Squee wandered home, wondering why his parents had dropped him off at an
art museum. Usually the mall or the playground sufficed.
Maybe they had known the scary neighbor would be there. Perhaps they were on his side, they wanted Nny to get rid of Squee for them.
Squee fiddled with the knife he had taken from the artist. It was clean, silver... no traces of actual blood. That reassured Squee, and he clutched the knife closely to his chest. His parents hadn't let him bring Shmee along for the ride, and he was all alone again. The dark did scary things to the street. It made it disappear. Squee was afraid to look down at his own body, in fear that it, too, would be gone.
Although, Squee thought to himself, that might not be a bad thing. That might be the only resort for someone like him.
The stick figure, at the art show. Shmee hissing * that stupid neighbor of yours... some people are not so lucky... stupid... stupid... I eat your sickness... it's not just him...*
"Maybe," Squee said rationally to the knife, "Maybe the stick figure was Nny's sponge. Maybe he's okay." But then, why was he pulling out a knife? Squee felt oddly proud, as if he had just stopped something terrible that could've happened at the art museum. "Think of what you could've done." He whispered gently to the knife, then folded it up carefully into his jacket.
"Squeee..." The old friend welcomed the boy back into the safety of his room. The house was empty, but the bear was there, as always, ready to catch Squee when he fell.
"Shmee!" Squee locked the door and ran to the bed, too afraid to turn on the lights. "Cos then, they out there in the dark," he pointed to the window, "they can see me, and I won't be able to see them. I can't have the lights on."
Shmee lay silent. "Shmee?" Squee poked his friend, then hugged him tight. "You there?"
"God, you're hard to take care of..." Shmee gasped. "It's getting to be too much."
"What are you talking about? I'm happy today."
"I'm full. I'm full of your shit..." Squee frowned at his friends' words, trying to understand why Shmee was suddenly being so mean. "It's time for me to go." Shmee gasped.
"No!" Squee squeaked. "Shmee - what? No... I can't survive here alone. They'll eat my brains! You understand these things."
"There's someone else coming.. they'll help you..." Shmee reassured him. Then a light flooded the cramped room, knocking Squee off the bed... as if light can knock a person about. Squee tumbled off the covers, and then fell
landing on hard ground. Shaking, Squee lay there, looking around. It was dark, but a far-away light let him see enough to understand. He was in a tunnel.
He whirled around and saw a matching light, at the other end of the tunnel. He was somewhere between his house, and Johnny's house. Dread iced down his back. Which way was safety, and which was...
He couldn't be sure, but he wasn't ready to trust the man with the knives. He had to get back home to Shmee. Some illogical part of the kid rationalized that home equaled safety, equaled Shmee and his parents. The little that he had.
"Which way, Shmee?" He trembled. A sickening slurp of something gliding down the tunnel walls was his only answer. He had to get out of the tunnel before it all caved in and killed him. Or before gutter monsters broke in and dragged him into the sewer to become one of them. He panicked, twirled around in circles, and then ran to one end of the tunnel randomly.
He came to a basement. A regular basement, something that could've been at the bottom of any house. Boxes and boxes and towers of boxes. He still didn't know if he was safe. He wasn't about to go back into the tunnel.
"Shmee..." he whimpered, tightening his coat around him. Something solid met his fingers, and he slowly uncovered the knife. "You aren't going to tell me what to do, are you?" He asked it. It remained quiet. "No... I suppose not," he sighed, then slowly tiptoed about the boxes.
When he came to the door entering into the house, he heard glass crashing. His parents, of course. That anger signified some sort of safety, to him. He dashed about the house, not recognizing anything inside, but running toward the noise anyway.
A man turned around and Squee gasped, not even able to make a squee noise. Johnny's face was indescribable, even more disturbed than normal. Blood coated his black limbs, and he lowered the plastic toy in his hands. Then he threw it across the room.
Squee followed the toy in order to avoid eye contact with the neighbor. It was a Bub's Burger Toy, but deformed and bloody. The arm that was meant to hold a burger was missing. Squee walked over the dirty floor and gently picked up the salvaged plastic. *remember that girl who gave me to you....* it hissed.
"Leave it." Johnny spoke, rubbing his face and collasping onto a box that rattled. He wiped his eyes, and then looked glumly about his house. Johnny blinked as the words cascaded through his mind, *doing what you did... what she did to you...*
Squee frowned, walked towards his neighbor with the doll, and then looked up at Johnny, who looked down with a blank expression. Squee trembled, and then burst into tears and threw his arm around the thin leg. Johnny frowned but hesitated to pull the small form off.
"I need someone." Squee sobbed. "It's so scary out there. Are... are you my new sponge?"
The word set Johnny off. He rose and roughly pulled the child off, picking him up and setting him on the box. "Look, Squee." He said, kneeling down and facing him at an equal height. "I'm not a sponge anymore. I can't help you right now. I don't feel anything anymore. I've gone past that. The most you can hope to is to find the same place."
Squee wiped the tears and accidentally smeared the blood from Johnny's pants on his face. "I-- I don't -" his voice trembled, and he quickly nestled his face into his small arms.
Johnny stood resolute, not wanting to feel any sympathy for the child. He wouldn't want to have to escape another human connection...
"Squee, go home. Everything will be all right. You'll survive." He said. He led Squee out the door and then shut it behind him. Squee, on the cold dark porch, sniffed and began to walk home.
As a second thought, he snapped back and flung himself on the door, beating on the wood. "Please just kill me, scary man!" He screamed. "It's all right!"
Inside, Johnny flinched and set off for the lower catacombs of his house to think. He didn't remember that Squee had taken one of his knives.
