As Bart learned that night, Terri's favorite movie was the obscure Witchfinder General. Considered one of legendary actor Vincent Price's nastiest portrayals, Bart found the movie rather boring over all. He expected more blood and guts. However, Terri remained on the edge of the couch through the entire run time, tightly holding on his hand. The gruesome subject of witch trials was one of personal interest, since it was so interwoven with the stories of the women of her family passed down.

With the credits on the screen, she leaned over onto Bart. "Oh, it makes my toes curl every time," Terri said, misty eyed. "There is something so titillating about being at the mercy of the Witchfinder in his dungeon."

"Anyone ever tell you, you are kind of freaky?" Bart asked playfully, having accepted that some girls were just weird.

Terri rested the side of her head on his shoulder. "Scared?" It was not a serious question. He was pretty freaky himself.

"Nah, it's hot," Bart replied absent-mindedly, still deciding how he felt about the movie. He had been promised torture, and while there was torture, it was lacking by comparison of modern flicks he enjoyed. "Just don't expect me to dress up like some fancy man and poke you with a poker."

He jerked his hand to emphasize his point. Terri laughed at the mental visual of him in such a ridiculous garb. "Ahhh, but you will burn me at the stake?"

"Uh, I'd have to. Witches like you are dangerous."

She clapped her hands. "Yay!" Her enthusiasm dampened seconds later. "Can I let you in on a secret?"

"Shoot."

"Normally, I skip that scene with Sara. It … uh, makes me really uncomfortable."

At first, this admission surprised Bart, whose eyes crossed. He was a hormone-riddled teenage boy, but after some neurons fired off and formed proper connections, he felt like he understood her. "We could have skipped it."

"We could've, but then you would figure out that there are things that freak me out." Appearances were everything in high school; Terri had a mask that needed to be upheld, even with her boyfriend.

Jumping up and dancing away from her, Bart gasped, horrified. "Impossible!" He ran to the basement window, standing on tiptoes to see out. "Nope! Pigs aren't flying!" He looked back at her. "But that can't be! It would be a cold day in hell, when a Mackleberry admits she has feelings!"

His comedic performance caused Terri to snort, and once she had started, she could not stop. Like an excited piglet, she half snorted, half laughed, with her cheeks turning a bright red. Holding her stomach, she slid off the couch onto the floor, trying to catch her breath. "My… chest… hurts," she wheezed, another snorting fit overtaking her.

Bart plopped down onto the floor. "Your only weakness."

Finally able to breathe again, Terri inhaled deeply. "It's true." She pinched at his cheek. "I have always laughed at your dumb jokes."

She felt his fingers get caught in a gnarl of thick, crunchy hair. By now, she had perfected the art of hairspray and was going through three cans of the stuff a week. "Can I tell you my horrible secret?" He asked.

"I do love secrets." She and her sister used to dabble in rumour-mongering; their skills were now focused on those outside of their clique.

Bart leaned in close. Terri shivered, feeling his breath against her ear. "I don't like seeing you upset." He patted his breast for emphasis. "Makes this damn thing act up. So next time we can skip whatever you want."

Terri flashed a smile. "Jerk, you have no business upsetting my heart. I'm of weak constitution, you know? What if I die?"

"Easy. I chuck you into the woods and let the wolves carry you off."

"Pfft. Lame. That's a waste of a good corpse." Terri's eyes glittered with macabre excitement; "I recommend taxidermy instead. But really, whatever you do, make sure Sherri gets my head so she can graft it onto her body."

Pretending to write, Bart said, "Keep the head, got it." He looked up at the clock above the television. "Damn, eleven already? That was a long movie."

"It's time!" Terri got up, walking over to the window. "Ohhh, it's a beautiful crescent tonight." She pointed to the stairs. "Can you get the basket in the fridge? I wanna change."

"Aye, cap'n. Barket in the fridge."

By the time Terri emerged from her house, she found Bart hunched over with a hand behind his back. Giving his best grandpa impression, he said, "I've waited two-hundred years…"

"Sorry, I had to reapply my eyeliner," she explained. "How do I look?"

If Bart possessed the vocabulary, he might have waxed poetically on about how her the blackened wings around her eyes combined with a bronze-toned eyeshadow gave Terri the appearance of an ivory doll. Or how the jet black, fluffy mourning dress gave made her look like a silk laden skeleton.

