A Very Spoooky Halloween
This is the final chapter. The chapter in which the stuff I am writing ends.
It was fun.
To Doomed-Fan-Girl: Huh? What site? Just give me credit or something for it.
This chapter contains emotional vomit for a the first half. If you don't like emotions, vomit or words, don't read it. This chapter also has injured kids, an exploding car, holiday-related commercialism, deals with the Devil and freaking out by Johnny's part.
Chapter 4: Emotional Vomit
The October breeze made the fragments of Shmee's stuffing blow into the air or disappear into the street. It made the knife in a crazy man's hand grow cold. The hand clenched the handle of the knife until his fingers felt numb. He couldn't relax; he was too full of fury and self-disgust for his carelessness, for allowing something perhaps irrevocably bad to happen to a friend. Johnny sat back on his heels, pulling at his hair and allowing for the hateful feelings he held towards himself sink in. He could feel something warm and stinging slide down his face.
He lifted up his face and looked at the little boy huddled in the middle of the street. He was crying too, but out of fear and confusion.
"Squee..." Johnny said quietly.
The little boy crawled over to the killer, choking out his name between sobs. Johnny froze when he felt the child's arms around him. He still hated being touched, even if it was the desperate hug of a terrified child. Johnny managed to fight off his reflex to push Squee away. Instead, he put his arms around him and carried him into his car. He set him down in the passenger's seat. Squee started crying into his torn upholstery.
The killer gripped his steering wheel until his knuckles became white beneath his gloves. He started hitting his head on the steering wheel repeatedly. He was punishing himself for leaving and letting the bear get to him. Why was Squee carrying that stuffing with him? Didn't he trust him?
"Th-they took my candy," Squee sobbed. The boy sat up and wiped his eyes and nose on his sleeve, but it wasn't helping. "They called me names and then they t-took my candy. I told them to stop, but they never listen to me. They never do."
Johnny stopped hitting himself to reach into his backpack and take out a Kleenex to offer Squee. The child took it and blew his nose. Johnny recommenced hitting his head on the steering wheel.
"And Shmee started saying things. He wanted me to hurt them. And everything turned ugly and scary and then it went black. And everything went loud and I couldn't think."
This was all sounding horrifyingly familiar to Johnny. Voices egging him to kill, horrible taunting from everyone, the bleak and hideous world... This was his area of expertise. He didn't want a child to experience anything in it. "I know how you feel," he said weakly.
Squee sniffed and choked, trying to contain more tears. "I know."
"Squeegee," Johnny said tentatively, "are you afraid of me?"
The crazy man felt the answer was obvious. He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear him say it to be confirmed. Squee was staring at him with wide, teary eyes. The kid was afraid of answering and it hurt.
"You do," the killer said.
The boy paused and then spoke. "Yes."
Johnny felt angry and he battled voices in his head telling him to kill the child. No, Squee had a reason to be scared. As much as he hated the fact that he instilled fear in the child was unbearable, it was true. Of course it was true. Squee would have to be either stupid or as cripplingly handicapped as he was.
"And do you trust me? Does your fear for me make me untrustworthy? Do I become another monster in your world?"
The boy paused to think. At first, his mind went to yes, but as he delved deeper into his feelings towards the killer. Johnny scared him; that was blindingly clear. But fear and trust didn't have to be invariably linked. He could count on the killer to protect him from evil things just like he could trust in Shmee to work as his trauma sponge. Johnny, as evil as he seemed, cared about Squee, something that almost nobody did. Johnny had gone out with him tonight because he cared, searched his candy for unpleasant surprises because he cared, and went off to get his car so they could get Brainfreezies because he cared. Johnny did anything bad to him purposely. When the killer had come back to find that he was having some sort of mental breakdown, he blamed himself for letting something bad happen to him.
"You-you're scary," Squee started, unable to look Johnny in the eyes. Maybe if he didn't look at him, he wouldn't kill him. "And you do very, very bad things a lot. And killing is bad. Sometimes you say things that give me nightmares and that's not nice. I guess you should be an evil thing in my head."
