Henry had entered a short corridor, and in the room just a few steps ahead, he could hear something strange, like someone trying to hawk a really big loogie. "What the hell is that noise!" he irritably demanded as he entered the room. He found himself to be in a kitchen, festively furnished with streamers strung from the light fixture above the table, on which sat a not-so-colorfully decorated cake and a bottle of champagne among other things. No, it wasn't a party thrown in celebration of the fiftieth use of the H-word, it looked more like it was intended for a birthday party. Ignoring the blandly-colored accoutrements, Henry made his way around the table, where he found the source of the funky noise to be a figure lying prone on the floor. It was like a rather lanky man wearing a green sweatshirt, and he was soiled with a copious amount of dirt from head to toe. Not only that,he seemed to be pinned down by a blade with a poorly-crafted hilt stuck in his gut.

The figure suddenly stopped hawking as soon as it noticed Henry. "All right!" he rasped. "Finally, someone to help me out!" He gestured to Henry. "You! Would you mind pulling this thing outta me?" Henry regarded him in bewilderment.

"How can you still be alive if you've got that thing shoved through you?" He had a sudden thought. "Saaay," he said, suddenly suspicious, "you wouldn't happen to be one of those spookables I've read about lately, are you?" The figure hesitated.

"Uhhh…" he stammered, "whatever gave you that idea?" Henry examined the sword impaling the figure.

"I find this thing in your gut matches the description of a thingy that's supposed to hold ghosts down." The figure got shifty-eyed.

"Well," he said after a moment, "you wouldn't be able to move either if you had this thing sticking through you and into the floorboards!"

"True…" Henry said, thoughtfully considering the figure's argument. "But, I wouldn't need to be held down," he added, "seein' as how I'd be, y'know…dead, and stuff…"

"But I'm not giving you a headache," the figure said. "Ghosts give you headaches, right?" The figure did have a point, though Henry still had some serious doubts about the whole situation. "Look, just do me this one favor," the figure in question said. "I'll give you this key," he added, holding up a key he had been clutching in his hand the whole time. Henry watched, spellbound by the shiny object as the ghost shook it in a hypnotic manner. "So make like King Arthur already!"

"Okay!" Henry said. He fixed his grip on the stupidly-designed hilt and yanked the blade out of the figure's stomach. "Now, gimme m'key!" he said, holding his hand out expectantly.

It was then that the figure rose from the floor and levitated a good several inches above it, revealing himself to be a ghost after all. "SUCKER!" he shouted triumphantly.

"What!" Henry bellowed, outraged that someone would be so treacherous, so malevolent, so impolite as to lie to him! "You tricked me!"

"That's right!" the ghost said. "No key for you!"

"Then I'll just have to take it!" Henry said as he touched the electrodes of his stun gun to the ghost.

ZORCH!

The ghost didn't give any visible reaction. "NO!" Henry shouted. "The batteries can't be dead already…!"

"Fool!" the ghost laughed derisively, feeling empowered by Henry's hapless efforts. "Your high-voltage weapon is useless against me! Now, feel the wrath of my migraine-inducing ill will!" Henry's countenance quickly turned from devastation to bemusement as he stood there, looking at the backstabber floating before him. "Come on!" the ghost said. "Don't you feel the slightest thing!"

"Well, I do feel something warm vibrating in my pocket," Henry said as he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his large Tylenol tablet, which was radiating a strange, pulsating aura as it shuddered in his hand.

"Well, damn…" the ghost said disappointedly. "I guess that explains why I'm getting the unbearable throbbing sensation in my head…" Henry looked at the ghost.

"You are?" he ventured. The ghost threw its arms out in frustration.

"Are you kidding!" he shouted. "I feel like I've got a hell of a hangover!" He shook his head as though he actually thought that would lessen the intense throbbing in his skull. "Well, screw it!" he said. "I'll just do this the old fashioned way!" With that, he floated right up to Henry and bit him.

"OWWW!" Henry shouted as the ghost sank its teeth deep into his chest. He struggled until he finally dislodged the ghost from his being and roughly shoved it away. The ghost, however, was not deterred.

"Hey, lemme bite ya!" he said as he renewed his advance.

"Sorry, I don't swing that way!" Henry replied as he wound up for a charge hit with his pipe. "I swing this way!" And with that, Henry let fly on him with a massive blow that knocked the ghost back and sent it flying through the wall, leaving a big patch of black, viscous goop on the surface.