But thanks to the corset underneath, giving her a perfect hourglass silhouette, Bart bit his lower lip. "Pretty." He was truck by how her normal bow was replaced with a black rose that connected to a headpiece and veil that covered her eyes. "How can a chick wearing more clothes be so hot?"

"Tsk, tsk. Terri clicked her tongue, giving a cute twirl. "Because I am making your imagination work harder." She covered her mouth with her hand. "I'll give you a little hint—what is underneath matches the top."

"Underneath?" Bart repeated, then it dawning on him he tugged on his shirt's collar. "I see. You are really showing me up here."

"Nonsense. Right now, all a good zombie minion needs a pair of tight pants," Terri said with a dismissive wave. "But in the future, we will have to address your wardrobe. A Lord of the Dark must compliment his mistress."

"Kekekek, of course, mistress. Bargo aims to please." He twitched.

"Excellent now…" Terri offered her hand. "Would you please escort me to the cemetery? I long for the comforts of family."

"Kekeke. Right this way," Bart said, hunching over to sell his role, "but if it is not too much trouble. I'd like to swing by a friend of ours and see if his birdbath is intact."

Due to the increase in hooligans trying to make off with his precious birdbath, former elementary school principal Skinner had gone to great lengths to convert his backyard into the suburban equivalent of Fort Knox. From the wooden fence that lined the property, rows of razorwire lead to the coveted birdbath.

To address this challenge, Bart used a spare jacket to crawl underneath, protecting himself these sharp strips of wire. However, getting through the minefield was another matter, but he knew what to do; patio stones set on top of the trigger mechanism would prevent the mines from exploding.

Watching this impossible mission through the second story blinds was Gary Chalmers, who had to respect the tenacity of the boy. When Bart activated the laser grid defence system, Gary opened the window and leaned against the seal. "Fourth time this month, huh, Bart?"

"Mhmm." Bart grunted as he rolled underneath the swinging garden sheers. His goal was within reach. There was just one tiny problem; he had failed to bring a jackhammer. Seymour had taken care to secure the base of his birdbath in a patch of concrete, almost six feet deep.

But that would not stop Bart from trying. Chalmer glanced over and saw Terri lingering in the shadows at the edge of the defense system. He waved. "Nice night to be out, isn't it, Miss Mackleberry?"

"Quite bewitching," Terri replied. "Why are you still up, Mr. Chalmers?"

"This is usually is the best way to check on our former students. It is so nice to see you both are applying yourselves toward getting into college."

"Eh, my plan is to be committed by the time I am thirty. Three square meals a day and a nice padded room."

Unable to get the birdbath to budge, Bart was forced to give up his quest yet again. As he groaned, wiping his brow of sweat, he heard a distinctive ha. Standing on the porch, cigarette between her lips, was his former elementary school teacher, Edna. Her white bathrobe was cinched at the waist, leaving little to the imagination. "Nice try, Bart. But that thing survived Dolph, so unless you got a couple of cherry bombs, it's going to survive your lanky arms."

Her presence was a surprise for sure. "Miss K? When did you take Seymour back?" Bart asked.

As if the reunion could not get any stranger, the legendary Vietnam veteran, Skinner himself, stepped out from the backdoor. His bunny slippers padding softly on the wooden porch. "Fight all you want, Simpson. But Herman and I tested an M79 on that thing. Did not budge an inch."

An audience called for one last proper try, so Bart strained against the stone. "Maybe if I…" He muttered, laying flat on his back and pushing with both legs. That to failed. One to quit when beaten, Bart raised both hands into the air. "Okay, Seymour. You win this round."

Skinner beamed proudly. It was not every day he beat his most daring rival. "On the board at last, then? What does that make it? Four to one?"

"Five to two, actually," Terri corrected, stepping into the moonlight, "you sprayed him with those that time."

Edna puffed a ring of smoke, amazed that the two were still together. She had observed secretly supported Terri's desperate but often endearing attempts to get Bart's attention in class. "I know I told you to grab a man and to not let go, but honestly, Sherri. I think you might want to let go of this one."

"Nah, Bart's sweet. And otherwise, I might find myself forty and having a weird threesome with my coworkers," Terri teased with a toothy grin.

"That reminds me," Skinner said, revealing a super soaker he had prepped for such an attack. "Get off my lawn, you punks!" He opened fire with a stream of water, causing Bart and Terri to flee in a combination of maniacal laughter and fearful cries.

