Chapter 2: Incubus
Insomnia plagued Bubbles, that night, like many others. Mysterious noises could be heard throughout the house, and they were putting her on edge. She tugged the blanket up to just below her eyes, watching out for anything suspicious. The shadows on the walls were creeping her out, and she nearly screamed at the sight of a man's silhouette, before realizing it was just the cardboard cutout of one of her favorite pop idols. She was beginning to think she'd prefer to sleep in utter darkness. Perhaps, she'd finally give up on nightlights, and Buttercup would have one less reason to pick on her.
More importantly, though, she sensed that increasingly familiar presence; a creepy, yet oddly comforting sensation, as though it were merely watching over her.
They say, if you feel like you're being watched, you probably are; but it's apparently caused by the peripheral detection of someone's eyes on you, and Bubbles was usually alone when she experienced the sensation. She'd searched the cabin for hidden cameras—which was unnecessary, since she occasionally experienced it in public, too—but obviously found none. It was as though she were being watched by the eye of God. In actuality, it was probably the devil.
She thought of it as her guardian fallen angel.
Rolling onto her side, Bubbles fished around for Octi (a childhood relic that she could never bring herself to get rid of). She brought him to her lips, and graced him with a kiss.
"It's just my imagination, right?" She whispered to the stuffed octopus, knowing she wouldn't get a response. "You'd always say I have a big imagination." She prayed for one anyway; she always did. It was a funny thing to pray for, considering whose voice she was hoping to hear.
Growing up, she'd always considered Octi to be her very best friend; the keeper of her secrets. One day, out of the blue, he'd started talking back to her. Suddenly, someone understood Bubbles in a way no one had ever had; in ways she hadn't thought were possible. She could still remember bits and pieces of conversations they'd had; secrets they'd shared in the dark; the sound of whispers; the clandestine atmosphere. She'd felt betrayed—heart-broken—to learn she'd been manipulated; chewed up and spit out; used ironically like a toy. She'd been so angry and frankly hurt, she'd almost considered getting rid of Octi, but held onto it, anyway, and actually grew to cherish it more deeply with each passing day; though in a nostalgic way, as she began to feel an emptiness about it, where it used to fill a place in her heart.
On nights like this, Bubbles felt so completely alone; like no one in the world truly understood her—not because she was complex, necessarily, but because certain facets of her personality had always been overlooked—though she knew she was very much understood, and definitely not alone; not tonight. There was one individual who truly knew Bubbles. No one else had paid such scrupulous attention to all the intricate details. No one else had ever related with her on so many levels. Maybe—she reasoned—that was because there's a little bit of the 'devil' in everyone.
Eventually, Bubbles drifted off to sleep, holding Octi tightly to her chest.
She dreamed about frolicking through an enchanted forest, chatting with whatever furry creatures happened to cross her path, when a white rabbit with piercing, red eyes, suddenly hopped forward and relayed a wordless, telepathic message. She reluctantly followed it down its hole, and slipped into the darkness; falling from the dream, slamming back into her body, and waking into the deepest state of sleep paralysis she'd ever experienced. That wiggle room she usually had—the ability to shake her head or twitch her fingers—was totally absent. She could only open her eyes; though, once she did, she deeply regretted it. The orange cast of her nightlight dimmed, until it was glowing red; the signalling of a sinister presence. Shadows of flames danced across the walls, reaching toward the ceiling. Bubbles felt increasingly hot, as though her body temperature were rising. Everything was fight or flight. Trying to regain control of her body and break away, she felt herself being invaded. That creepy, sing-song voice, echoed sweet nothings inside her mind; sending shivers up her spine, and giving her goosebumps. "How does it feel to have me inside you?" Her body moved of its own accord, hand reaching down her panties. She attempted to scream, but no sound escaped her mouth. "It feels good, doesn't it?" She would've moaned in response, had she been able to. "I know, because I can feel everything that you're feeling." Her eyes rolled back in pleasure, as she convulsed involuntarily upon the bed. As she came down from her orgasm, the shadows of flames burned themselves out, the temperature and lighting returned to normal, and she slowly regained control of her body. She gasped, sitting upright in bed, and immediately broke down.
Her body felt too empty.
"There you are," said an irritatingly familiar voice. "I know you're the ones who robbed the convenient store." Blossom stepped out of the shadows in the dead-end alley.
"Oh, yeah?" Buttercup smirked, eyebrow raised; shaking her can of spray paint. "Why don't you arrest us?" The guys chuckled.
"Don't tempt me." Blossom narrowed her eyes at Buttercup's phallic doodles, before returning her attention to the wayward Puff. "Have you heard from Bubbles recently?"
"Not since the other day," Buttercup said, lighting a cigarette. "Why?" Blossom explained that, the past couple days, Bubbles had seemingly refused to answer her door, despite obviously being home, on account of the activity inside the cabin: lights turning on-and-off; the sound of muffled voices and faint laughter. "She's probably just talking to squirrels," Buttercup said with a lungful of smoke. "Everyone knows she's batshit crazy, these days."
Blossom shook her head. "I have a bad feeling about this. Will you come with me to her cabin?"
"Right now?" She nodded. "'Kay, but we're walkin' 'til I finish my cigarette."
"Mitch stopped by, yesterday," Blossom said, on the way to Bubbles'. "I told him you've been pretty much living with Ace. He seemed pretty upset." Buttercup frowned. "I wish you'd stayed with Mitch." Blossom missed the days when Buttercup could be seen in her soccer jersey, passing a ball around with Mitch, rather than robbing stores, smoking cigarettes, and spray painting walls in dark alleys, sporting Gangreen Gang's signature leather jacket. "He was, like, your best friend."
"Do we really have to talk about this, right now?" Buttercup threw her cigarette to the ground, and took off into the sky, trying to sweep thoughts of Mitch under the figurative carpet, but there was just too much to bury. She deeply missed the person she still considered to be her very best of friends, but she felt romantically toward Ace, and she couldn't deny that.
"Sign here."
Bubbles pressed a bladed quill to her left palm, making a deep incision, which allowed the shank to fill up with blood. She held the tip of the quill to a page in Satan's Red Book, and signed her name; selling her soul, in exchange for the safety of Townsville. She really didn't mind the idea of spending an eternity with Lucifer. Once signed, the book and quill disappeared into thin air, but blood still rushed from her cut, and the scar would surely remain.
As Blossom had suspected, Bubbles didn't answer the door, so Buttercup kicked it down with a painfully loud thump. They waited for any sign of life in the cabin, expecting Bubbles to come running any moment, but it was eerily quiet and still.
"Bubbles?!" Buttercup called out, temporarily disrupting the silence. "This place gives me the creeps."
"Shh!" Blossom slapped a hand over Buttercup's mouth. "Did you hear that?" The tomboy listened more intently, finally picking up on a faint whisper.
They headed toward Bubbles' room, where she was found in a heap on the floor, wrapping up her bloody hand in a white bed sheet. "Bubbles!" They rushed toward her, and knelt on either side of her, practically cradling her, like a baby; because that's how they'd always seen her.
"How did this happen?" Blossom asked.
"I did it myself."
"On purpose?" Bubbles nodded. "Why?!" She averted her eyes, and stayed silent. "Bubbles, why did you do this?!"
"Were you talking to yourself?" Buttercup interjected.
"Octi." She averted her gaze toward the stuffed octopus on Bubbles' bed, feeling a chill creep up her spine, as she met its eyes.
