The back door clattered shut.

"Did you hear?" she said between short breaths, leaning up against the screen. She'd run all the way from Herriman's old office, and having four legs that always fumbled over eachother didn't help.

Her companion shook his head without looking up from his book, his own legs crossed neatly and sitting on the veranda wall.

"Really? News travels so fast around here."

He waited a moment, then put the novel down at his side.

"Well," he said, "it really all depends on what I was supposed to have heard."

That was true. He'd heard a lot from sitting on the back porch every day since he'd come to Foster's. 'Did you hear' held little meaning to him.

"About the little blue fellow, of course!" she gasped with disbelief.

"What, you mean Bloo?" --there was excitement in his voice now--"What happened to him? Did he finally die? That's a nice room he's got and I've been--"

She smacked him upside the head.

"HEY!"

"NO, you TWAT!" she spat, "He's been adopted!"

He blinked, rubbing the sore lump on his head.

"…oh. Well, either way, I still get his room."

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II
two
floor six

There was electricity in the air that morning. A warm lump of thrill was burning a hole in Bloo's gut as packed up his few belongings. He basketball shot things into his bag like Wilt used to do, spinning around in a giddy high. He slammed the lid shut.

It closed with a solid 'click'.

He didn't have any friends around here anymore, just the gods of gossip and glamour that maintained a steady flow into the house. There was no one to say goodbye to, except Mr. Herriman if he could muster the courage, and Julie was downstairs. The stage was set.

His bag flying behind him, he dashed out of his old room, slamming the door in his wake, one last time. It felt good. So he stopped and he did it again. He walked away from the wretched place with a manly strut. Suddenly, when Bloo was just about to round the corner, he ran into Dawn's knobby knees with an 'oof'. The soapy water sloshed out of her bucket and just over his head. She took no notice.

"Oh, 'ello, Bloo!" she chirped.

Bloo suddenly realized he would never see her again.

"You know Dawn," he said, "I know I've never been very tolerant of you these past couple years, that sometimes I made you feel worthless, and I just wanted to tell you what I really think of you."

She snorted back tears and a string of spit clung to her exposed teeth.

"Oh, Bloo! That's so sweet!"

He cringed.

"Yeeeeeah…Dawn?"

Her eyes shined.

Bloo exhaled deeply.

He opened his mouth --tension swelled—he was going to speak. She squirmed.

Bloo said with most sincerity and thought:

"….I hate you. Really. Bye now."

If this was a movie and there was background music, the record skipped.

"B-BUH?" she stammered.

Bloo waved a dismissing hand.

"No-no…bye now!"

"But—"

"Bye-bye!"

In one direction, Bloo went skipping merrily to his new life. In the other went a sobbing Dawn. Of course he was too wrapped up in this personal appraisal to notice. Some things never change.

He saw the pair who'd whispered about him in the hall yesterday and a sly grin crossed over his features.

That morning he went to half of the friends at Fosters, reenacting the scene with Dawn.

First floor: "I hate you."

Second Floor: "You suck."

Third floor: "You smell bad."

Fourth floor: "You're fat."

Fifth floor: "Haircut maybe?"

'You did it, old boy!' his spirits chimed, 'Give 'em hell!'

He did it to such excess that by the time he stopped, Bloo realized he was in the exact opposite side of the house in which he wanted to be. Not to mention he was in the very top floor of the house.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

"Shit!" he swore, smacking himself in the forehead. His curse echoed through the halls.

He realized just then how empty this place really was.

Feeling that he was the last living soul on this earth, he began to walk again. No one had been on the sixth floor since Madame Foster died, not even to clean. The floorboards groaned under his feet and the wallpaper was peeling off, exposing the wood beneath. He left footprints in the thick layer of particles that coated the floor.

Floor six was once as alive and vibrant as the rest of the house, not long ago in the grand scope of world events, a blink. But for Bloo it seemed like a lifetime. But nonetheless it was surreal how it seemed to have fallen apart.