Chalmers smiled as they climbed back over the fence. "Good kids. Stupid, but they are good kids." He looked down. "And you two were worried they'd make a big deal out of it. I tell you both, it's a new decade."

Springfield cemetery sat across the bridge on the upper class side of town. Surrounded by tall, wrought-iron gates, it was subject to plenty of local superstitions regarding ghosts and hidden treasures. Overgrown mausoleums were the subject to childish dares as they often were opened just enough to beckon curious children to their doom. Smatterings of orange leaves covered the cobble path that led between the cracked and decaying graves; much to Terri's delight.

She kicked them into the air as they bathed in the foggy atmosphere that had settled upon the grim location. Trees creaked in a haunting breeze, crows cawed from gnarled branches that scraped above the couples' heads, and cloaked by shadows figures watched from the crevasses of the broken stone.

"The dead sure like to keep things lively," Bart remarked.

"They are often the best conversationalists," Terri said, and like many times before, he was not sure how serious she was. They stopped in front of the familiar monument to the Flying Hellfish; the fightingness battalion in the army, as some would claim. A redfish flexing his burgeoning biceps was engraved on its stone surface.

Bart paused, giving a salute. "Sure miss you, old man." His Grandpa had passed away shortly after Bart's thirteenth birthday.

He lingered, but Terri could tell he did not want to talk about it, so after a few seconds of contemplative silence, they moved on. Stepping into the historical section of the graveyard marked a change in the overall atmosphere around them. Here was where the oldest families in town were buried, most notable of which were the Burns. Whose particular plot continued to expand, overtaking all those around it, resulting in the Mackleberry graves being pushed to the very edge of the cemetery.

Even though they were ignored by Gravetender Billie, these headstones were meticulously maintained by Jerri's mother, who refused to let their family's history be suppressed. Each grave was a pair with two plots set close together; most were already filled with each stone having the same brass medallion draped over top. On its worn surface was an emblem depicting a fish from a primordial time, unknown to the phylum of the modern day. This creature sat at the top of three curved perpendicular lines that ended in a circle.

Curious, Bart knelt, reading the one closest to him. "Erri Mackleberry. 1803 to …" The second date had been scratched out by a large claw mark. "Prostitute. An unsexed female, she copulated with beasts."

Terri stopped smoothing out the navy blue blanket had brought and expelled a curt, indignant breath as she said, "Complete slander. Mamyáki-dey Erri was a nurse and a damn good one. Charles Burns was an obsessive creep who thought he could buy her." Angered, she repeated, "Unsexed female. Give me a break that is code for 'won't have sex with me.'"

"Burns? As in Mr. Burns' dad?"

"Grandfather, I think. Mean old coot likes to think his clan has been here the longest, but Jebediah Springfield himself wrote about encountering my family's wagons on the road," Terri said proudly, as she sat down cross-legged; "we may not have settled here specifically first, but we were in the region decades before Burns' ilk."

She tapped the basket, indicating with her eyes for him to sit. Bart complied. "God, you are so hot when mad."

"Shush!" Terri laughed, embarrassed. She covered her face with both hands. "Sherri thinks I care too much, but I am so sick of those gazhe at the Historical Society telling us how we should feel about our family." She took a deep breath, calming herself. Peeking from between her fingers, she said, "Anyway. Tonight is not about them."

Bart was already laying out everything for the banquet. "I'd say. Did you make this?" He asked, opening a glass jar of blood pudding. "Smells good." It was set next to the deviled eggs, grapes and the finest peanut butter and jelly sandwiches money could buy.

"Yeah, Dey's got all kinds of recipes written inside of the cabinet," Terri answered, handing over a plastic spoon. "So I gave it a try. Hope it tastes good."

She did not need to hope. Bart was already shoveling a scoop into his mouth. Food was food, and he was not one to be picky. "Yum. That blood really gives it a zing."

"Paprika."

"Whatever, it's good," he said between mouthfuls. "So what's the beef with Burns? You and Sherri were ready to fight Mr. Hurlbut."

All in all, it had been an exciting field trip. Terri pointed at a grave to his left. It was marked with the word prostitute. "Mr. Hurlbut claims the Burns never harassed Ferri or our family. But that just isn't true. She drove his Great Great Grandfather mad with lust." Terri took a sip of chilled lemonade from a thermos; "his obsession caused him to lobby local officials to see us stripped of citizenship due to blood quantum laws."

