Chapter 4: Curse of the Psycho Ax-Murderer Who Would Not Die!
Author's Note: Once again, thanks to my reviewers! This is the chapter which any of you out there who are leaning a bit towards "Wilt/Frankie" might get some satisfaction, even if it is rather slight. It is actually based on a boyfriend I had in college, a long, long time ago, who just could not help giving out spoilers to movies, since it seemed that he's seen them all, and also upon an old Eddie Murphy stand-up comedy routine from back in his "Saturday Night Live" days, so I have to give him at least some credit!
It was difficult NOT to know what time it was at Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends, downright impossible, as a matter of fact. Old Madame Foster, the home's founder, owner, and grandmother to Ms. Frances "Frankie" Foster, had a thing, it seemed, for clocks. There was, in fact, an entire room on the first floor devoted entirely to clocks, hundreds of them, of nearly every make and description that was possible to fit inside a residence.
It was therefore no surprise to Frankie when eleven O'clock, PM, arrived. What WAS surprising was that she was still there, at the home, period. She and her friends had made plans, earlier that week, to go out to some clubs, but those plans had been abruptly put on hold by Kathie's mom needing emergency gall bladder surgery. Seated at the computer in her room, Frankie sighed, staring at the screen in front of her. She really shouldn't be so down on Kathie's mom; after all, it wasn't like the poor woman developed gall stones on purpose. Still, the thought of having to stay home, on a Friday night, knowing that most of the civilized world was out there having fun, having a real social life, while SHE sat home alone in her room was enough to make any 22-year-old irritated. Even the internet, with the usual chat rooms Frankie liked to frequent, seemed a deserted wasteland tonight. THAT was most likely because all those people were out at clubs and restaurants, or concerts, or whatever other things the rest of the known world did on Friday nights, mused Frankie, somewhat bitterly. Apparently she was the only one stuck at home.
Finally, she decided that the only logical thing to do was to stop fretting over her fate, and, having nothing else to do, go on to bed. She sighed, got up from her chair in front of her computer, and went about the nightly ritual of preparing for bed, changing into a oversized long t-shirt that qualified as a nightgown, and taking down her red hair, which she normally wore pulled up in a ponytail during the day. Lying on her back in bed, Frankie mused on the day she'd just gotten through, and how everything had seemed to go wrong, culminating with her having to confront Bloo over his ridiculous "Evil Genius" get-up, his latest attention-grabbing ploy. She had no idea how a smart, sensitive kid like Mac could have created a Friend like Bloo, but then, a lot of Imaginary Friends didn't turn out as their creators had hoped, which was why many ended up here. She had to admire Mac for sticking by his creation, though, even when he himself was at his wits' end with the little blue trouble maker. Trying to put the whole mess behind her and trying NOT to think about the fact that it was now just eleven-fifteen, and she was at home, Frankie closed her eyes, hoping for sleep.
Sleep was to prove elusive, however. Turning to stare at her bedside alarm clock after what had seemed like an eternity, Frankie was annoyed to see that it was still only eleven-thirty. Well, THIS wasn't getting anywhere! With an exasperated sigh, she threw back the covers, got out of bed, and headed for the kitchen. That's what she needed, a good, steaming cup of hot chocolate; if a problem couldn't be fixed with chocolate, it didn't need fixing.
Moments later, on her way back to her room with the huge mug in hand, Frankie happened to pass by the second-floor TV room, and noticed that the door was slightly ajar. Through the small opening, the tell-tale colorful flicker of ever-changing light could be seen; someone had left the tv set on. Knowing that Mr. Herriman had strict rules about the set being left on overnight, Frankie decided to take the task of switching it off upon herself, rather than have to listen to one of his endless tirades the next morning over breakfast. As she quietly padded into the room towards the tv, though, it became obvious that the tv had not been left on by accident. Someone was watching it; the big sofa in front of the set was occupied, though Frankie was a bit surprised to see who it was. Even though the occupant of the sofa had folded his long legs up against himself, and scrunched down against one arm of the sofa to try and make himself as inconspicuous as possible, his two eyes protruding above the back of the sofa on stalks, only one of which was a real eye, gave him away. Peering over the back of the sofa, Frankie not only was surprised to see that Wilt was up this late watching tv, but that he apparently was alone, sans his usual entourage of Coco, Eduardo, and, most of the time, Bloo.
