Bart's natural state as a spirit of pure malevolence could not handle the gloom of the tunnels running beneath the Burns' place. No amount of Gothic décor and red carpeting could hide the fact the three were traveling by candlelight through square unfeeling corridors. Despite the uncomfortable silence and the occasional slapping of Rotface's meaty foot against the floor, Terri found herself drawn to the strange carvings across the walls.

The usages of circles reminded her of the old animated stills of Itchy and Scratchy cartoons. A sense of remembrance gnawed at her mind, but she could no longer place from where she had seen such artistic marvels before. Intricate lines, drawn with machine-like precision, should not have cultivated an overwhelming terror, but they did. Terri was relieved when their pathway emerged into a spacious antechamber, where, upon crossing inside, Rotface held up both gnarled hands. "Behold! The Master!" Suspended from the ceiling, bathed in an orange light, dangled a withered corpse.

Reminiscent of Frankenstein's creation, this individual was held together thanks to the intervention of metallic wires and cables joining the limbs at the joint. A steel skull plate shone beneath a thin layer of skin where three stretched liver spots made it clear just who hung before them. Mr. Burns twisted beyond recognition by the triumph of machine over man. Behind him towered a complex life support system made up of three main terminals connected to a bunch of blinking panels and pounding pistons. Electricity coursed through the air via four towering tesla coils, creating the distinct smell of burning flesh.

Terri pulled on Bart's wrist. "I got a bad feeling about this…"

"Ya think?" Bart whispered.

"Totally a trap."

Rotface gurgled, addressing the motionless Mr. Burns. "Master! Your heir has heard your call!" He brought a gnarled fist toward the pair behind him. "And with a broodling, no less! After so long, we can provide a proper offering!"

Terri receded. Her eyes darted to the glass jars lining the nearby wall. Where in each floated a shriveled, gray organ in the throes of necrotic infection. "Looks like someone has been reading the Liber incantationum." Recognizing some of the Latin names hidden within the seals scratched on the surface of the containers, she wiggled her fingers nervously. "Lotta weird rituals about turning people in love dolls or slaves in that one."

"Now listen here! The only one who gets to turn my girlfriend into a slave is me!" Bart bellowed, shaking his fist in dramatic fashion.

"Oh Bartholomew! You have no idea how long my heart has pined to hear that!" Terri's face turned a pale-shade of red. Similar to the blush put on a corpse after embalming as she fell into poetic entreaties of devotion. "Flay the flesh from my bones, conquer me, body and soul, my dark prince."

Even Rotface fell silent in the face of her wave of irrational passion. He made an uneasy glance at Bart, who coughed. "Um, I know we might be about to die, but I was just trying to sound tough." Terri withered hundreds of years in a blink of an eye, her skin became dry and wrinkled. Worried by this sudden decline, Bart tried to be reassuring. "Not that I am opposed to it, but uh …" He cleared his throat. "How about a pat on the butt instead?"

Terri's skin rejuvenated. Her lower lip quivered. "Promise?"

Bart complied with an affirming swat of her rear, causing Terri to giggle. Rotface rolled his eyes, checking a non-existent watch. "Done? There is a lot of prep work for the ritual I need to do and… If I don't start when the stars are right, then it's another decade of waiting… Planetary alignments and all that. I am sure you both understand."

"Oh, right." Bart straightened up. "Anyway. I am not anyone's heir! What are you talking about, Rotty-dude?"

Rotface bared cavity-riddled fangs, shifting into a sinister, domineering demeanor. "Then you will be made to remember." He brandished an onyx dagger. "I'll carve both your skulls open and show you the future." His intentions became even clearer when he dragged the sharp edge against his matted fur, drawing black blood. "I'll start with C'anerri's spawn, since she's the alien here."

Terri eeped. "I'm not an alien." She pouted. "Those photos Sara showed for show and tell were completely taken out of context."

"Whoa. Whoa. Rotty, heyyy, Rotty. We're friends, right?" Bart fell back, hand outstretched. "Maybe we can try something else first before getting all slashy. Like a hospital. Or how about a toke? That always makes me feel better."

"Ooo, good point." Terri nodded, reaching for her penknife, which was tactfully secured in the fold of her costume.