"Bit of a trend. You ladies seem real good at driving poor bastards mad." Bart winked at her. "Speaking from experience."

"Bába Derri says it is because after certain kinds of men fall for our pretty faces; they decide it is their God given right to own us." She looked up from her pudding, realizing a smattering at gotten on her nose, Terri dabbed it away with a napkin. "It doesn't work. You can't take a Mackleberry away from her family."

Bart opted to lie on his side, resting his head in his hand. Beneath the moon's glow, he found Terri's pallid face worthy of a portrait and regretted not having his sketchbook. "And how does it work when a Mackleberry tries to steal a man from his family?"

"I believe you came willingly." She flashed a smile. "Consider yourself lucky. Some idiots, like a certain sister of yours, keep telling me I could do better."

"Can you?"

"Hello! Crush remember?" Terri replied, stroking a finger across her neck. "It's not like I get a say in it." She crawled over to him and leaned into his stomach, guiding his free hand so it could rest on her thigh. "Not that I am complaining; you are a cute boy, Bart Simpson."

Every time she used his full name, Bart got goosebumps without fail. This one was no exception, as the hairs on his arm stood up straight. "Dude, lemme tell you. That loofa made a difference for my acne." He noticed a faint scent of rose petals. "Perfume?"

"Borrowed it from Sherri. Do you like it?"

He gave a proper sniff. "Hmmm, reminds me of those fancy soaps mom hides from Homer." Bart smacked his lips. "Wonder if it tastes as good."

"Oh…" Terri decided it was better to not get sidetracked on that specific tangent. "Um, actually, there is another reason I wanted to come out tonight."

A thin bead of sweat formed on Bart's forehead. "Crap. Is this the part where your zombie aunties drag me to hell?"

"Now that you mention it, I was going to transform into a space mutant." Terri shifted so she could face him. Pressing the tips of her fingers together, she said, "But now I'd rather we practice kissing again."

"To think you've learned to ask," Bart teased, pushing himself into a sitting position. "Did we really need to come all the way out to ole boneyard to kiss though?"

"Can you think of a nicer place?" Terri motioned to her deceased relatives. "And maybe a girl likes an audience."

"I mean—" Bart did not get to finish since she leaned forward, their lips meeting in the middle. Their inexperience became apparent as he kept trying to find somewhere appropriate to place his hands.

"Don't overthink it. I just like being touched," Terri whispered, trying to keep her calm. "Especially by you …"

They remained linked for some time, laid up atop one of her relative's grave. Mary Shelley would have been proud. Through an impressive display of poor coordination, their practice session was derailed when Bart got himself hopelessly tangled in the folds of her dress. He struggled only a second before accepting his fate. "So this is the end…"

He chewed on the fabric stuck between his teeth. "Don't! A rrusáika was murdered in this!"

"Mmf. Tastes like dead girl," Bart said between bites. Upon being freed, his head smacked against the tombstone. Rubbing the sore spot forming, he looked back. "Who was Cherri Mackleberry?" Unlike the vast majority of the other women buried around them, she was not labeled as a prostitute.

Terri peered over his shoulder. "Dey's sister. She died before Sherri and I were born."

"You know how?"

"Nope. Just that she was studying old ruins in Egypt."

"Is that normal? I thought it was bad luck to separate you guys?"

"Well, she died, so there seems to be some truth to that," Terri said, sitting next to him. "Have I ever told you why Mackleberry's come in pairs?"

"Is it because the only thing better than a Krusty burger with cheese is two Krusty burgers with cheese?"

Terri chomped down on his earlobe, causing him to yelp. "I am not food." She followed the act by nuzzling his neck. "It's a short story. Legend has it our first Macktriarch, C'anerri Mackleberry, was cast out from her original family for being tainted. By what exactly is unknown, but she opted to use her medicinal knowledge to help others. One night, she was accosted by a handsome nobleman who enticed by her beauty, wished to make her his."

Bart shifted, doing his best to listen while also watching a lizard crawl over the top of the tomb. "The utter fool."

