Happy freaking Halloween! And (in my mind at least) Happy Birthday Squidward! Now on to all the ebil!Squid crap.

…

Did I just say ebil!Squid? Damn, LiveJournal terminology is getting to me. soulful-sin was right, it does swallow the soul.

After several minutes of plastering over every last opening and gap-in-the-wall to lock a dangerous murderer out of the house, the realization that you've actually just locked the murderer in with you is bound to shock anyone.
Especially if you've also just discovered that the murderer deliberately set it up so that you would unknowingly seal you and your guests in what is now a death trap.

So it's fair to say that everyone was pretty shocked.

Everyone, surprisingly, except SpongeBob.

If anything, he seemed amused by it all. Amused. Being oblivious was supposed to be Patrick's shtick, and even he understood the seriousness of the situation.
But Sponge was just laughing, giggling, acting like on Prozac (or was it Bupropin? No one could ever tell the two apart). Bahahaha. Bahahaha. Bahahaha.

"Man, Squidward, that's a good one," he managed to get out when he'd finally finished. "Making me think that you're the murderer…you should take up comedy, you're really good at this."
Squidward wasn't impressed. "I'm not kidding. Does this gun say that I'm kidding? The same gun that I used to dash out Scooter's brains? Or what little there were of them."

The host just laughed again. Bahahaha. Bahahahaha. That last snide dig wasn't even that funny. "Wow," he giggled, "that one was even funnier the second time!"
"It's not going to be funny when I splatter all of you against the wall with a parade of bullets." Squidward hoped that he'd twig soon – holding up the gun for all this time was starting to hurt.

Bahaha. Baha. Ha. The laughter got a little weaker, the smile smaller. "You might have to work on the one-joke repertoire there, Squidward. Spread out a little, get more material, stop rippin' the pants--"

All right, fuck this. "I'm not kidding!" he practically screamed. "Stop deluding yourself, make like the sensible people and shut up!!"
"OK, OK," muttered the sponge, backing against the wall. "Way to take a joke too seriously."

A pause while Squidward face-palmed.

Once he calmed down from his frustration a little, the gun-wielder tried again. "I don't think you quite understand what I'm trying to tell you here," he said in a strangely calm tone. "The fact is, all of you are going to die tonight. That means you, and the rest of your half-wit friends."
(Here, he gestured to them with one of his hands – a move that would look a little more casual had it not been the hand holding the revolver.)
"I'm going to kill every last one of you, just like I did all the others. Except maybe with a little more 'oh crap I can't escape I'm trapped in a hellhole'. A hellhole that your host himself helped to create." He chuckled quietly to himself. "The irony is delicious."

"Hey, no fair!" Patrick's voice rose from the silent crowd on the other side of the room. "How come you get to eat all the irony? I want some irony too!"
The gun promptly switched its target. "Patrick, get back against the wall and shut the fuck up."
"And if he doesn't?" This was from Mr Krabs.
"You know damn well what will happen," growled the tako. "Brains hit the floor. Splatter, splatter."
You could visibly see everyone pale at the thought. It made sense to shut up now.

"Y…you can't be serious."
Ah. Apparently somebody hadn't got the message.
"This isn't right. You can't be a killer. That's…that's not Squidward." The poriferan was visibly quaking in his shoes.
He had to roll his eyes at this. "I thought we just went over this," he said, re-aiming the gun at its previous bullseye. "I can be a killer and I am a killer. In fact, if you don't quit questioning me, I'll kill again."
Then, "oh, wait, I was gonna do that anyway."
"Y-you're nuts," stammered SpongeBob. "You're supposed to be a friendly guy, one that would never hold anything against any of us when it's convenient for you."
"HA! Where have you been for the past few years, SpongeBrain?" This time, Squidward was the one laughing.
"But you…I know you can't be the killer. What would you have to gain from brutal violence like this?" He was almost pleading now, his heart pounding like a piston…or a pistol.

For a brief moment, the cephalopod appeared to concede to this…slightly. "OK, so you're in denial. You can't see the obvious," he sighed, talking more to himself than to the others. "You want proof, huh?"
"Y-yeah…no…maybe—"
The sponge's confused answer was interrupted by a tentative 'meow' from the ceiling.
"Gary? What are you doing up there?" the master asked his pet. "I thought I'd blocked up every entrance."
"Meow meow." This translated to 'you missed a spot'.

Of course, Squidward wasn't aware of snail language, nor did he want to be. In the sudden arrival of the snail, he'd gotten just the proof everyone needed.
"Perfect."

With that, Squidward shot Gary.

It only took one bullet to ricochet the shell off the copepod, and another one to cut him in half. It was quite disturbing when you looked at it. Not even the snail knew that he had so much blood in him.
And SpongeBob couldn't do a thing. It was all over before he could blink. Already, one casualty had been made.

And it wouldn't be the last that night.

"Any more daft questions?"