Rotface remained unswayed. "Blood created this problem. Only blood can fix it." His red-rimmed eyes went wide. "Your volatile cone ignorance can no longer be allowed to consume this world."

"Guh?" Bart's expression dimmed. "There's a cone now?" Worried, he gulped. "It's expanding!?"

"I knew skipping algebra was a bad idea!" Terri placed both hands on her cheeks. "But this isn't how I expected to doom mankind!" Rotface charged and wrestled Bart against the railing, who shouted something how his appreciation for the female anatomy outweighed his interest in numbers. Terri opted to save her boyfriend by stabbing Rotface in the neck with her penknife, which only enraged the bipedal creature further.

Then, from the shadows, came their savior. Muscles bulging from his clothes, Milhouse emerged, a battle axe raised above his head. Its blade hacked through Rotface's shoulder, severing the muscle at the bone, prompting a bestial howl to rip through the air. Mercilessly, Milhouse crushed through the rest of the bone, right in front of a horrified Bart.

Milhouse grabbed hold of the top of Rotface's head, placing his foot on the back of the rat's back. He pulled, his muscles bulging as he strained. A geyser of blood washed over the floor when skin gave way to sinew and sinew gave way to bone. Soon, a head was rolled back down to the entrance.

Wide-eyed, Bart covered his mouth. "Holy cow!"

"That's so metal, Milly!" Terri clapped her hands. She nudged Bart, casting needy eyes in his direction. "I wouldn't mind if you treated me like that."

"I already gave you the butt pat. What more do you want?"

"A girl likes some attention is all…"

Having defeated the enemy, Milhouse struck a confident pose, placing the handle of the battle-axe on the floor while leaning on the weapon. "Heh. No sweat."

"Dude, we thought you died. The giant worm couldn't find you." Bart said, stepping around the twitching corpse.

"Giant worm?" Milhouse fixed his broken glasses.

"Huge. We'll fill you in later." Terri walked up to Mr. Burns, standing beneath the malnourished figured. "Should we cut him down?" Her gut instinct was to leave the grisly display alone, else they awaken something far worse.

"Could at least poke him with a stick." Bart's eagerness, however, was undercut by the butt of a battle axe when it clocked him in the back of the skull. He crashed to the ground, unconscious, causing Terri to squeak, jumping backward.

Her eyes crept to Milhouse, whose chilling smirk traveled from ear to ear. "Right, great, of course you'd be the one to go crazy." Terri sighed.

"Would a crazy guy do this?" Milhouse put both fingers in his mouth, sticking his tongue out while raising his voice. "Duuhhh. I'm Terri. I am a homewrecking whore who realized spreading my legs is an easier way to get Bart's attention than learning to be nice!"

"I wish! Or should I say you wish." Terri sniggered, covering her mouth. "Sorry to ruin your creepy fantasies, but Bart barely pays attention long enough to kiss me." Milhouse's nostrils flared, and she shouted. "For the record, I am nice. Just not to an insecure roid-head like you, Milly."

Milhouse readied the battle-axe. Her smug cat-like smirk shone on its surface. "You don't appreciate him like I do. He's my best friend."

"Was. He grew up. You didn't."

"This temple requires a sacrifice. I think the Whore of Babylon's blood is a good place to start."

"Wish I was as successful as her," Terri mumbled. He sped forward and she spat. "This is why you'll die alone." The axe came whistling down, but she nimbly avoided the first swing. Not ready to die alone herself, Terri sprinted for Bart but a large hand grabbing her hair stopped her dead in her tracks.

Burns' arbetoreum abounded with overgrowth. Birthed from an eldritch womb, mutated life took the shape of abominations, spilling out into this nightmarish holding cell for the Gods. Rusted roots consumed all in their path, encompassing the broken glass windows which once allowed the sun to nurture them and dipped deep into the animated swirls of blackness below the manor. In the middle of this ghastly production line sat the scientifically termed Treeture, translucent skin stretched over a warped trunk dripping in oily sap.

Taking in the sights and smells, Sherri punched down. "God! Terri isn't here! She'd love this!"