"He really was. When she refused, he accused her of practicing witchcraft, as was the style of the time." Terri continued, finding it nice to talk about family history with someone who was interested. Usually Jerri was quick to blow off such a conversation by reminding her youngest of outdated the European side of the clan could be. "Fearing the pyre awaited, C'anerri resorted to a dark ritual and gouged out her eyes as an offering to a being older than the world itself." Pausing, she traced a finger along Bart's chest, causing him to shiver. "Only the elders know what such an agreement entailed, but as if to represent C'anerri's lost eyes, Mackleberry girls are born twins ever since."

"That's pretty darn metal, dude," Bart said, leaning against her. "But is it true?" He was well aware of both twins' penchant for fictitious tales.

Terri shrugged. "I dunno. I'd like to visit the rest of my family in Providence and find out." She smooched his cheek. "There was something else I wanted to do tonight."

Bart's eyes darted to her. "Umm, I don't know if I am ready for anything like that."

She shook her head, assuaging his concern. "Let me see your hand." Terri waited for him to face her, then took his hand in hers. "I want some of your blood."

Now he was paying attention. "Okay, why?"

His wary look caused her cheeks to redden. "I am not being creepy," Terri said, bringing out her necklace. An ornate heart-shaped pendant. "It is for this." She showed that the glass was hollow, a tiny pin used to seal it. "You are very special to me. I want a part of you to treasure."

Bart was not sure how to react to the request, but it was important to her, which was enough for him. "…Alright. I suppose the spit handshakes were getting pretty old."

Terri lit up as if expecting him to say no. "Really!?" He nodded, smiling. She reached over to the picnic basket for a sewing needle she had brought from home. "I already sterilized it." Bart offered his index finger, and she pricked it. He flinched as she squeezed the droplets of blood into her necklace.

The glass heart became a deep shade of crimson before she sealed it. Bart sucked on his finger, watching her return the silvery chain to her neck. However, soon after, he fell unusually silent, unable to meet her soft gaze. "What is wrong?" She asked.

Bart shifted so he could place his back against the cool stone. He took a small bite of blood pudding, chewing. "I don't get it, man."

"Get what?"

"Why you like me," he clarified. His angst was less an innate feeling, but rather the product of a lack of experience with girls. Understandable, given the women in his family had already written him off as a bad seed, preferring to dote on his sisters.

Terri hesitated, making sure she knew exactly what to say. It did not take long, and she moved over to sit next to him. "I already told you. There isn't some magical answer. I just do, okay?"

Bart fidgeted again, his hands occupying themselves with a tear in his jeans. "Yeah, but why?" He repeated. "No one else seems to. Homer and mom always act like they'd be happier if I weren't around."

His dysfunctional home life was no secret around town. It did not take long for Terri to settle on her answer. I admire spontaneity."

"Big word."

"You don't wait around for things to happen; you do what feels right in the moment regardless of what others think," Terri explained. It was the exact opposite for her. Being raised with sameness espoused as a virtue, she never got to define herself by her own merits but instead by Sherri's achievements. She offered a relaxed shrug, and quoted H. P. Lovecraft's poem Fact and Fancy. "How dull the wretch, whose philosophic mind; disdains the pleasures of fantastic kind."

Bart remained still as he pieced together what she saying. Slowly, though, a serene sense of calm flooded his body, and he wrapped both arms around her. "You are one cool chick."

"Oh, I know." Terri snorted, sinking into his embrace. "And don't forget it. Because—"

A camera flash interrupted her, causing them both to jolt. From behind a nearby statue, Martin Prince revealed himself. "Gazooks! Who would have thought my little quest to document Springfield's best and brightest would have such a steamy conclusion." He snapped another photo of their doe-eyed expressions. "This discovery is sure to be front page news."

Terri offered her middle finger. "Ah, come on. That picture won't be any good; use this one instead." She threw her leg across Bart's lap and kissed him, exaggerating every single noise as her tongue scraped at the back of his throat. As another flash occurred, she let out a breathy moan to conclude the performance.

"Wonderful. Positively exciting," Martin said as his camera ejected the picture. He gave it a few good waves. "So how about it, chums? Can I publish this as a follow up to my detention chronicles? I am sure plenty of people wanna know what became of your romance."

Quick to capitalize, Bart asked, "What's in it for us?"

"To think we have own peeping tom." Terri added, covering her mouth as she snickered.

Ignoring her, Martin reached into the inner pocket of his sweat vest, revealing two tickets. "How about VIP invitations to my Halloween soiree?