He looked up and saw that Johnny had buried his forehead into the steering wheel and was staring down at the floor of his car with narrowed eyes and not blinking. He didn't say anything. Squee felt like he was digging his own grave.
"But you're not bad all the time. I mean, you're really, really bad, but it isn't the same bad as everyone else. I don't know how it works exactly, but I know it isn't. You do nice things sometimes. Like when you make sure that I have a lunch to take to school if Mom doesn't make one. Sometimes you're nice like when you wanted to make sure I was safe tonight."
"But I failed at that," hissed Johnny, breaking his silence.
The killer straightened up and pinched the bridge of his nose. Squee could see that he was fighting a homicidal urge. He still wasn't looking at Squee.
"It's really hard to trust you... but sometimes it kinda feels like my parents should be more like you," the child offered helpfully. "You care about me. I don't like the stuff you do, but… but… I don't hate you."
Johnny blinked in disbelief. He hadn't expected to hear that. 'I don't hate you.' The absence of that feeling was something alien. Johnny's past was a blurry, fading mess. He wouldn't be able to remember a time when somebody had said something like that even if he wanted too. His whole life stunk of hatred: his voices, his victims and himself. Psychodoughboy and Mr. Fuck spoke of how awful he was and everyone else was. The victims, of course, were obvious. They were all so slimy and disgusting, hating everything and, just before themselves, focusing on hating him.
Squee couldn't be lying. Squee was Squee. Even though he was afraid of Johnny, he wouldn't have been able to say that in that achingly honest voice if it wasn't true. It boggled the mind.
"You--" Johnny said with sputtering confusion. "You-you can't just say that. You can't just not hate me. God. When I think I have something figured out and you just go and say that and I-I... I... Oh, God. S-someone doesn't hate me. Someone doesn't hate me."
He suddenly fell silent and after some uncomfortable quietness, started to laugh. It was soft at first, sounding like gasps of air, but it started growing. Soon he was laughing quite loudly, hysterically. It was out of relief. It was out of the fact that whatever invisible force that made his very existence unbearable was defeated, at least for now. He covered his mouth and tried to stifle his laughter, almost pushing himself to the point of suffocation when he decided that not breathing would be the easiest way of stopping. Even though he eventually managed to stop laughing, he couldn't help the smile that had cracked on his face.
"It feels good to be happy," he said. "This is such a rare feeling for me. It feels like my insides are going to explode."
Johnny looked outside thoughtfully at the night sky. Squee simply looked out the window and dried his tears. They hadn't driven anywhere yet. Their whole emotional confessions had taken place inside the car parked at a strange angle parked in the middle of the street full of semi-conscious children. Squee could see some of them getting up, walking a few steps and then falling back down because the splinters that held their leg-bones together just gave way. It made a shudder-inducing snapping sound and the injured kid broke into loud wails and screams as it fell back down on the road.
It was cold inside the car, almost as cold as outside. He could see his breath curling in the air before him. Squee grew colder as he grew aware of it. His teeth were starting to chatter. His arms still hurt from where Johnny had picked him up. He was sure he was going to find many ugly bruises tomorrow. Or maybe they'd fall off.
"Squee," Johnny said, calling back the boy's attention. "It is perfectly understandable that you fear me. I haven't given you any reasons not to be afraid. But that you can see something that's not entirely bad in me is... I don't know. It's hard to describe, but it means that there is still some hope for you. Even with Shmee hanging around."
"Shmee isn't bad," he said timidly, still determined to defend his stuffed bear despite past occurences.
"Of course you think that. I have a couple of doughboys… I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned them to you. Oh, well. The point is that they used to give advice, but lately it's been feeling like it's off, like they want me to do something for them instead of doing something for my own well-being. The funny thing is that you won't know until you become like me." Johnny paused. It wasn't that funny. "Don't be like me. It's the last thing you would ever want. The... Everything in my life... it's all wretched and doomed to something even worse. No, you're a good kid. You shouldn't have to be like me. You should grow up to be able to be happy. You don't have to listen to the things Shmee says, even if they sound good or helpful. The best thing to do would be to rely on what you think is best, not what some external source says."