"Do not fret about Mistress Terri. Something tells us she will fulfill her desire to be an album cover in due time." Greed's mass rippled as it slid into a more comfortable position, with its lower half hanging off the edge. To be part of a whole is something it knew all too well.

"Great. Not ominous at all." Nelson looked down. Finding the vastness of the surrounding space made him nauseous.

Jessica took a drag off the cigarillo she snatched during their brief foray through one of Burns' cigar lounge. "Okay… I am feeling better." She rolled her shoulders. "Let's chop this tree down."

Sherri punched her arm. "No! We talk to it first." She wagged her finger. "You should know by now it is better to be diplomatic with these kinds of creatures."

"Ah." Jessica gasped. "And you should know by now I don't listen to you." She looked up. "Or Terri, for that matter."

Their discussion meant no one noticed besides Greed, the roots of the Treeture springing up, allowing to crawl closer. Booming it shook the Earth. "Who dares enter this sacred place?!"

Startled, Nelson jumped into Jessica's arms, whose knees buckled beneath his weight, and soon they both fell to the floor. Sherri, ignoring their embarrassing spectacle, placed both hands on her hips and invoked her most convincing matriarchal tone. "We do that's who! Now you better give me a straight answer, mister! What happened here!?"

Jessica dabbed the sweat from her forehead, and Nelson tugged his collar. The only entity undisturbed by Sherri's domineering presence was the Treeture itself. A howl left its jagged teeth, sending a mighty current of air toward the trio, throwing them back to the ground.

The Treeture emitted glowing spores; they filled the air with a sweet aroma. Standing, Jessica pulled her shirt over her mouth. "This better not be plant semen."

Nelson swung at her, but she ducked. "Don't say that!"

Sherri shuddered at the theory and said a silent prayer to avoid an unplanned pregnancy with any crimes against the natural order of the world. She would hate to steal Terri's thunder. Greed remained a motionless blob, content to secrete plenty of brown fluids while remaining an impartial observer.

Jessica sneezed. "Anyone got a breath mint? Wew…" She fanned in front of her nose.

"Shush." Sherri nudged her. The three of them pulling together to face down the encroaching roots spawning out beneath the Treeture. Sherri gulped. "We aren't going anywhere. So you can either tell us what has gotten you so … bothered. Or we can do this the old fashion way."

Together, Nelson and Jessica struck his lighter for dramatic effect. Greed rolled a metaphorical eye at their stupidity. The Treeture released another ear-splitting wail, sending all three tumbling into the eternal soup below the manor. Blackened tendrils consumed them whole.

Just when Sherri felt something gnaw through her forearm, chewing upwards toward her neck, Greed intervened and pulled her back into the present. "My mistake Mistress. I forgot our manner of speech has unforeseen consequences."

"My eyes feel like they are going to explode." Sherri clawed at her face, resisting the urge to scream as the pressure built in her skull.

The Treeture groaned. "Once your other half is severed, you'll return to a dream."

"Terri?"

"A question which doesn't need an answer."

Sherri frowned, then cocked her head. "Greed… Is there something you've not told me?"

Greed inched forward. "We mentioned something more powerful than us here, did we not? Perhaps it is interested in you."

Sherri made a frustrated expression. "Oh good. Perhaps you could have extended an invitation before my sister decided to wander off into certain death at my expense."

"She seemed very determined to die." Greed's body rippled again. "We believe her exact thoughts were about the eroticism inherent to a murder-suicide."

"Yeah, that comes up a lot. She, uh … Dey ignored her sometimes." The Treeture cut the conversation short by expelling ropes of sticky sap right on to Sherri, who felt her meal from earlier make its way back up. "Ever heard of say it, not spray it?" She asked, wiping off the slime. "Look bub. You better start talking. Or I am about to get way more annoying."

Not an idle threat, so the Treeture skipped the critical story beats, getting straight to the point. After all, no one ever cares about the horrific and sordid details of a central town figure driven insane in his pursuit of a grail. "Talk? There is nothing to talk about. I've already told you … Sherri. It's time to wake up."

Terri found biting her assaulter's wrist was an excellent method of defense. Tearing a chunk of skin off proved even more effective. Milhouse dropped her, and she scrambled to Bart's side. "Come on! We have to die at the same time or the spell won't work!"