Maybe they had known the scary neighbor would be there. Perhaps they were on his side, they wanted Nny to get rid of Squee for them.
Squee fiddled with the knife he had taken from the artist. It was clean, silver... no traces of actual blood. That reassured Squee, and he clutched the knife closely to his chest. His parents hadn't let him bring Shmee along for the ride, and he was all alone again. The dark did scary things to the street. It made it disappear. Squee was afraid to look down at his own body, in fear that it, too, would be gone.
Although, Squee thought to himself, that might not be a bad thing. That might be the only resort for someone like him.
The stick figure, at the art show. Shmee hissing * that stupid neighbor of yours... some people are not so lucky... stupid... stupid... I eat your sickness... it's not just him...*
"Maybe," Squee said rationally to the knife, "Maybe the stick figure was Nny's sponge. Maybe he's okay." But then, why was he pulling out a knife? Squee felt oddly proud, as if he had just stopped something terrible that could've happened at the art museum. "Think of what you could've done." He whispered gently to the knife, then folded it up carefully into his jacket.
"Squeee..." The old friend welcomed the boy back into the safety of his room. The house was empty, but the bear was there, as always, ready to catch Squee when he fell.
"Shmee!" Squee locked the door and ran to the bed, too afraid to turn on the lights. "Cos then, they out there in the dark," he pointed to the window, "they can see me, and I won't be able to see them. I can't have the lights on."
Shmee lay silent. "Shmee?" Squee poked his friend, then hugged him tight. "You there?"
"God, you're hard to take care of..." Shmee gasped. "It's getting to be too much."
"What are you talking about? I'm happy today."
"I'm full. I'm full of your shit..." Squee frowned at his friends' words, trying to understand why Shmee was suddenly being so mean. "It's time for me to go." Shmee gasped.
"No!" Squee squeaked. "Shmee - what? No... I can't survive here alone. They'll eat my brains! You understand these things."
"There's someone else coming.. they'll help you..." Shmee reassured him. Then a light flooded the cramped room, knocking Squee off the bed... as if light can knock a person about. Squee tumbled off the covers, and then fell
landing on hard ground. Shaking, Squee lay there, looking around. It was dark, but a far-away light let him see enough to understand. He was in a tunnel.
He whirled around and saw a matching light, at the other end of the tunnel. He was somewhere between his house, and Johnny's house. Dread iced down his back. Which way was safety, and which was...
He couldn't be sure, but he wasn't ready to trust the man with the knives. He had to get back home to Shmee. Some illogical part of the kid rationalized that home equaled safety, equaled Shmee and his parents. The little that he had.
"Which way, Shmee?" He trembled. A sickening slurp of something gliding down the tunnel walls was his only answer. He had to get out of the tunnel before it all caved in and killed him. Or before gutter monsters broke in and dragged him into the sewer to become one of them. He panicked, twirled around in circles, and then ran to one end of the tunnel randomly.
He came to a basement. A regular basement, something that could've been at the bottom of any house. Boxes and boxes and towers of boxes. He still didn't know if he was safe. He wasn't about to go back into the tunnel.
"Shmee..." he whimpered, tightening his coat around him. Something solid met his fingers, and he slowly uncovered the knife. "You aren't going to tell me what to do, are you?" He asked it. It remained quiet. "No... I suppose not," he sighed, then slowly tiptoed about the boxes.
When he came to the door entering into the house, he heard glass crashing. His parents, of course. That anger signified some sort of safety, to him. He dashed about the house, not recognizing anything inside, but running toward the noise anyway.
A man turned around and Squee gasped, not even able to make a squee noise. Johnny's face was indescribable, even more disturbed than normal. Blood coated his black limbs, and he lowered the plastic toy in his hands. Then he threw it across the room.
Squee followed the toy in order to avoid eye contact with the neighbor. It was a Bub's Burger Toy, but deformed and bloody. The arm that was meant to hold a burger was missing. Squee walked over the dirty floor and gently picked up the salvaged plastic. *remember that girl who gave me to you....* it hissed.
"Leave it." Johnny spoke, rubbing his face and collasping onto a box that rattled. He wiped his eyes, and then looked glumly about his house. Johnny blinked as the words cascaded through his mind, *doing what you did... what she did to you...*
Squee frowned, walked towards his neighbor with the doll, and then looked up at Johnny, who looked down with a blank expression. Squee trembled, and then burst into tears and threw his arm around the thin leg. Johnny frowned but hesitated to pull the small form off.
"I need someone." Squee sobbed. "It's so scary out there. Are... are you my new sponge?"
The word set Johnny off. He rose and roughly pulled the child off, picking him up and setting him on the box. "Look, Squee." He said, kneeling down and facing him at an equal height. "I'm not a sponge anymore. I can't help you right now. I don't feel anything anymore. I've gone past that. The most you can hope to is to find the same place."
Squee wiped the tears and accidentally smeared the blood from Johnny's pants on his face. "I-- I don't -" his voice trembled, and he quickly nestled his face into his small arms.
Johnny stood resolute, not wanting to feel any sympathy for the child. He wouldn't want to have to escape another human connection...
"Squee, go home. Everything will be all right. You'll survive." He said. He led Squee out the door and then shut it behind him. Squee, on the cold dark porch, sniffed and began to walk home.
As a second thought, he snapped back and flung himself on the door, beating on the wood. "Please just kill me, scary man!" He screamed. "It's all right!"
Inside, Johnny flinched and set off for the lower catacombs of his house to think. He didn't remember that Squee had taken one of his knives.