Two chapters of two different stories two days in a row - I'm on a roll here! 8D

Just for the record: Eddie was Martin Crane's dog in Frasier. Even if the real Eddie wasn't an Australian Sheppard, those dogs are just really cool in my opinion and make great pets (or so I've been told). They're intelligent, trainable, and loyal - a dog that would make a great pet to a Terwilliger, in my opinion.

If you want to sue me, I'll make him bite you.

Francesca sat up in bed. She listened closely for whatever had pulled her out of her sweet, sweet dream and—there it was again.

Sighing, she flicked on the lamplight. Bob stirred, and threw the pillow over his face. "Turn off the damn light!" He moaned.

She sighed. "Roberto, it's Cecil again."

He tossed the pillow onto his chest, rolling over to her side of the bed, "Isn't it your turn? I went down there last night. Or, better yet, let the children take care of it."

Her brow furrowed. "Listen to him!"

Bob went silent, listening to the muffled sound emerging from the vents, "Zombies that need to poop! Monkeys that need to fart! Those slimy snakes that children usually scream at!"

He groaned, gripping and forcing the pillow back over his face. "Another nightmare. That doesn't change the fact that it's still your turn."

She sighed, pulling on the black fleece robe over her nightgown.

As the door shut behind her, Bob called out, "You left the lights on!"

"Screw you," She muttered under her breath.

By the time Francesca got to the basement door, she heard the usual muffled crying. And the lights were on. The first thing she saw was the children on the bed, Lisa's arm draped around Cecil's shoulders.

And all three looked up at her as she made her way down the stairs and sat down in front of Cecil.

His eyes were wide and red and puffy, looking back at her. He sniffled, wiping them.

Francesca smiled at him, taking his hand in hers and gently rubbing it. "It eez alright, Cecil. It's over now." She shifted in her seat, "What was it about this time?"

Lisa spoke up for him, "He says that he was in prison-"

"And the guards tried to feed him mashed potatoes," Bart interrupted.

"-But he didn't want them to," Lisa went on.

"And there was a clown there, with a red balloon-"

"Who would smack him with it every time he refused the spoonful of food-"

"So he began to choke and we woke him up."

Maggie frowned and hit Bart in the side.

"Ow! Alright, Maggie stopped him from choking on whatever that thing was."

She smiled proudly.

Francesca's eyebrow went up, and she smirked. "Thank you. But I am down here for what woke me up in the first place," She turned to Cecil, staring him eye-to-eye. "Why were you cussing out the clown in your dream?"

He sniffled again. "Be-because he was smacking me in the head with a balloon."

"Uh-huh. But why was he smacking you in the head with a balloon?"

"Hey, lady," Bart said, "We already told you—"

She shushed him, "Let him talk."

"Because I wouldn't swallow the mashed potatoes, no matter how hard they tried me."

"So they punished you for doing something you did not wish to do?"

Lisa recognized her tone of voice, past the Italian accent. It was a therapists'.

"Yes," He was hesitant to say this. "That's why I started yelling at him. But he took advantage of that and shoved the spoon in my mouth."

"And what did you think of that?" She was getting tired now. Maybe it would be best to let the children comfort him after all.

"Well, I didn't really think about it as much as how I was going to swallow. And then I started choking, so I couldn't even think, much less—"

"That eez good, Cecil," She yawned, and got up.

Only Lisa seemed to notice how hesitant he was of letting her hand slip out of his. How there was a hint of fear in his eyes as he did so.

"Your problem is letting go of your fears. Sometimes, people punish you for doing what you do not want to do. But that does not mean people always will," As Francesca was saying this, she began to go back upstairs. "Just go back to sleep, and remember: nobody can make you do anything you do not wish to do. I cannot stress that enough. Now goodnight, we are keeping the children awake. You will be fine, I promise."

Sick. This is sick. So incredibly twisted and sick. They've kidnapped Bart and Maggie and I, and we haven't done a thing about it! They've locked us up in the basement with a crazy man—who was already crazy to begin with—who is aggressive in his sleep.

But Lisa couldn't argue with herself. They wouldn't get hurt, not so long as Dame Judith didn't want them to. Unless, of course, an "accident" was to happen . . .

She looked back at the bed, where Cecil's sleeping life-form was. Well, he was awake. Now. He got up, heading for the bathroom. As he passed through the back, the large stack of boxes swayed just a little, but enough to still be considered a dangerously high stack.

Lisa checked the clock a few seconds later. It was 8:43. Just to prove it, there were several different sets of feet, all heading from the second floor to what she thought to be the kitchen.

She got up now, too paranoid not to stay put. She went in-between the large stack of boxes and the wall, so that whenever Cecil came out he wouldn't see her. She stood there, pondering over their situation.

What would they do? What could they do? They were trapped here for two weeks, starting today, with the man who tried to kill Bart on numerous occasions. And his family.

Panic started to seize her mind, wrapping around it and breaking the barriers between sanity and darkness. She didn't know where it was coming from, or why it suddenly decided to stab her mind at this very moment, but nonetheless it was there. This was the feeling she got as Bob attempted his earlier life-taking plots against Bart's life, before they got to the joking-about-it stage.

Yes, there was that time of unspoken terror. After the attempt on Aunt Selma's life, they had all driven in grim silence back to the house. She still remembered, after he had hijacked their boat on Terror Lake, his face as he came into her room and tied her up along with the rest of her family. It was one of a demon's, one so twisted by hatred it no longer resembled a human face, almost as if the human part of him was a mask. Especially when he smiled at her—worse than a snake's— and took out the rope.

And then whenever Bob had become mayor, and—

The bathroom door opened.

By now, fear had gripped her mind. She stood, hunched and shivering a little, holding her breath. Footsteps approached and stopped at the stack of boxes on the opposite side of her. She turned around, trying not to face the mountain and make this panic even worse.

Cecil sighed. He thought about reaching out and trying to stop the stack from swaying anymore.

Wouldn't surprise me if they simply fall over one day from Eddie's tail-wag.

However, the boxes had remained untouched ever since they had all settled into this house. Of course, it was the movers that unpacked and somehow stacked the boxes down here, and they had remained this way ever since.

Only this time they really did begin to fall over.

Cecil threw his arms around the closest one to him, but succeeded in tripping over his feet and into the falling stack. "Shoot!"

As everything crashed—though all of the boxes were duck-taped shut and concealed nothing more than ancient scrapbooks (still weighing a lot)—he heard a cry of surprise.

Lisa?!

The cry was cut off as the boxes—and him—landed on something.

Silence for a second as time drew to a halt and hung in the air.

Then a long and loud wail of anguish pierced the silence.