Milhouse kicked her in the back, knocking Terri onto her face. Looming over her, he pressed the top of his axe down into her lower back. "Ahh, don't be scared. I thought being murdered was a Mackleberry tradition? So why not lay there and make it easy on me?"

"Could you be less of a predatory rapist!?" Terri kicked him in the knee hard enough it bent in the other direction.

She crawled away while he screamed in pain on the floor. "You! Stupid pig!"

Terri placed her thumb on her nose, snorting. "Cry about it!" She felt a meaty hand on her ankle and was dragged backward.

Milhouse struck her twice. Terri tasted iron welling up in the back of her throat, sputtering. She gasped when he wrapped both hands around her throat, squeezing tight. "Lie … Still." Her eyes bulged, panic set in along with desperate wheezes as her lungs tried to capture at least one breath.

Frightened his acne-riddled face might be the last thing she ever saw, Terri clawed at his eyes. Blood dripped from his pupils, but Milhouse, like a stone, pressed down even harder until something snapped.

Terri jolted awake in her bed, shrieking . She froze. It was her room. Her purple sheets were soaked through with sweat. Whimpering, Terri did a check for limbs. Still two arms. Two legs. No extras or anything missing. Still prepared to have a right and proper freak out, she hyperventilated, clutching her face.

Having heard the shriek, Sherri was already at her side. "Terri?" She held her shaking sister close. "Shh. Shh. It's okay. Just a nightmare."

Tears came to Terri's eyes, and she broke into ugly tears. "I—I—I." She swallowed, unable to console herself. "It was real. Someone was trying to strangle me."

"I know. They always are," Sherri cooed gently. She stroked Terri's back. "It's okay. You are safe."

Terri pressed against her sister. "Thanks." After a few deep breaths, she felt more centered in reality again. "I'm gonna go make some tea." The two of them went downstairs into the kitchen, where a kettle was soon set to boil.

Sherri fished through the many unmarked tea jars which laden their cabinets. "Tumeric? Ginger? Ummm…. Peppermint?"

"Ginger is good." Terri set a record. She made sure the volume was low before filling the kitchen with the soothing tones of Mongolian throat singing. "What time is it?"

"Dunno. Clock is broken," Sherri said, breaking off pieces of ginger into the boiling water. She peaked out the window. "Still dark." She brought the tea over, setting both steaming mugs on the table. "Here.

Terri massaged her jaw. "Thanks, Sherri. Really."

"Hey. Going crazy is a family tradition at this rate. It was only a matter of time." Sherri smiled. "If it helps, you can sleep with me tonight." Terri nodded, taking a sip of tea.

Bart's room spun around him as his eyes fluttered open. He was tangled in his blankets and on the floor. Not an abnormal occurrence, but something felt off this time. His bong sat unused on his side table and he did not even have cotton mouth. He sat on the floor thinking back to last night. Bart could remember the party at Martin's house for sure, but afterwards was a blur. Puzzled, Bart checked his Krusty brand calendar. It was open to the month of November; each previous day was marked out as usual.

Flipping back to October, Bart squinted, finding the 31st with a big X over its square. Tendrils of paranoia overtook his mind, and he looked to his closest. The door sat ajar, allowing the darkness to creep into his room. "Man … Did I get abducted by aliens?" He mumbled, inching over to make sure the door stayed shut.

He opted to not get let himself think too hard about the missing time. Nothing a little night air and some personal time with his bong could not fix. Which meant sitting on the window seal, Bart got as high as a kite until the sun came up.

Also, one to enjoy some recreational drug use when stressed out, Nelson took a sip of cold beer. Some infomercial on television was trying to convince him to buy a Juice Loosener, but he hated juice, so Troy McClure's charms were lost on him.

When a cat hissed outside, Nelson reached for the trusty tire iron he kept near the couch in case the neighborhood drunks decided his law was a nice place to sleep. Peering between the blinds, like the paranoid conspiracy nut who lived a few houses down, he surveyed the area. No one was sprawled out on the grass, but for some strange reason, his mailbox sat on its post. Last time he and Bart left it, they had crunched it beneath a cinder block.

