A/N: No, I didn't get fried in Oogie's lair and eaten! Still alive! Still updating! (waves at you guys) Thanks ever so much to new followers. You've no idea how much your following means to this story. Merry Christmas and happy almost New Year. Hope you enjoy this new installment! Reviews of any size and shape are craved and much appreciated. Lock, Shock, and Barrel are eager for any feedback on their latest shenanigans. ;)
Poke. Lock growled, swept one hand over his face, and rolled onto his other side. Shock made a protesting noise and pinched Lock in her sleep. Lock grunted and unconsciously pinched back. A short pinching match ensued. When it was over, Lock nuzzled deeper into the pillows, the threat of waking already- poke.
This time, the finger found a bruise. The devil boy's eyes snapped open to an extreme close up of Barrel's face. "WHAT?!"
The skeleton boy withdrew his hand before anything unpleasant could happen to it. "I'm hungry."
Lock fixed the youngest trick-or-treater with a laser-intensity squint of disbelief. "You woke me up for THAT?"
Shock's hat-headed mess of split ends left the pillows. "Why are we yelling?"
"I'm not yelling," Barrel clarified, "Lock is."
"Only 'cuz you woke me up for your stomach."
Within ten seconds of this statement, Lock's stomach made a sound somewhat akin to one that the trio had heard when they'd once tried to put a whole rutabaga down an in-sink garbage disposal. Shock yawned and stretched. As her arms extended over her head, the witch girl's stomach added its complaint. The vote, it seemed, was unanimous: sunrise or no sunrise, it was breakfast time. * * * *
Lock led the way downstairs, testing for creaky steps. Barrel was right behind him. Shock trailed a foot or so behind the boys, rubbing her eyes. Inadvertently, she found a step that squeaked like a dying bat.
Both boys flinched and then rounded on her. "SHHHH!"
"Okay, oKAY," she hissed.
They crept down the stairs and tiptoed into the kitchen. "Do you think that Jack will be mad that we're down here?" Barrel whispered.
Lock glanced back to the stairs, as if the Pumpkin King could be summoned by the utterance of his name. "You saw how mad he got yesterday."
Shock planted a hand on her hip. "He got mad because we cleaned out half the fridge, spilled a bottle of olive oil in the cupboard, and ate the steak that he was planning to have for dinner."
Lock's scowl deepened. "Well, he's touchy anyway."
Shock peeked into the fridge, being careful to block most of the escaping light with her body. "Well, we're his guests now, right? He can't get mad at us for making breakfast-"
"-as long as we don't take too much," Barrel finished, nodding in agreement.
Shock peered into the fridge, her gloom-accustomed eyes squinting against the light. "Let's see… Jack has eggs, fruit, yogurt, sausage, and bacon. What do you guys want?"
The boys looked at each other, uncharacteristically lost for words. That was a question that they'd never heard in the tree house, where the meal choices were making the most out of whatever Shock could put together from what they'd all scrounged up, or waiting until Mr. Oogie got in the mood to brew some snake-and-spider stew.
"Eggs," Lock voted, too soon for Barrel to stop himself from blurting out, "Bacon."
The two exchanged another look and then turned back to Shock. "Omelets," both decided.
Shock practically had to climb into the fridge in order to retrieve the necessary ingredients. "Sounds good."
Her stomach rumbled at the mere thought of the hot, fluffy, end result. Lock's blue lips curled upwards in a predatory grin. Barrel rubbed his chunky hands together in anticipation. The rubbing was abruptly put to a stop when Shock shoved a log of sausage and a block of cheese into his arms. She thrust a package of bacon and a carton of eggs at Lock, effectively turning the devil boy's grin into a scowl. She leaned into the fridge once more and staggered out with a nearly full gallon of milk.
Barrel regarded her with a smidgen of concern. "You got that?"
"I think so," the witch girl grunted.