Henry approached the stain on the wall and, upon closer examination, found the key the ghost had been holding was now stuck in the middle. This made sense, seeing as it was an actual solid object and, therefore, incapable of phasing through walls. "I'll take that!" he said as he snatched the key. He got some of the sludge on his fingers as he did, and it gave him some rather interesting sensations. "It kinda feels tingly there…" he noted. "Oh wait a minute, it's stinging! It STINGS! IT STINGS!" Henry proceeded to run around and scream bloody murder at the pain searing his fingers until, after a moment, the sludge vanished without a trace. Anyway, after pocketing his newly-acquired key and the funky-looking sword he'd pulled out of the ghost, he decided to be on his way before anything else happened to piss him off.

He approached the exit, but when he tried the doorknob, it wouldn't turn. It was locked. "Now how the hell am I supposed to get through!" He then remembered and reached into his pocket. "Da key!" he said with emphasis as he held up said object. He then used the key to unlock the door, allowing him to finally open the door. He was about to pass through when he froze in his tracks, having apparently remembered something all of a sudden. He turned back and approached the table, where he took the champagne bottle, removed the cork and took a large swig before setting it back down and exiting the room.

He then found himself in a deep shaft in the building's interior, the perimeter lined by what looked like a fire escape and construction scaffolding. The first thing he noticed was a strange droning noise, something like a cross between a stomach churning and flatulence. He followed the noise to a wall that looked like a White Claudia trip captured on canvas in white and red and various shades of electric pink. It was on this work of modern art that he found the apparent source of the noise: a bunch of what looked like Graboidites slithering about on the wall, except unlike those from the prison, these were pinkish, and un-segmented. Of course, Henry didn't care; they all smooshed the same. "All right! More free kills!" he rejoiced as he swatted the Graboidites off the wall and onto the walkway. "Here comes my foot!" he announced as he brought the heel of his boot crashing down on top of the slug-like creatures, smearing their strawberry-flavored innards all over the walkway. He continued his massacre of the defenseless Graboidites, right down to the very last one. It was when he knocked the last one off the strange work of art that the churning, flatulent buzzing noise finally stopped. "So much for your rude bodily functions!" Henry taunted as he dispatched the last survivor writhing on the ground. "That'll teach you to fart in my general direction!"

"Hey, party crasher!" a familiar voice shouted at him from behind. Henry turned around to see a familiar-looking figure floating up to him.

"Oh, it's you," Henry said as the Tylenol tablet in his pocket began to react to the ghost's aura. "What do you want?"

"To know what you're doing harassing the local wildlife!" the ghost spat. "That'd be nice!" Henry backed away from the ghost as it menacingly encroached on him.

"What, are you some sort of park ranger, or something?" he demanded.

"No," the ghost replied, "but I figured that was as good an excuse as any to kick your ass!"

"Not if I kick yours first!" Henry said, winding up a charge hit. "TASTE THE RUST!" he shouted as he unleashed another broadside on the ghost's head, laying it flat just long enough for him to make a break for it the rest of the way down the fire escape, where he passed through a door at the bottom.

He was now in a short alley, completely enclosed within four brick walls that only allowed him to advance left, an eerie red glow cast on the confined space by a red light on what looked like a fuse box on the wall at the end of the alley to the left. It seemed the only way out was a door just to the left on the wall Henry was facing, so the next course of action was a no-brainer, even for him.

Unfortunately, he soon realized that he was far from safe, for upon assessing the situation, his Tylenol tablet started reacting again as a familiar-looking black splotch appeared on the wall beside the door. "Guess who's back!" the petulant ghost shouted as he pulled himself out of the gunk on the wall.

"Not you!" Henry answered as he pummeled it to no end once more with his pipe, keeping it at bay just long enough to reach the door, which he immediately ducked through. He was safe for the moment, but one thing was made annoyingly clear to Henry: his pipe would only do so much against the ghosts, and that obviously wasn't going to cut it in the long run. Henry made this observation with one pointed comment. "I'm gonna need a bigger bludgeoning implement," he said.

He found himself standing in what looked like a storage room, with shelves strewn haphazardly about. They didn't have much on them, but one of them had a strange, flesh-colored mat laid out on it, which Henry only took passing notice of, though not visually. "What…the…hell…?" he said. "Something reeks! It's so bad I just got possessed by William Shatner!" He decided not to hang around and made his way over to the door just ahead on the right. Inside, he found himself in what looked very much like a small sporting goods store. The selection seemed rather limited, though, and aside from that, the place was a mess. It looked like it had either been the site of another soccer hooligan brawl, or a wild after-Super Bowl party had gotten out of hand there.

