in midsentence; Terrence had already devoured the pizza and was now working him for his tater-tots. His mouth dropped open slightly, and he shook his head. "Dude," he declared, his eye twitching slightly, "That thing was eighty-five percent cardboard."
Terrence wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Pretty good cardboard." He looked back toward the line. "I'm gonna go get seconds. You want anything?"
Rusty stared at him for a few more moments, then shook his head. "Dude," he said, "if you hurl again, I do not want to be within ten yards of you."
"Hola, tress perro!" Eduardo declared, walking out back near the Extremeosaur pen. "I bring you a snack, see?"
He held up a box of doggy biscuits, which the creature behind the gates immediately took to. Sniffing it with a wet nose, it swiped the box from the purple creature's hands with a warm, wet tongue, then drew the box into its mouth. A second head, bearing a second tongue, reached down to lick him.
"Good boy!" Eduardo said, patting the dog's middle head. "You like your snackies, don't you? Don't you?" Cerberus continued to lick him out of its gratitude. "Okay, stop licking me now. I just had shower today."
The dog panted a few times, drool dripping from its three tongues, then returned to its spot near the corner of the pen and lay down, placing its heads between its massive paws. Eduardo smiled and waved, then turned around and walked back toward the House, attempting to brush the saliva off of himself.
"Looks like I need second shower." He sighed and shook his head. "El tress perro is good, but he need to work on his greetings." He looked up; saw Bloo and Berry walking toward him. "Hola, Azul! Hola, Berry!" He waved; the two looked up. Berry smiled and waved back, but Bloo seemed uninterested. Leaning against the side of an adjacent tree, he crossed his arms.
"This is boring," he muttered, then looked toward Berry. "What are we doing out here, anyway?"
Berry smiled and held up the camera she was carrying. "To take pictures of all the Friends here for my new and improved scrapbook, silly!" she stated, smiling. "If it weren't for the kindness of Madame Foster and her granddaughter I would still be down in Hell, and not here. I love all of you guys for doing such a kind thing for me, and I wanna make it up." She leaned toward Bloo, fluttering her eyelashes. "But not as much as I love you, my sweet Blooregard!"
Bloo stuck out his tongue in disgust; Berry ignored him and turned toward Eduardo, camera poised. "Wanna pose for a picture? I still haven't done you yet."
Eduardo looked around, then nodded. "Si! I pose for picture."
Berry smiled. "Excellent!" She held the camera up. "Now, just take a few steps backward…few steps to the side…aaaannnd…perfect! Okay, now smile and say—GAH!"
She yelped and brought her hand to her head, images coursing through them—so many images, images she had and hadn't seen, images of the past, the present, what was yet to come, all of them horrible, so horrible—
"You okay?"
Berry forced a smile and looked up toward Eduardo, who seemed concerned. "Yes, yes, I'm doing berry well. I just kinda…" She rubbed at one of her ear tufts, thinking about what she had just seen, but she did not want to worry the others. "…I just got a headache. That's all." She blushed and held up the camera again. "Ready, Ed?"
Eduardo gave her the 'ready' sign. "Ready!"
Berry nodded in approval and began to snap pictures; first of Ed in his normal stance, active stance, lying-down stance, freaked-out stance…she continued until she felt that she had done enough; she then lowered the camera and sighed. "Okay, we're all done."
"Good," Eduardo said, getting to his feet. "I was thinking it would never end!"
"You took the words right out of my mouth, big boy," Bloo said; he then looked toward the pen. "Hey…what's up with Terrence's stupid dog?"
Berry and Eduardo quickly looked up toward the pen, where Cerberus was now yelping, growling, and chasing himself in circles, his body taking on a yellow-orange glow. On his legs were freshly made wounds; wounds that did not bleed, and on each of its three heads it bore a symbol—a symbol that Berry knew very well. Her eyes widened in shock; Eduardo's, too.
"The Pentagram…" She drew closer to Bloo, looking for support. "What—why's it here? Why is this happening?"
Bloo shrugged. "I dunno, but it sure looks cool!" he smiled suddenly, leapt forward. "Yeah, Cerberus! Give 'em the light show of a lifetime, baby!"
"Something's not right," Berry said, her tone panicked. She quickly ran away from the delirious creature until she reached the edge of the house, the spot where she had taken her photographs. She had used a Polaroid; the snapshots were lying all over the place, fully developed and yellowing slightly for no apparent reason. She slumped against the wall in relief, then gasped when her eyes traveled down to one of her snapshots.
It was the one of Eduardo; the plain picture that she had taken, only in this photograph his body was cut up, torn, decomposing…almost evil.
And on the wall, right next to him, were these words, inscribed into the wooden boards on the house:
The Messenger must be Delivered.
She didn't even want to look at the other shots right now. Trembling, she scooped up the camera and the shots she had taken and quickly ran back toward the safety of the House.
