Chapter 4:
To say Taco Hell is in chaos would be an understatement.
"AHHHH! MY PANCREAS!"
"MOMMY IT HURTS!!"
"HEEEEEEELP, WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS!??"
"OH GOD- WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO WITH THAT SPORK!?? AUGH!!!"
Things that make noise.
Through all the screaming and commotion, Johnny finds himself torn. Now- should he be pissed that these pathetic human excrements weren't staying still so he could kill them? Or amused, because although the door was wide open, the soon-to-be moose food opted to instead run in circles than escape.
Neither, Nny decides he will just be content that there will be that much more blood. It had been a while since he had fed the wall monster last. Since he had blown up the biggest reason for him to leave the house, the wall had been neglected in favor of sketios and Television. Luckily D-boy had reminded him. But after all these years of serving it, Johnny often finds himself wondering what would happen if he stopped painting the wall. He never will though, the thought of possibly unleashing something so terrible onto reality that it strips it of substance worried the thin man. It would mean the inability to find answers, and that prospect terrified him.
The maniac calmly wipes his hands of the red with one of those cheap, brown napkins, and retrieves his spork from a still twitching man's brain. The spork has served him well, and will appear in his next Happy Noodleboy comic. Johnny nods in affirmation of this, then surveys the destruction, it looks like Armageddon came and went. Perfect. The Blood-Buckets, all five of them, one by one are sloppily filled by the whistling manic-depressive young man. His now gloved, lithe fingers scrape at that crimson substance that has collected on the tile pattern floor, only to release it into a weathered paint can. With only one last scoop, he is finished. The smile that breaks his face is something from a demon's lullaby.
The maniac pulls a knife from his belt and holds it in his hand for a moment, before swiftly slashing the twitchy man's throat. 'Johnnyyyyy……Johnnyyyyy, Ssssssuuunnnnyyy-Deeeeeee, Feeeeeed Meeeeeeee,' He looks down at the blade and growls, "Quiet, you!"*
--
The police were at the scene, they saw him; yes. There was a lot of panicked yelling, poorly aimed gunshots, and screams of horror, but with three Blood-Buckets held by the handles in his left hand, and two in his right, their lives were all spared. It made the 3 O'clock news, it did; it did. A small boy was interviewed, his darling brown eyes large as the reporter held a microphone in his face. He did little more than blink at the camera and clutch his teddy bear. But Johnny didn't see this; he, instead, was applying a fresh coat to the wall, humming Ode to Joy loudly over D-boy and Eff's fighting.
(end part one)
Dear DIE-Ary,
Since when did I become so complacent? I feel as though…. Slowly, so very slowly, that my own creative mind is being drained. No… no, that was at first. Now it's happening faster, I couldn't even think of a new Happy Noodleboy comic, and that's saying something!!
Something is terribly wrong here- I'm bending to its will. How can I so happily serve it!? It's fucking wrong!! I kill because I want to. NOT because some ethereal THING wants me to! FOOK! THIS ISN'T RIGHT. I CONTROL ME, I CONTROL ME, I CONTROL ME, I CONTROL ME, I CONTROL ME, I CONTROL ME, NO I DON'T HAVE ANY FUCKING SUNNY-D SOJUSTSHUTTHEFUCKUP---
(part two start)
"Don't you know that it's impolite tO WALK ON THE DEAD!!?" Johnny leans out the boarded up window to scream, and then promptly whip a meat cleaver at the paper girl. Thunk. The handle hit her on the temple, collapsing her skull, resulting in the poor girl's death. From inside the house Mr. Fuck cackles in delight, but upon seeing Johnny make no motion to collect the body, he steps from the shadows. His Styrofoam form illuminated by the afternoon sun.
"What are you doing? Go retrieve her body!" He barks at the maniac, waving a stubby arm in the direction of the door. "What's your fooking problem!?"
"I have enough blood." Johnny takes a few more breaths, calming down some. "At least enough for another couple weeks."
"Well, you can't just leave her out there! What if somebody notices!?" Nny turns to face the ghoulish figment. Said figment currently holds those stubby arms across the 'Z?' symbol painted on his chest. The maniac vaguely notes that Eff's shirt is ruffled a little… which doesn't makes sense because it's just painted on--
"Nobody will notice," His eyes wander the room, with its beaten up sofa and bunny-ear TV. They narrow into slits and focus back on glowing red orbs. "What's going on?"
"I don't know what-"
"Don't try to bullshit me!!" His voice cracks with the sudden raise in pitch, but he continues. "You're doing something to me!! You and that depressing little shit! You drained me of my ability to reason-- of Nailbunny! And turned me into your little slave! WHO IS YOUR MASTER!?! WHY DOES IT NEED BLOOD, WHY DOES IT NEED ME!!??"
"Don't group me with that little fucker! That THING is NOT my master!!" Fuck screams, his red eyes' glow intensifying as he advances on the hysterical maniac. His small form shakes with barely contained rage. "I BELONG TO NO ONE! IT DOESN'T CONTROL ME!! AND SOON-!" He pauses, now standing inches from Johnny. His features twisted into a mask of rage, shoulders jerking with imagined breaths. "Soon, I Won't Need You. I'll be fre-"
'SQUEEEEEEE!!'
The rest of Fuck's words went ignored; Johnny instead turns his attention to the view out the window again. Anger thoroughly doused, a small frown etches itself across his lips. Sitting on his tricycle, stock-still, Todd Casil stares at the dead little girl on his scary neighbor's barren lawn. Thoroughly interested in his friend's secondary reaction, the homicidal maniac, leans against the wall, long, bony fingers clutch at rotting wooden planks.
--
Squee got off his tricycle and ventured to the edge of the side walk, Shmee tucked firmly in his arms. He leaned forwards slightly, trying to see the face of Scary Neighbor Man's newest victim.
'M-maria?' he calls out timidly, bottom lip trembling and grip unconsciously tightening. 'Maria??' He wanders onto the road, with small unsure steps, until it was certain. The one girl in his class that was ever nice to him lay dead on her back in his neighbor's yard. Squee faints.
--
Johnny lets out a dark chuckle on the child's behalf, partially to hide the unease he felt at the unpredicted reaction. Partially just to hear his own voice, Mr. Fuck had stopped explaining his motives and goals… or something like that, and it was too quiet for Johnny's liking. And those weren't really the answers the pale man was interested in, especially with his attention drawn elsewhere.
Without realizing it at first, Johnny opens the front door and makes his way down his driveway, pausing for only a second to glance at the little girl, then to Squeegee. He steps out onto the road,
And is hit by a car.
…
"Fuck."
A/N: Aren't I just lovely? And GUESS WHAT!?!?! I'm not updating until I have 10 reviews for this story. C'mon people! That's not that much!
Oh, and the whole Squee being OOC, with the whole crying thing, instead of just squeeing in terror and running away, or just standing in one place, staring off in a random direction, the most traumatized look in his widdle eyes? That'll be explained later… IF I GET REVEIWS!
SOMBODY PLEASE LOVE ME!!
…. Ps: *that whole thing with the knife being thirsty for Sunny-D: whoever can tell me where Johnny mentioned that gets a metaphorical cookie. And this chapter isn't Beta'd either. Cratbro is away for the holidays I guess…
UNTIL SOME UNDEFINED AMOUT OF TIME, Windup Dollie OUT!