"Need some company?" Frankie queried, but immediately realized that perhaps she should have made her presence known some other way, before speaking. In a flash, Wilt sprang up off the sofa, sending the large bowl of popcorn he'd had balanced on his lap to the floor, popcorn kernels scattering across the rug, and spun around to face the source of the voice with almost-shocking speed. Frankie herself wasn't quite prepared for such a reaction, and nearly spilled hot chocolate on herself as she, too, jumped a bit, startled.
For a few seconds, the two residents on the house, one human, one not, stared at each other, looks of surprise giving way to "oh, sheesh, am I being silly or what" looks. Wilt was the first to break the silence, after having realized that his popcorn was now decorating the floor.
"Frankie! I am SOOO sorry, I'll clean this up right away! You didn't spill any of your…"
Frankie cut him off, "No, no…Wilt, it's my fault; I shouldn't have startled you like that! No, I didn't spill anything…here, let me help you with that!" With that, she walked over quickly to where Wilt was already down on the floor, picking up popcorn, and placed her mug on the end table next to sofa before dropping down next to him to help, despite his insistence that it was HIS fault and she need not trouble herself with the mess he'd made. "So," Frankie began as the last kernel was finally scooped back into the large plastic bowl, to be disposed of, "whatcha doin' up at this hour, all by your lonesome, hmm?"
Still apparently worried that he'd been caught doing something he wasn't allowed to be doing, Wilt, who had now returned to his seat on the sofa, looked a bit guilty as he tried to explain. "Sorry, I was just…I mean I was only…I didn't know how late it was, sorry…", prompting Frankie to interrupt him again. "Chill OUT, will ya! You know I'm not going to go running to Mr. Herriman and tattle that you're up watching tv!" she chided gently, shaking her head at him. The guy was always so paranoid that he'd break some rule, or make someone angry, it was almost sad. One of the things that Frankie had observed about Wilt over the years she'd known him was that in spite of his good-spirited, happy outlook, he seemed to have some very deep-rooted fear of being abandoned or thrown out. This was no surprise, considering that his creator's family had, in fact, abandoned him. How long he was on his own, or whether or not he received his horrendous injuries before or after that fact, he'd refused to divulge.
"So", Frankie continued, "like I said before, need some company?" She took a seat on the sofa, on the opposite end from the one Wilt was occupying.
He seemed to relax, finally giving her that smile that was his stock in trade. "Well, actually, I'd love to have some company. I mean, I can't exactly run you off after you helped me clean up the mess I'd made, now can I? Oh, and don't forget this," he added, reaching over himself with his one good hand, to pick up the mug of now-not-so-hot chocolate from the end table beside him, handing it to Frankie, "you might wanna go ahead and drink it before it gets too cold".
"Oh, thanks! OK, now what exactly are we watching?'
"OK, this is this REALLY scary movie, 'The Return of the Psycho Ax Murderer Who Wouldn't Die, Part Six'. AND, if you're wonderin'", Wilt continued, apparently anticipating Frankie's next question, "the reason I'm watchin' it alone is because I really didn't want Ed watching it; you know how HE is-panic attacks, keepin' the whole house up for the next week with nightmares-so I waited until everyone else in the room was asleep, then I sorta snuck down here."
Frankie smirked, raising her eyebrow at him. "ED having nightmares and panic attacks, huh? THIS coming from the very same guy who boarded up every door and window in the house, from the INSIDE, locking ME outside in a thunderstorm, after watching a cheesy old movie about a ghost, and THEN nearly wrecking the place bcause you guys were afraid of BLOO?"
Without missing a beat, Wilt had a reply ready in his defense. "Well, I only did that to keep Ed from bein' scared of the, you know, the wind and lightnin' and stuff outside. Anyways, how was I supposed to know Bloo turns white when he's sick; I mean, WHO knew?"
Good one, thought Frankie. "Yeah, SURE you did!"