Terri hopped up and came over. "Let me see the picture first." He complied. She stepped back, studying it closely. "Bart, what does your artistic eye think?"

"Let's see," Bart said, as she held the picture in front of his face. He squinted. "Dang, I never knew your ass was that big, T."

"Shut up! It's the dress."

Bart laughed. He looked back over at Martin, who was wringing his hands together. "Yo dude, if you wanted to join, all you had to do was ask."

"Nope, I don't wanna share!" Terri objected. "Unless Mr. Prince is real nice to us." She licked her lip, making her implications clear.

Martin held up both hands. "Do we have a deal?"

"Sure, if the rest of our friends can come, Terri said, handing the picture back.

"Yeah, sure. Invite whoever you want," Martin said, finding his palms clammy. He turned on his heel, fleeing from the freaks before they could rope him into some kind of throuple.

"You know this is going to start even more rumours about us," Bart said.

"Like what? That I am a slut and you are a man whore? I say, good. That kind of gossip means we are on everyone's mind," Terri said, embracing notoriety in order to separate herself from her sister. "Now, where were we?" She did not need to wait for an answer.

With a father who was a successful stock trader by day and an ivory tower socialite by night, it was not a surprise that, given his family's wealth, Martin's party was going to be one for the record books. A proper haunted house greeted the guests, who stood in awe on the sidewalk. Screams of the damned echoed off the streets to discordant classical music. An inflatable grim reaper towered over the front door, and plenty of events for the ghoulish minded dotted the front and back yard. Since costumes were a requirement, as usual, Sherri and Terri went all out.

Capitalizing on being twins, they had put together a near picture perfect rendition of the Cenobites from Hellraiser. They were literally connected at the hip by red gore and fake plastic piping woven through their black leather outfits. Their faces had to remain close, otherwise the Papier mâché spiral between their cheeks would tear.

Bart opted for a more traditional rendition of Frankenstein's monster: bolts of his neck, greenish skin, and a black wig concealing his blonde hair underneath. Nelson decided on a wee bit of theft and stole a pirate costume from Wendell. While Jessica was adorned as the sexiest salt shaker money could buy.

Conflict started brewing though over Milhouse's choice of ensemble. He had opted to go as the ever controversial Alex DeLarge from A Clockwork Orange. To his credit, it was intricately detailed and incorporated all the proper elements, with the only inaccuracy present being his thick red glasses.

As sauntered up to his friends, Sherri groaned. "Ugh, of course you'd go as a rapist."

"Exactly, he makes the perfect costume," Milhouse said, pushing one finger into her face.

"Sure, just don't complain about why girls are ignoring you," Terri sneered.

In the interest of stopping an argument, Bart moved to put both arms around her. "Good to see we are killing the mood right out."

"It's a sacred night. We don't want creeps making it suck," Terri said, noticing one of her chains had caught a twig and bent over to remove it.

Nelson grunted. "You girls are so sensitive sometimes."

His quip caused Jessica to flick his ear. "Please. The fact you guys are whining is proof boys are way more sensitive."

Their bickering was cut short by the appearance of Lisa dressed as Albert Einstein, and Allison, who was the spitting image of a disheveled Edgar Allan Poe on the night he died. As these two approached, Bart slunk behind his girlfriend. Allison was quick to appraise the twins' grisly costume. "Eww. What are you guys supposed to be?"

She regretted the question when Sherri and Terri flew into a performance, touching the tips of their fingers together. "Explorers in the further regions of experience. Demons to some, angels to others."

Such dedication to the craft was lost on Allison, who said, "Alright, creepy."

"They are not! They are beautiful!" Sherri and Terri protested, mortified to have their erotic horror icons so easily dismissed as cheap slasher villains.

While Allison found herself bombarded with facts about limit experiences that were meaningless to her. Jessica's eyes drifted to the scruffy Lisa. "I thought this was supposed to be a high school party. What are you kids doing here?"

"Martin invited us, fruit loops. Probably because he wanted at least a few people that could hold a conversation with him," Lisa said, resenting being talked down to by a girl who reveled in playing the part of a bimbo for attention.

In the middle of her passionate tirade, Terri was scooped off her feet by Bart, who pulled both sisters gently toward the door. "That's enough. You're scaring her."