The first thing that Henry found was a number of bats lined up against the opposite wall. "Sweet deal!" he said as he strode up and took a bat. He was sorely disappointed to find it was only plastic. "Dammit!" he shouted. "Dammit, dammit, DAMMIT!" He was frustrated so much that he started beating a broken shelf nearby with the bat. "Damn wiffleball! And damn whoever came up with the wretched game!" Once the bat was bent beyond repair from several impacts against the broken shelf (which sustained no damage from his tantrum), he flung it down and kicked it across the floor.

Henry decided to take a moment to calm down, and looked around the store for anything else that might be useful. He noted the layout as he scoped out the store. There were some broken shelves, the row of plastic bats leaned against the wall, a bin of volleyballs, some shirts with the words "Crappy Crickets!" on them hanging up on display in the back, and a number of golf bags lined up along the wall. And, right beside the door he'd entered through, was a Hole.

He wandered about the shop for the purposes of making his search relatively thorough. Unfortunately, most of the golf bags were empty, and the only one that wasn't only had broken golf clubs. When he started toward the other side of the store, he stepped on something that rolled beneath his boot, taking his feet with it as they suddenly slipped out from underneath him. This resulted in Henry demonstrating himself to be a prime example of unparalleled grace as he fell flat on his back and nearly killed himself.

Immediately he bolted upright, intent on punishing whatever inanimate object dared to make him look foolish when, lo and behold, his eyes fell upon another golf club lying on the badly scuffed linoleum floor. "Well, at least I found something," he shrugged, his anger quickly dissipating as he stood to his feet and took up the golf club to inspect. It was a 5-iron. "All right!" he said, thrilled at having found another golf club he hadn't yet added to his collection. "I think I'll dedicate a song to my new 5-iron," he said. Then, after clearing his throat, he raised the club above his head and started swinging it around as he marched around the store and began to sing, which couldn't really be described as singing so much as shouting at the top of his lungs.

"When I go out
I play in the street
I get hit by cars
I make mashed potatoes
I get hit by CARS!"

Henry froze in his tracks when his foot bumped into something heavy, and when he looked down, he saw a bat rolling on the floor. He would've dismissed it were it not for the weight he felt, and the noise he distinctly recalled hearing when his foot struck it: the unmistakable ring of metal. Filled with new hope, he immediately took up the bat and found it was notably cool to the touch, and the fact that it did indeed have considerably more weight than its plastic brethren confirmed that it was indeed made of good ol' solid aluminum. "Yeeeeeeeeeah!" he said, giving his new weapon a few practice swings. "Now we're talkin'!" Now that he had something a bit more substantial with which to hit things, he decided the time had come to retire his pipe of destruction and made his way over to the Hole.

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Henry woke up and got out of bed. First of all, he breathed deep and felt as the invigorating air of his room soothed the bruises he'd sustained in his numerous sorties against the marauding Rubber Heads and that obnoxious ghost. Once his health gauge was full, he dashed out of his room. The first thing he did was to proceed into the living room and straight to his storage chest of infinite capacity to manage inventory, which was pretty much a snap. After depositing his pipe and the stupid sword, he went about the usual business of stalking the neighbors. "Let's see what's showing this time on Peephole Theater…" he said as he approached the door.

He peered through the peephole and saw Frank Scanderlund out in the hall, raising his voice and waving his arms all around. Yet another argument in the public domain of the hallway, as was usual for South Sootfield Heights. Henry would've loved to stay and watch, but not being able to make out what was being shouted depreciated the experience and made it rather dull. All he could figure was that, judging by how much Frank was flailing his arms, he was probably having an argument with an aerobics instructor or something."All right then," he said, deciding to switch observation posts. "Let's go and see what's on the Irene Channel."

He went over to the hole in his wall, where he knelt down and looked into Irene's room, where he saw Irene sitting on her bed and watching the tube again. She sure was gasping a lot at irregular intervals. Either she was easily startled by horror movies, or she had a case of the hiccups. Henry realized it was probably the latter at one moment when she momentarily turned away and grunted in disgust.After a few moments of this, something elsewhere suddenly caught Irene's attention, and she sprang off the bed and dashed out of the room.

Being that there was apparently nothing left to see at the moment, Henry then returned to his bathroom again, and crawled back through the Hole into the alternate world…
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Hell Count: 4
Total Hell Count: 53

A/N: Big bonus points to anyone who knows why Henry picked that particular song to dedicate to his golf club. And as for what Henry should've seen through the peephole, don't worry, I'm getting to that…