Wilt had turned his attention back to the tv, leaning forward from his seat. "This move is REALLY scary, like I said-lots of blood and stuff! You see that dude right there? The one with the hat? Now, he's this homicide detective, see, investigatin' all these awful murders, and, OK…watch…this is the good part! No, wait, this ISN'T the good part; this is just where the detective thinks he's found another victim, but it's just this ole' wino dude…"
Frankie held up her hand, interrupting him. "Wait…you've already SEEN this movie? Before?"
"Uh, yeah; I saw it a coupla months ago. Mac brought it over on DVD; I think he said it was his brother's or somethin'. "
"Well, don't you think it would sorta spoil it for ME if you tell me everything that's gonna happen, since I haven't seen it yet?"
Wilt seemed to ponder this for a few seconds. "Oh, well, yeah, I guess it would, wouldn't it? Sorry, I'll try not to give away anything." That said, they both leaned back against the comfortable old sofa. Not more than two minutes went by, however, before Wilt leaned forward again, as the background music onscreen began to intensify, signaling that something was about to happen.
"Now, see that dumpster? All this time, the Psycho Ax Murderer Dude's been hidin' out in that sucker, and now that the detective is gone, he's about to pop out and…"
"WILT! I thought you just said you weren't going to give away what was going to happen! I mean, there's not much point in ME watching this if you're going to just TELL me everything that's gonna happen, right?"
"Oh, sorry! You're right; I did-my bad! Won't happen again, I swear!"
Another space of oh, fifteen seconds crept by, during which, onscreen, the old wino fell victim to the Psycho Ax Murderer from the dumpster, his screams fading out as the movie cut to another scene. A sharp-looking young man was getting out of a car, lugging all sorts of electronic equipment. "Now, THIS dude, " Wilt offered, "THIS dude is some hot-shot psychic investigator or somethin' from some big university, comin' to investigate all these legends about this Ax Murderer that nobody is supposed to be able to kill an' stuff, and HE'S gonna end up…"
"ARRRGGH! Will you just PLEEEASE let me watch the movie without telling me EVERYTHING that's gonna happen? Is that asking TOO much?"
"Frankie, I am SOOO SORRY! It won't happen again, I PROMISE! My lips are sealed, see?" Wilt made a "zipping" motion across his mouth with his one hand. Frankie, however, remained skeptical, wondering how much longer he'd hold out before he burst out with yet-another "spoiler".
This time, Wilt seemed able to hold to his promise, and did indeed remain silent as the movie went on, and the list of victims of the Ax Murderer grew. Subconsciously, Frankie almost wished she could have a LITTLE forewarning of impending violence, and without even realizing it, was scooting closer and closer to her silent companion on the sofa. Onscreen, a young couple, introduced earlier, had arrived at this house out in the middle of nowhere(NEVER a good thing in this sort of movie)for an appointment with a realtor who was trying to sell the house, but the realtor was apparently nowhere around.
"Now, this Ax Murderer-he's not, like, in this house somewhere, is he?" she asked.
"Uhm, no. He's not…WAIT, I thought you said you didn't want me tellin' you stuff that was gonna happen!"
"Yeah, you're right! I did; how stupid of me! Just ignore the question!"
The onscreen scene once more changed, this time to the young psychic investigator from the university exploring some dark and deserted old building, the perspective being shows as though someone was creeping up behind him. Frankie suddenly felt uncomfortable with her feet dangling off the sofa, near the floor, and pulled them up close to her on the seat, wriggling a little bit closer still to Wilt, who was once more scrunching himself up in the corner at the end of the sofa. Frankie indicated the psychic investigator with a motion of her hand. "Now, this guy-is HE gonna die?" Then, she answered herself, irritated, before Wilt could have any chance of responding, "Forget that. Just forget I said it! I KNOW I told you NOT to let me know what was gonna happen, and here I am bugging you about it! Let's – JUST –WATCH- THE-MOVIE!"
No sooner had Frankie made that latest suggestion, than onscreen, out of the shadows, but NOT in the direction that the camera angles had made unsuspecting viewers think it would come, than the blade of an ax sliced sideways, neatly lopping off the head of the unfortunate psychic investigator dude in a spray of scarlet, the camera closing in to reveal a close-up of fountains of special-effects red spurting from the stump of his neck as the body flailed hopelessly about the room.
"OH…UGH!" Frankie buried her face against Wilt's right shoulder. "Why didn't you TELL me that was gonna happen?"