Terri struggled, flailing her arms but was careful to avoid kicking as to not upset her costume. Sherri accepted her fate and huffed. "It is a Halloween party. These peons need to learn some culture."

It did not take them long at all to carve out a spot in the living room, where the massive Sixty-inch television was playing the cult classic: The Town that Dreaded Sundown. A movie that allowed Sherri to call upon her useless mass of obscure facts; she was quick to regale a captive Nelson with tons of information relating to the real serial murder case.

Unable to bear it any longer, he interrupted her, "This blows." He looked around. "What kind of party doesn't even have beer?"

"Umm, that would be our job," Sherri said, her attention split between the screen and Jessica, who was flirting with Lewis and Wendell. Both unfortunate boys' eyes were popping out of their sockets as she wiggled her hips hypnotically. "We're the bad kids, right, Nelly?"

"Damn straight," he said, standing. "Give me thirty minutes."

Determined, he waved down Richard, who despite his plain appearance was the man to talk to for fake IDs or illicit substances. Realizing it was just her and her sister, Sherri broke focus for a moment to locate Bart. He was cornered by the bookshelves by several girls who were asking all sorts of questions about his workout routine. He was doing his best to duck without giving a straight answer.

Meanwhile, Milhouse was having trouble breaking into the same conversation. As he discovered muscles could not make up for a rancid personality. Terri noted his annoyed expression. "Guess it is time for the girls are human. Talk with him again."

"He won't listen. His pea brain makes him think he deserves the girl, so I give it a few months before he tries reenacting Taxi Driver," Sherri said. She had nothing but contempt for boys whose desire to self-improve was wholly trapped in a realm of fantasy. "You know what this party needs?"

"Truth or dare? Spine the bottle?"

Thinking about the latter, Sherri cracked a knowing smile. "So even if it lands on me, you get to make out with Bart, anyway?"

"It's not like he ever knew," Terri replied, pursing her lips.

Out of the blue, they were joined by Martin, who interrupted their conversation. "Terri, I've considered it and I'd like to take Bart up on his proposal."

"I'm sorry?" she asked, puzzled.

He strummed his lute and said, "I wanna join you on your next romantic adventure." Martin was one hundred percent serious; he emphasized his desire by leaning closer. "It is tragic to admit, but I little experience in the matters of love and loss. I figured the best place to start is a pallid temptress and her handsome suitor."

Sherri was on the floor, clutching her sides in laughter in a second. Terri turned several shades of red as she placed a shaking hand on his shoulder. "Martin, I uh …." She snorted. "I am flattered, but perhaps you should worry about your party right now."

"Have no fear!" Nelson bellowed as he and Richard entered through the back sliding glass door, rolling a whole keg of beer into the living room. "The beer is here!"

A cheer followed as refreshments were distributed. The freaks congregated, watching their classmates with benign amusement. Martin, however, was already starting to sweat. "Are you insane!? You can't bring alcohol into my house!"

Bart had a theory that put their host's concerns at easy. "Non-alcoholic?"

Nelson shook his plastic cup, taking a drink. "Mine's not." He raised it to Martin. "You worry too much, man. These idiots will think it's real, pretend to get plastered, and you will be the talk of the school."

The notion was most pleasing to Martin, who put both hands together. "Oh Nelson! You truly have a heart of gold!" He received a hefty blow to the arm for his assertion.

Richard came over with both hands in his pockets. He handed off a fifty-dollar bill to Nelson and said, "Once, everyone is nice and buzzed. Give em the ole shake down, here is your cut in advance."

He left to rejoin Lewis, who was getting into quite the political debate. Jessica pouted. "You didn't get me any?"

"Hey, of course I did," Nelson replied, taking a bottle from his vest. "Old man Squishee is way soft on checking ids these days. Money must be tight."

"Did you show him an id?" Sherri asked.

"Nope. Those pop up weirdos helped us out."

"Wait a second," Bart said, scanning the crowd. "Where is Milton?" His answer came when a loud Cowabunga! was shouted from upstairs and a loud crash came immediately after. "Ah, crap."

They crowded into the foyer, where a mortified Lisa was standing beside a shattered side table. Milhouse had stripped off his shirt, bulging muscles on display as he lay in a pile of debris. "Well, Lise? What do you say?"

"Ick, no," Lisa answered, inching backward.

