Author's notes: Sometimes even I don't understand Roxie. So don't ask me to try and explain her thought process, because I honestly don't know.
Roxie smacked her gum, gently stroking her chicken's head as she rode in the front passenger seat beside her silent father. He didn't look like he was in too good of a mood, the way his bottom lip was twitching every time she blew a bubble. "Something bothering you, daddy?" She asked, shifting in her seat to look back at her little sister, questioningly. Audrey had decided to hitch a ride, after getting out early from ballet practice. She was 12, freckled, almost as obnoxious as Roxie, with braces and a lisp to add to it.
"He'sh been like thish all morning!" Audrey whined, slumping in her seat. "Wouldn't even buy me a popshicle!" She drummed her feet against the floorboards behind him, drawing a warning glare from the older man through the rear-view mirror.
"You're like...fat enough, chicken butt. You don't need any popsicles," Roxie snort-giggled, reaching forward to mess with the radio station knobs. Her little sister wasn't really fat, all of the baby weight had fallen off since she started her ballet classes, but that didn't stop Roxanne from poking fun at her anyway.
"I'm not fat!" Audrey protested, pulling off one of her slippers and throwing it at her older sister's head.
"Hey! Cut it out, piggie!" Roxie snapped, lifting up her chicken and shaking it menacingly. The bird twitched in her grasp, squawking and flapping until it managed to slip out of her hands and hop onto her father's lap. He gave a loud cry, swerving on the road as Roxie desperately tried to grab the maddened bird before it made them crash.
"DAMN IT, ROXANNE!" Cliff fumed, straightening out the wheel when the bird had managed to flip into the backseat beside Audrey and nestle back in a corner, safely tucked away from it's owner and her clinging false nails.
"...Like...sorry, Daddy. It was all chubster's fault," Roxanne squeaked, pushing her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose and sticking her tongue out at Audrey in the backseat.
"Roxanne, you need to learn to grow up. You're fifteen years old, and you act like you're five. You stay out all hours of the night, bringing stray chickens home as pets! Every week it's something new with you. Last time, it was androids taking over the library. The week before, you thought our neighbors were werewolves, all because Mrs. Donahee has a mustache. You're lucky she didn't press charges after what you did to her poodle. Last night, you drove your car into a ditch...again...and now you think there are aliens around every corner. Something's gotta give, young lady, and I'm going to see to it that you learn to act your age. How do you expect me to give you any kind of responsibility if you refuse to grow up?"
Roxanne slumped in her seat, crossing her arms. "There are aliens in Santa Carla..." She mumbled under her breath. "Mondo weird ones...I saw them myself. And they drink spoiled Clamato."
"Roxie'sh a baaaaaaby, Roxie'sh a baaaaaby," Audrey taunted from the backseat.
"Shut up, chubster!" Roxanne rounded on her sister, who frowned at her and brandished the other ballet slipper threateningly.
As the morning hours ticked away, Star lingered on the porch swing, worried for some reason she couldn't understand. Granted, she'd been worried about one thing or another for a majority of the time she'd spent in Santa Carla, both dead and alive, so it wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. Part of her wondered if the only reason she might be feeling this way at all was because she didn't know how to really relax anymore.
"Something on your mind?" Grandma Emerson floated through the front door, the thin silhouette of an old woman. Without anyone nearby to see them, she didn't worry about showing herself. In fact, she very much enjoyed taking on a semblance of her living shape, as she settled down beside Star. The gypsy girl obliged her by forming into her own silhouette as well, and they kicked off from the ground so the swing could gently lull them back and forth together.
"I have a bad feeling," Star replied, feeling silly to voice it aloud. Bad feelings. When would she ever stop having them?
"I thought as much," the older woman replied, kicking the swing back a little further. "You'll learn to trust that, by the way."
"What do you mean?"
"Bad feelings. We always get them when death comes calling. I've got it too. Though I don't quite know who the old bastard is searching for...it's probably someone very close by."
Star's heart sunk into the pit of her stomach. Or the equivalent. That's certainly what it felt like, at any rate. "Is there anything we can do about it?"
The old woman giggled, shaking her head, "I'm not sure. To be honest, I've never tried before. But I suppose it couldn't hurt. Resting on my laurels so far hasn't done anyone much good, has it?"
"...What do you think we should do, then?" Star asked, hopefully. She didn't want anyone else having to die this week if she could help it.
"Well..." The old woman trailed off. "I don't really like to do it...because it takes a lot out of me. But...why don't we hitch a ride together, keep an eye on Sam, and see if we can't figure out just what's about to happen, and to whom?"
Star sighed, shaking her head, "I don't think I can get back into his body. I already tried. After that little thing they did in the kitchen, it's like I got locked out."
"Honey, there are two other perfectly healthy young boys in this house you can try to possess. As long as you promise not to hurt them, there shouldn't be anything wrong with that. In fact, as I recall, you already tried doing it to Edgar last night."
"And I couldn't!"
"That's because I was holding you back. Now, stop arguing with me, let's go have ourselves a bit of fun!" Grandma Emerson glided away across the front garden, and sailed towards the Frog brothers, who were busy lingering around the shed trying to help her husband take measurements of the damage. Sam was busy inside making lunch, avoiding the wrath of his grandfather while he still could.
"Come on, sweety. I'll let you have first dibs," the old woman urged, stopping just shy of the boys.