She struggled over to the counter and set the gallon down on the floor. Once she'd climbed onto a stool, Shock hefted the milk into her arms and strained to lift it onto the counter. The eldest trick-or-treater leaned too far forward, and one of her feet slipped. Before either of the boys could blink, she tumbled off the stool. The lid popped off of the jug as the jug smacked onto the floor. Milk splashed Shock, the stool's legs, the lower portion of the nearest wall, and a good deal of the floor as the jug rolled one and a half turns. It stopped, landed heavily on one side of its handle, and continued to vomit its contents into a rapidly expanding puddle. Shock shook herself and scrambled to right the jug. Lock chortled.
"Shut up!" she hissed.
The short-tempered ginger's eyes snapped. He'd been shushed several times too many. He snatched up the jug and bashed Shock over the head with it. Both stared at the cantaloupe-sized indent that had been made in the plastic.
Barrel peeked over their shoulders. "I think Jack's going to be mad."
"Oh, nice going!" Shock spat. She jabbed Lock in the eye with the jug's cap and stalked back to the counter.
"Hey, I didn't push you off that stool!" Lock hissed, clasping one hand over his reddened eye.
Lock and Shock kept arguing- quietly- as Shock heated up a skillet and got the first ingredients inside it while Lock put away what Shock didn't need and rubbed at the milk mess with a towel that he was stepping on. As they bickered, a movement at the little window above the sink caught Barrel's eye. The skeleton boy tiptoed over and craned to get a better look at the object of his interest. A lean black cat was sitting on the windowsill. As Barrel watched, it tipped its head and raised one paw to pat the glass. Enchanted, Barrel took another stool and climbed into the sink. It took him a couple tries to pry open the window, but he managed.
The cat acknowledged him with a rusty mew and a flick of its tail under his chin. Then it picked its way onto the stool and leapt to the floor. It sniffed the floor and then bent its head to lap at the massive spill.
"Huh," Barrel said to himself, "Problem solved."
Once it had drunk its fill, the cat wound itself around the legs of Shock's stool and gazed expectantly up at the aromatic skillet.
Lock noticed. "I didn't know Jack had a cat."
Shock half-turned from her skillet. "Huh?"
It was at that moment that Zero drifted into the room. His eyes locked onto the cat's. The ghost dog's eyes narrowed and his pumpkin nose wrinkled. The cat's ears flattened against its head and every hair on its body bristled so they stuck out like bits of straw. Zero growled; the cat peeled its lips back from its tiny crooked teeth and hunched its back so high that it nearly had to balance on its toes. With a piercing, pugnacious, "WHUFF!", Zero lunged. Emitting an eardrum-rending howl, the cat tore across the tile floor like a furry rocket. By now, the unfolding drama had Lock and Shock's full attention. A screeching black tangle of gangly limbs and a furiously barking white blur careened into the living room.
Somewhere around the third crash, lights came on upstairs. Jack jogged downstairs, taking the steps ten at a time. As he hurried into the kitchen, Sally rounded the top of the stairs. Clutching a handmade robe patterned with spirals, the gentle ragdoll hobbled down as fast as she could.
"Zero!" Jack called, "Heel!"
Zero looked back at his master and whined, tipping his head towards his quarry as if to say, Just five more minutes?
The cat wasted no time taking advantage of the moment of distraction. It lunged from the top of the couch, clawed its way down Jack's skull and spine, and bit Sally when she reached out to comfort it. As smoke chugged out of the omelet pan, the cat hunched forward and puked milk onto the one relatively dry area of tile. Then it jumped into the sink, knocked over a bottle of dish soap, and sprang back out the window. * * * *
Jack turned to the trio as the boys crept behind the legs of the stool and Shock held the smoking frying pan in front of her for protection. When the Pumpkin King spoke, it was obvious that he was struggling to keep his voice calm. "Listen, you three- it's five-thirty in the morning and I have to get up in less than two hours. If you're upstairs and out of sight by the count of thirteen, we can deal with this mess later."
He turned his back, closed his eyes, and silently counted. When he turned around again, the three were gone. * * * *
Shock locked the guest room door, then helped Lock and Barrel barricade it with the chaise lounge. The three slumped to the floor.
"I'm still hungry," Barrel mumbled, hugging his empty stomach.
"Oh, shut up," grumbled Lock.