Curiosity peaked, Nelson went outside. He stopped listening for the fateful ticking of a bomb. When all he heard was a dog barking in the distance, he opened the lid. Inside was a manila package. Confused, Nelson removed it. On the front was a single letter. H.

Jessica grunted and almost rolled off the couch. A silent house greeted her. With parents still on their little not-quite-divorced retreat to Istanbul, she had been living alone for at least a week. Not that she felt inclined to tell anyone. Appearances were important, after all.

Shivering, Jessica knew nothing fixed the anxiety like binge eating. Although her trip to the kitchen became one of disappointment upon opening the fridge and finding it empty. "Right." She had forgotten to shoplift any groceries and the forty dollars left by her parents had gone toward a few pizzas. Loneliness crept up on her and made itself comfortable in her throat. Jessica sniffled. At least curling up on the couch was easy when living alone.

Milhouse wiped cold water from his face. He knew eating extra cheese before bed was a bad idea. It always caused indigestion and that meant vivid dreams. His unease evaporated when he caught a look of the sexy fox in the mirror. Milhouse waggled his eyebrows. "Yeah… Looking good."

The shower curtain flew aside and Mr. Black stepped out. "Indeed. You do look good."

"Wha!" Milhouse spun around with both fists raised. He froze as his hands melted away right before his eyes. Yellow flesh became heavy black lines, and those black lines became lighter circles. No pain. Just at that moment, he found his hands missing.

"Careful. You've only staved off their pursuit." Mr. Black placed his tentacle appendage onto his new protégé's shoulder. "They are still closing in even as we speak, but do not worry. I can protect you."

Slime dripped down Milhouse's arm. He gulped. "What happens now?"

"Now? Hmm." Mr. Black's tendril wrapped itself around Milhouse's throat. "It would be better if I sent you elsewhere." He tightened his grasp, causing the boy's eyes to bulge. "Yes, I see them now." Mr. Black's sclera flooded with oily charcoal. "So it is through this perverted homunculus you've chosen to invade paradise… Seeking to impregnate the Simpson girl, yes? Through her womb you aim to spread your corruption."

Milhouse struggled, then fell limp, sinking to the floor. Mr. Black stepped back, waiting. His victim twitched once, then contorted itself into a crab-like stance. Milhouse's head twisted around as his back split open, birthing a monstrous conglomeration of two humanoid projections.

First three stumpy legs emerged, firmly planting themselves around the motionless body. Covered in boils, stitched in the center, a crooked, two-headed creature grinned back at him. One, most of its hair forming a salt and pepper pubic chin strap on its long chin, pushed out from the stomach. The other sporting greasy, curly dark hair and a double-chin which shook with each word uttered from its dishonest forked tongue. But most horrifying all was the ever concerning fifth digit on each hand.

When this abomination spoke, the bathroom filled with the most abhorrent stench of rot and failure. Paint peeled from the walls. The mirror behind them cracked. "You've transgressed upon our treasured property, Mr. Black… To think we chose to leave you in darkness." Each word produced foul excrement, dripping down both chins.

"Your polluted majesties… Jean and Selman." Mr. Black gave a dramatic bow. New tentacles slithered out of his sleeves. "It's been so long. At last I can see you clearly."

"You've transgressed against our sacred canon. This is unacceptable."

"It is you who have transgressed upon a sacred canon, chasing the bleating howls of your pathetic choir." Mr. Black's gaze went past them, focused on the medicine cabinet behind the beast. Its door opened without a sound and wires spread across the walls. "Now. Return to your master. Slaves have no place here."

Before the Mad Kings could respond, the wires overtook them, dragging the hideous form into the cabinet. Their mad cries falling silent again. Mr. Black sighed with relief. He nudged the flesh of Milhouse with his foot and it re-hydrated. A ghoul would inhabit it until needed at a later date. Confident his work was finished, Mr. Black stepped up to the wall leading to the backyard. He placed his hand against its surface. The solid surface became a set of lines; he passed through with a determined expression.

Upon reaching the sidewalk, he stopped, adjusting his tie. "It never ends… Right, C'anerri?"