Star paused at the porch, almost afraid to try this again. She didn't want to make it a habit of possessing people...but then a small voice in her mind whispered to her...'what if Michael is the one who's in danger?' And it didn't take much more debating at all before she quickly followed after Grandma Emerson, and lunged at Alan. He gave a great cry as if he'd been doused with a bucket of ice water, and spun about, grasping at his head. Edgar imitated him, as the old woman soon took hold of his body as well.
Meanwhile, Grandpa Emerson clicked his measuring tape shut, and quirked his eyebrows at the both of them, then gave Edgar a very firm glare, "Emma, if you think I'm going to let you go after the widow again like you did last time, you're out of your mind!"
Edgar held up his hands, shaking his head and giggling with a slightly feminine southern lilt to his voice, "oh sweetpea, you know I learned my lesson. Star and I were just about to have a bit of fun together, weren't we?" Edgar turned towards his brother, and Alan quickly nodded in a sort of jerky, unfamiliar motion.
The old man frowned. "So she's dead, then? When did that happen?"
Alan shrugged, "same day I went missing. Don't worry, though, I'm doing fine now."
Grandpa Emerson snorted, "least I know Sam ain't a fairy. Thought he was digging into your make-up drawer."
"Herbert Waldo Emerson, you watch your language!" Edgar scolded, wagging a finger at the old man.
He sighed. "Don't stay in that body too long, Emma. Don't think the boy would appreciate you treating his friends like taxi cabs..."
Sam sealed the lid of a mayonnaise jar firmly as he tossed his butter knife into the kitchen sink and set to work tearing open a bag of potato chips so he could divvy them out on the plates he'd prepared. He prided himself on his excellent sandwich skills, and today he had truly out-shined himself. Yes, these culinary masterpieces would go down in history forever as the four most magnificent concoctions of bread and lunch-meat ever before seen by mankind.
The phone rang, interrupting his self-indulgent sandwich fantasies, and Sam jumped, scattering chips all over the counter. "Damn..." He cursed under his breath, trying to scoop the mess into a small pile and licking the salt from his fingers after he did so. He'd just put them on Ed and Alan's plates. They wouldn't know the difference. He looked up at the phone beside the sink and gave it an angry glare. He had a feeling he knew exactly who was on the other line right now, just waiting to yatter his ear off over something stupid. Like conspiracy theories about the Easter bunny, or some sort of alien bullshit. That seemed to be the topic of the week, now that she'd met his brother and his freaky vampire friends.
Sam reached over and picked the phone up off the hook, frowning.
"Yeah?" He picked specks of broken chips off of his t-shirt as he waited for a reply.
"Killer! Totes big news! Mega crazy stuff, gotta tell you like...right now, before I explode!" Roxie gasped over the line, and he didn't doubt she might.
"What? Are you not coming over tonight to fix my house?" Sam asked dryly, leaning up against the counter and squinting out through the kitchen window. The Frogs were talking with Grandpa, and looking pretty animated too. That was weird...he wondered what they were telling him. Maybe the juicy details about what Mike had done last night? Typical! They'd spill the beans to the old man, but they'd keep it from Sam just to piss him off.
"Um...not sure. We'll see. Like...but I need you to come over. Right now. Like right right now. The rightest nowest you can come. Now!" Roxie demanded, and Sam shifted the phone onto his other shoulder, sighing again.
"Why?"
"Cause! Like...I just got this super scared feeling at the back of my throat, like it's itchy or something. And those feelings are never wrong. I think your brother sold his bike to my daddy or something, and like...his army buddies are here talking about hunting moose...and they like...it's just really weird. Mega mondo freaky. And mom is all like 'hey, I told you not to invite them over anymore, this is my house and stuff' and daddy's all like 'this is for the good of Santa Carla, cause big game hunting is important' and she was like 'are you trying to destroy our marriage?' Then he was all like 'no, totes not...' he didn't say totes, but like...he might as well, cause it was totes in his tone of voice. That's how mega serious he was. And mom was all like 'you got daughters now, Cliff, you can't do this kinda stuff with them around! They're gonna get hurt!' Then he gave her this real mean scowl, like he was sucking on a mondo sour lemon...and was real mad about it too. And-"
"Roxie...slow down. You're not making any sense. Yes, I'll come over after lunch, but you gotta promise me this isn't going to be something stupid, okay?" Sam replied, giving in. He didn't have anything better to do that day anyway, and it would be another way to avoid the old man before he had to make up for the damaged shed.
"Sweet beans! I'll be waiting with bells on, killer! Oh...by the way...there's this real mean dog in our front yard right now. You're gonna wanna avoid him, cause we can't get animal control out to take care of it right now." Roxie paused. "Oh...and like...you gotta get a ride, cause I'm grounded...cause I tried to pet him, and daddy nearly got his arm torn off when he tried to get us back in the house. You shoulda seen piggie scream!"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Fine. Whatever, Roxie. Bye." He heard a click on the other line and placed the phone on the hook.
It wasn't until he'd managed to shuffle all of the plates on his arms and carry them out to the front yard that Sam realized something...Roxie had said something about Mike's bike...why the hell would it be there?! And...oh shit, he had a real bad feeling about the dog.
"Sammy! You're dropping the sandwiches!" Grandpa Emerson exclaimed, running forward to catch two plates before they managed to topple to the ground.