"I don't listen to him sometimes," Squee replied. He paused for a moment and then asked curiously, fearfully, "Is-is that how it happened to you?"
Johnny's smile fell as he searched for an answer for that question. He held his head in one of his claw-like, gloved hands, feeling uncomfortable with the only response his mind would yield: nothing. "Maybe. It's been getting worse lately. I think it has something to do with the wall."
"Wall?" Squee decided he didn't want to go into the subject. It would probably give him nightmares. "Can we turn up the heat?"
Johnny suddenly realized he was sitting inside his car. "Where were we going?"
"Brainfreezies," Squee muttered. He decided to put on his seatbelt because he wasn't sure whether he could trust Johnny to drive carefully. "Can we?"
"Can we what?" Johnny said as he looked for the keys. He hit himself in the head good-naturedly when he realized they were still in the ignition.
"Can we turn up the heat?"
"No," Johnny said as he tried to turn the car on. The car whirred and didn't move. "Bitch. If we do, the car will fill with gasoline-smelly gas. Work, goddamn you! And then we'll suffocate. Fucking car! You don't want to turn on! Try wrapping the cape around yourself if you want to be warm, Squee."
Johnny gave the car a powerful punch, the metallic insides rattled, and the exhaust pipe putted. The maniac smiled and forgot his rage.
"Where were we going? ...oh, yeah."
And the car took off. Squee whimpered as he heard cries of children as Johnny ran over them for a second time. Now Squee was really glad he had decided to wear his seatbelt.
It was only a matter of time before they reached the actual city. Johnny drove erratically, sometimes calmly and safely and sometimes zig-zagging at full speed. It was a miracle that they hadn't crashed into a lamppost by now. However, Johnny had run over several people.
"Serves them right for cutting me off when I'm getting a Brainfreezy," Johnny said as a car exploded into flames behind them.
Squee was thankful to get out of the car. Johnny's car had uncomfortable seats and when you paid attention, smelled faintly of something coppery and unpleasant.
The 24/7 was your seemingly average convenience store. It was a plain building with a blinking neon sign. You could see the cashier looking bored and reading a magazine through the large window. The glass doors and windows were half covered in posters suggesting they try their pickled churros and how they could get fresh nachos for a dollar more than the price for their normal nachos.
The store had to replace its staff a lot more than other convenience stores, but nobody noticed much. They just assumed that it was just the regular staff quitting their crappy, low-paying jobs. Actually, there was many an employee who had to be taken away in an ambulance or, more commonly, a hearse. The cause of death was a disgruntled customer that always complained very aggressively about how the Brainfreezy machine was off or how they had run out of cherry Fiz-Wiz. Somebody kept meaning and forgetting to tell the employees to not turn of the machines at 2 AM and leave them on all night for their own safety.
Fortunately, it was 10:54 PM right now. Maybe their cashier wouldn't suffer badly tonight.
They went through the doors. The cashier glanced at them as the dinging sound rang and went back to reading 6 Ways to Be Less Lame. The article suggested she buy more of their magazines and wear a paper bag over her head (available by the same company that printed the magazine and in Dirt Brown or Dooky Brown). The 24/7 had orange and black Halloween decorations and Halloween-themed candy everywhere. But that didn't mean it was too early for there to be Thanksgiving cutouts of turkeys hanging between the bats and witches.
Johnny led his young companion to the Brainfreezy machine. Squee grimaced at the two alternative flavors to Cherry Doom: Frosty Peanut and Icy Ham. Peanut butter was okay, but he didn't want chunks of smushy, peanuty ice in a cup. Icy Ham was wrong on many levels. Next to that machine was the special machine they had put in with the special holiday flavor: Injun Turkey. The store had decided that Halloween night was a good enough night to replace the Halloween flavor (Spooky Pumpkin) with the Thanksgiving one.