He came to a halt in front of a large black door, the paint chipping away with weather and time, it's bold face framed by an elegant but faded violet trim. The air became very still just then. A cold streak of uneasiness slithered down his back. The house's foundation moaned in an orgasmic way, as if it was having bad dreams.

A dry chill swept through the corridors as he stood alone.

It was the door to the high tower.

But...what did he have to loose?

Bloo pushed the door open gently. The hinges squealed in protest as its maw swung open, the dim light from the halls creating a slim shaft of light. Bloo slipped in quietly.

"Um…Mr…Mr. Herriman?" he called meekly.

He heard mumbling from the deep.

He stepped farther into the abyss, the house shifting, antiques covered in cobwebs silhouetted against the pale wallpaper, as cold and still as the Madame in her grave. Small specks of dust danced like forgotten demons in the only source of light in the room: a great bay window covered with sheer curtains eaten away at the bottoms by moths. The air of this room was something ancient, something sacred, fragile, like the ivory keys of a piano or faded silk. But in being so old and delicate the place was frightfully eerie.

This place was haunted ground, thick with the stench of death and superstition.

It was a small wonder no one came up here anymore.

In the milky light from the big bay window sat a hunched old creature in an oak chair, facing away from the morning sun.

"Mr. Herriman?" Bloo said again, advancing.

It was indeed Mr. Herriman.

He was not the grand old creature he had once been, however. His mustache was very long and wispy, overgrown, his fur shabby, as were the clothes that were slowly decaying on his withered body. His gnarled hands gripped the arms of the chair like it was salvation as he sat on his throne. When Madame Foster died, he, in spirit, died with her. In the church on the far side of town lay in the unforgiving soil one body, one grave but two souls. No longer the beacon of law he had been when his girl was alive, he retired to the tower room to collect spider webs.

"Hippity….hippity hoppity…hoppity…hippity," me mumbled. His dead eyes stared into empty space.

"Mr.Herriman?" Bloo said once more, reaching to touch his hand. Mr. Herriman snatched it by the wrist, his vice-like hand wound around it with unearthly strength.

"M-MR. HERRIMAN!" Bloo cried trying to wrench it away.

There was a sound similar to breaking wood.

The hand shattered, bloodless.

The broken pieces fell to the floor in soft thuds as Bloo shrieked.

"AHHHHHHH! SON OF A BITCH!" cried Bloo, scrambling away from the fragments of the hand.

Mr. Herriman looked at him. It stopped his heart mid-beat.

"This is what happens," he sputtered, thick spittle oozing from his dry mouth. "This is what happens, finally…"

He got up out of the chair and staggered towards Bloo, crumbling away before his very eyes.

"…don't loose it, what you have. You think it's gone but…I am what happens when it is gone!"

He extended his withered arm, rusted joints moving in spasams, so close to Bloo's rattling form that he could almost feel his fingertips touch his flesh.

"You and I are different…you have it….I don't…whatever happens, and things will happen…don't loose it…"

Mr. Herriman began to fall on top of Bloo but before he did, his body dispersed into a cloud of shimmering light. Bloo slammed his back against the door in fear, coughing, eyes burning, as it faded…faded…into dust.

'Don't loose it.'

Bloo bolted out of the room screaming, leaving floor six and the stuff of nightmares behind him.

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"Oh, hey Bloo! What took you so long?"

"God, Julie, don't even ask."

"Ewwww… you're all dusty…"

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B SPEAKS: Sorry for the short chapter, folks. I tried to stretch it but I felt the chapter rightfully ends here. Now, a heads up: I'm going to be in Colorado the week after next so chapter four will most likely be delayed. There is a chance I can borrow a laptop but it ain't looking good. To double it, the week after I'm going back to school…which sucks ass. In lighter news, I'm really looking forward to doing chapter four as it's mostly about Wilt. Of course he's not there in person, but you get the picture. There will be a much later chapter featuring only Ed and Coco as well, just to even things out.

Review or I'll tell Sam to send the Emo Mafia to KILL YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY.