Author's Note: This is a long forgotten project that was written back in 2019, shortly after the published finale of the critically acclaimed Spongebob's Concert Carnage. Read at your own risk. Don't forget to R&R ;DDDDD

It was just another typical day in the Bikini Bottom. A peaceful day, to be exact. The gentle ocean current swayed the reefs of coral, while jellyfish hummed as they danced through the flower-studded sky. It was the perfect, lazy Sunday, and nothing could possibly go wrong. Except for Squidward, that is.

Squidward stood inside the bathroom of his tiki home, threatening himself in the mirror with a menacingly sharp hunting knife.

"I'll kill you, you cock-sucker seahorse-fucker.." Squidward mumbled to himself over and over again as he held the knife dangerously close to his neck. While he failed to notice them himself, the details of his reflection were worrisome. Dried blood marked the wounds where he had vehemently clawed at his face. His baggy, fogged eyes were clouded by a hue of red that could only be obtained by not sleeping for eight days straight. While Squidward's face was enough to cause concern, the most alarming detail was his skeletal physique. Over the past month, the Squid had lost nearly half of his body weight. What used to be a healthy frame was now a gnarled sculpture of bone and malnutrition. Many casual onlookers thought that Squidward may have come down with a harrowing disease, however the truth of the matter was much worse: Squidward had succumbed to an addiction to methamphetamine.

Originally looking for something that'd give him the energy to balance work and his passion in music, Squidward was intrigued when Plankton told him about a substance he sold which was more powerful and cheaper than any pharmaceutical on the market. Although he was concerned about the consequences of the notoriously dangerous drug, Plankton had reassured him.

"Look Squidward, this is some really powerful shit. So only snort a little bit of it, okay?" said Plankton, as he handed him a small dime bag filled with crystalized fragments.

"What if it makes me go crazy?" asked Squidward, a little worried.

"Look pal, that's preposterous! No one's gone crazy from smoking meth before. Now are you going to suck my dick or not?"

And the rest is history.

Now Squidward stands in front of his bathroom mirror, knife in hand and nothing on his mind except paranoia and his next high. Squidward focused on the freckles that lined his forehead.

"Circles are the work of the devil!" Squidward growled to himself. Raising the hunting blade up to his forehead, he began to diligently slice at the spots. Cutting deep underneath the skin, Squidward peeled the freckles out one by one. As he ripped each one off of his head, blood profusely trickled out of their wounds. The melody of gore dripping down his forehead reminded him of the crown of thorns that Jesus had to wear, and it comforted him.

Squidward heard a knock at the door. "Oh shit, it's Satan!" he thought to himself. He grabbed the knife and stood right next to the front door with his back against the wall. If the devil was coming to take his soul, he might as well fight to keep it. Just then, Patrick Star came through the door. Being partially blinded by blood and confused by a meth'd membrane, Squidward launched himself at the intruder.

"AHHH SQUIDWARD GET OFF!" Patrick screamed. However, it was of no use. Squidward turned Patrick over onto his stomach, and using his wicked knife he cut a deep gash along the back of Patrick's neck. This destroyed the area that connected the nerves to his brain, and therefore all of his motor functions shut down. From there, Squidward repeatedly stabbed the back of Patrick's head, killing him instantly.

After turning his corpse back over Squidward realized it was his neighbor. "Holy shit, It's Patrick fucking star!" Squidward thought to himself. He started screeching profusely and frantically stabbed the corpse in a sorrowful attempt to make it go away. As he did so, copious amounts of blood sprayed from Patrick's body, staining Squidward's carpet and walls.

Squidward cried in agony as he started scratching the gashes on his forehead. "What am I to do? I can't just leave him there! The townspeople could find out, or even, the devil himself!"

In a fit of panic, Squidward dragged the deprecated corpse all the way to his bedroom. Using all the strength his malnutritioned body could muster, she shoved Patrick's lifeless shell underneath his bed.

Once all of Patrick's body was concealed beneath the bed frame, Squidward stopped to take a breather. He looked back down at his bed, and no longer seeing any signs of the starfish he had killed merely minutes ago, he was confused. "What am I even doing here?" Squidward thought to himself. He shrugged, and spent the rest of his evening licking the blood off his living room floor and using his clarinet to carve swastikas into the wall.

As night greeted the Bikini Bottom, Squidward began to feel tired for the first time in over a week. He had to take a minute to remember what tired people do. "Oh ya, don't they go to bed or something?", Squidward pondered.

Squidward got into a fresh pair of pajamas and turned off the lights. As he settled into bed, he listened to the mindless thoughts that rambled in his intoxicated mind. Suddenly, the fears that had plagued him earlier that day had resurfaced. "If I'm asleep, that means Satan can take me away, and I won't even be awake to defend myself!". He cowered under the covers as he eyed the silhouette of the coat hanger in the corner of his room, which seemed to morph into a horned fiend.

"Yup, the big man downstairs is gonna get you all right." gently mocked Patrick's voice underneath his bed. "He's gonna find out what you've done, and then he's gonna tell everyone in the Bikini Bottom what you've done to poor old Patrick. Ha, he might even tell your good friend Spongebob!".

Squidward screamed as he jumped out of bed. "DON'T TAKE MY SOUL, PLEASE DON'T TAKE MY SOUL!" Squidward shrieked as he ran towards the light switch. The room was illuminated once more, and everything was quiet. He marched over to his bed, and with a shaking tentacle, kneeled down and peered underneath his bed. Patrick's corpse was still lifeless as ever, perhaps a little more deflated and pale now due to the loss of blood.

"LISTEN HERE, PAL!" Squidward shouted at the cadaver. "NEITHER YOU NOR THE LORD OF THE UNDERWORLD ARE GOING TO TAKE MY SOUL WHILE I'M NOT LOOKING. AND I'LL MAKE SURE OF IT!".

Squidward grabbed his hunting knife and ran to the bathroom. "Satan's never going to catch me with my eyes shut, and I'll make sure of it!" he said to himself, glaring in the mirror. Bringing the knife up to his right eye with one tentacle, he tugged on its eyelid with the other. With a few quick strokes, Squidward sliced they eyelid clean off its foundation. Blood profusely gushed from the wound in consistent sprays that matched his heartbeat. He repeated the same with the other eye, however he had to tug on it because it was still connected by a small sliver of skin. What ensued was possibly the most pain Squidward had ever felt in his entire life. The damage he had done to his body was finally enough to overcome the numbing effect of the methamphetamine, and he felt firsthand the repercussions of his destruction.

"GAAAAHHHHH!" Squidward screeched. His howls of agony were practically loud enough to be heard from Neptune's palace. The bloody slits where his eyelids used to rest felt like fire. The blood that poured from them stung his eyes. Squidward crashed out of his bathroom and ran around his room in wild circles. As he ran endlessly blinded by a crimson curtain, he could hear Patrick's laughter as it slowly became demonic.

"NO GOD, PLEASE DON'T LET ME GO!" Squidward shrieked at the top of his lungs. Groping in the darkness, he felt for the nearest wall and slammed his head against it as hard as he could. He fell unconscious.