In response, Wilt made slight choking noises, his shoulders shaking slightly. Looking up at him, Frankie was shocked to realize that his shaking was not due to fright, nor to disgust, but to barely-contained laughter.
Incredulous, she was barely able to speak coherently. "Are you LAUGHING at me? You think this is FUNNY?"
Unable to hold back any longer, Wilt burst out with loud laughter this time, bringing his hand sharply down on his knee several times for emphasis. "I'm sorry, Frankie, but that WAS so funny! Yeah, I AM laughin' at you!" he struggled to form intelligible words through all his mirth. "First you were like, 'Now, don't spoil this by tellin' me everything that's gonna happen' ", he continued, raising his voice several octaves in an attempt to mimic Frankie's feminine pitch, "then, you were like, 'OK, is HE gonna die?', THEN, you're like, 'Why didn't you TELL me that was gonna happen', after I had SWORN I wasn't gonna tell you anything else!" With that, he fell victim to yet-another fit of uncontrolled laugher, leaning over the arm of the sofa.
"You STINKER! I can't believe you're making FUN of me!" Frankie grabbed one of the soft decorative pillows that adorned the sofa, flinging it at her still-laughing companion, though she herself was now struggling to keep from laughing at the situation, realizing that Wilt DID have a point, however silly he chose to make it. The pillow bounced harmlessly off the side of his head, falling to the floor, from where it was quickly scooped up by its intended target. Frankie barely had a second for her mind to register that Wilt had grabbed up the small pillow before HE tossed it right back at HER. Grabbing it with both hands just before it hit her nose, she hugged it to her stomach as they both enjoyed a good, stress-reducing laugh, sitting next to each other on an old sofa, in a darkened room, in front of a tv set.
Finally, as the hilarity of the moment gradually wore itself out, Frankie pulled her feet back up next to her on the sofa once more, sighing. They both turned their attentions back to the movie, well, sort of. A slight pang of guilt began to plague Wilt; maybe he SHOULD have given her some sort of warning about the guy getting his head lopped off. He really didn't want to think that Frankie would go to bed scared and upset because of HIM. And he really was out of line laughing at her like that, when she'd clearly been upset.
Turning from the tv to look at her, on the sofa beside him, Wilt spoke softly. "I really am sorry you got so scared, Frankie. I guess I shoulda warned you that was comin' up, even if it would mean breakin' my promise to keep my big mouth shut. And, I really shouldn'ta laughed at you, either; that was just wrong."
"Don't worry about it, Wilt. We both had a good laugh, and after THIS day, I for one needed it!"
"You sure you're OK? I mean…"
"Me? I'm fine."
"You're shivering. You SURE you're OK…you're not scared or anything?"
"What, me? Scared? Naw…well, I guess I am sorta cold. It is getting sorta chilly in here."
Wilt leaned forward, glancing around behind him, where he quickly found a solution to that problem. "Here, sit up a sec," he instructed, reaching around behind Frankie and himself to grab a large, hand-knitted Afghan that was draped over the back of the sofa, pulling it forward. With Frankie's assistance, he managed to get it spread out, finding it large enough to cover them both, and they settled in more comfortably now, to watch the conclusion of the movie. As Frankie leaned in toward him under the cover of the Afghan, Wilt couldn't help but worry that she, in spite of her denial, might still be afraid. Almost instinctively, but slowly and cautiously, as though certain of meeting with objections, he eased his right arm protectively around her shoulders underneath the Afghan. Meeting no resistance, and feeling her relax against his side, he, too, allowed himself to become more at ease.
Snuggled warmly underneath her grandmother's heirloom giant Afghan, the side of her face against Wilt's soft, velvety red fur, Frankie tried to focus on the remainder of the horror flick on the tv screen, but found it harder and harder to force her eyelids to remain open. The sound from the tv set seemed to be growing fainter, further away, the voices becoming more disconnected and separate from the warm, secure feeling that enveloped her, as the screen grew more and more out-of-focus. Gradually, the sights and sounds of the movie became dimmer, eventually replaced by a soft, soothing darkness.
Frankie never did see the conclusion of "The Return of the Psycho Ax Murderer Who Wouldn't Die, Part Six".