"Next time we leave him in the trunk," Sherri and Terri said together, exasperated by his childish behavior.

Nelson and Bart collected their idiotic friend, hoisting Milhouse to his feet. He grumbled, "Why is it when Bart does it is sexy?"

"Because Bart is sexy . He also tends to do these kinds of stupid things with Terri," Jessica explained, feeling as though it was obvious why his plan did not work. "The brain is not that kind of girl."

Terri crossed her arms. "Yeah, she is a real drag."

"It's true dude. Breaking a bone together is only something you do after a few dates, Bart said, resting his elbow on her shoulder. "Though I don't think we can recommend it."

"You kidding? I absolutely recommend it," Terri said, "which reminds me. We need to living this place up a bit."

Together with Sherri, they corralled a group of their peers into the living room. The plan was the same as ever. Truth or Dare brought things out about people, important information that could be used in the future to get even with anyone who decided to mess with them.

Like all games of truth or dare, this one started with the same level of awkwardness to be expected of a bunch of greasy teenagers. Plenty of truths, until Bart broke the ice taking on a dare. Which was the standard streak around the house affair. A challenge he accepted with vigor and in the blink of an eye, his clothes were a pile near Terri. Much to the embarrassment of many other girls present.

With the ice broken and everyone knowing they would not top Bart's lack of fear, the game became a lot livelier. Nelson drunkenly took a dare to ride a boogie board off the roof; a task that almost resulted in splitting his head open. Luckily, he avoided disaster by landing in the pool instead. Sopping wet, he sloshed out. "How'd I do?"

Bart, who was now shirtless, revealing the toned results of his secret ballet practice, much to Terri's personal enjoyment, who had been pulled away by Sherri after she tried to lick his navel. "Gnarly, man."

Pouring water from a bottle over head, Jessica was washing the mound of whip cream caked into her hair out. "Bet you won't do it on a trash can lid."

"You are on," Nelson said, about to try defying death a second time. However, before he could climb onto the roof, the sounds an argument in progress caught their ear. Back inside, surrounded by their classmates, Sherri and Terri had got into some kind of tiff with Milhouse.

As they got closer, Bart said, "Geez. We need a muzzle."

They must have missed something important because Milhouse full of hyper-masculine but blatantly insecure bravado stuck a finger in Terri's face. "Everyone knows girls are way easier to scare than boys."

Jessica leaned over, whispering, "Does he realize who he is talking to?"

"Hold, let's see where he is going with this," Nelson said, watching the twins' noses flair in unison. If there was to be blood, he wanted to be in the splash zone.

Sherri jeered. "That is rich coming from the same dweeb who could not sit all the way through The Bloodening ."

"I told you. Blood makes me nauseous," Milhouse retorted, waving his hands in their faces. "Besides, you two are ones to talk. You both are scared of the sun."

Nelson nodded. "He's got you there."

"See Nelson agrees!" Milhouse declared, pointing.

Deeply insulted now, Sherri and Terri protested together. "We freckle!"

Bart clicked his tongue several times, coming between his friends. Doing his best cowboy impression, he hooked his fingers through his belt loops. "Seems we have ourselves a little impasse here. Way I figure it, there is only one way to solve this problem." He paused for dramatic effect. "We need to have a competition to see who is braver. Guys or Gals."

While Terri could not stop herself from laughing at his awful John Wayne, Sherri's eyes glinted mischievously. Switching to their secret language, she whispered, "Mulleno porras?"

"Mulleno porras." Sherri agreed. Bart did not know what they were saying, but neither did anyone else present. So Terri pointed at Milhouse. "We dare you guys to spend the rest of the night in the old Burns' place."

A collective Oooooh! went through the crowd. No longer able to back down, Milhouse was quick to accept. "And if we do, you two have to find new friends."

This was not an idea Bart or Jessica could accept. Both of them objected, "something else."

Milhouse grumbled, "Fine." He pushed up his glasses. "If we win, you two have to spend at least fifteen minutes in a tanning bed."

Sherri and Terri clutched each other at the mere suggestion, a deep-rooted terror on their faces. "We'll die!"

Satisfied by their fear, Milhouse grabbed Bart's shoulder. "Come on, man. Let's do this." Bart tried to protest, a futile act as he was dragged toward the front door by his stronger friend. He made a heart-shape with his hand toward Terri, who tittered, reciprocating the gesture.