"I tried Spooky Pumpkin last week," Johnny commented as he grabbed a cup. "It sucked."
The red slush whizzed into the cups with a little red, cold spray.
"You can get some candy too, if you'd like," Johnny suggested as he remembered that Squee's had be stolen. He felt through his pockets for money and started counting it.
"We still have to get the milk," Squee said.
"I'll take care of that," Johnny said. "You just get your candy."
Squee nodded shyly and headed towards the candy section. As he passed in front of the window, he noticed a familiar creamy white car parked outside. He saw an equally familiar horned child looking through the chocolates with his father. He tried to turn away and ask Johnny if they could leave, but it was useless.
"Good evening, Todd," said Mr. Diablo when he spotted him.
Satan was a tall, yellow, skeletal, scary figure. His skin was pulled tightly over his skull and horns curved out of the sides. He could paralyze you with a simple green-eyed glance. Sulfurous flames sprang from the ground where he stepped. His voice was as deep as the Abyss and could make your bones shake inside you body.
But you wouldn't be able to tell because, at that moment, he looked like an average middle-aged man with a comb-over and wearing work clothes.
"Hi," Squee said back.
"My son has informed me you still have no desire to join our army. It's a pity, really."
Squee shrugged and tried not to shake too visibly as he reached out for a moderately-priced bag of candy.
"You're not going to buy that, are you, Squee?" Pepito said with his snout-like nose wrinkling in disgust.
"I like this candy," Squee said.
"Father, I desire my friend to have better than that," the Antichrist told Satan.
"Now, son. He says he likes it. Let him have it."
"Squee," Johnny called.
The killer walked into the aisle and looked suspiciously at Pepito and Mr. Diablo. His grip on two Brainfreezies and a bag of Señor Salsa Chips tightened. Given Squee's past with skoolkids, the short, strange looking horned boy couldn't be good news. It was hard to contain his anger and it came out in his voice, scaring Squee.
"Are you okay?" Johnny said with a voice seething with dangerous anger.
Squee nodded quickly and showed him the bag of candy. Johnny grunted and headed for the cash register.
"Who was that?" the killer asked, looking back at the two figures. "A kid from skool? Do you need me to get the car?"
"'S fine," Squee murmured back. "That's Satan and the Antichrist, but his name's Pepito. He's in my class."
"You don't say," Johnny said with eyes narrowing and suspicion rising.
The girl at the register was crying her eyes out and talked to her friend over a cell phone. Her voice came out muffled, as she had decided to take the magazine's advice and put a paper bag over her head. She didn't pay attention when Johnny placed their items on the counter. She didn't notice when Johnny told her that they were paying. She still didn't notice when Johnny repeated himself with a distinctly miffed tone. She didn't have time to notice since she was wailing incoherently about how she wasn't as thin as she was supposed to be. Johnny was about to start an angry rant culminating in bloody murder when he felt a small tap on his shoulder.
"What?" he asked nastily, angry at being interrupted and touched.
Mr. Diablo was standing behind him, smirking and being, much to Johnny's surprise, neither annoyed nor afraid. Maybe he was Satan.
"Since Squee is in my son's class, what say I pay?" Mr. Diablo offered.
"Depends," Johnny said. "Do I have to give you my soul?"
Pepito's father looked at him straight in the eye. Johnny froze as he felt the strange sensation of someone looking into your soul.
"I've no need," Mr. Diablo finally said, "for a soul I can't take."
The Antichrist huffed disappointedly next to his father and crossed his arms across his chest.
"There are plenty more, though," he continued and patted his son's Mohawk. "Take your things while me and the cashier talk business."
Johnny blinked and grabbed his stuff. Squee followed him outside. In the 24/7, Mr. Diablo turned to the girl with his eyes glowing diabolical green.
"How do you feel about beauty for your soul?" the Devil said with the smooth talking of an experienced businessman.
The girl lifted the paper bag and sniffed. Mascara tears were running down her cheeks and giving her a very Halloweeny look. "I'm okay with it."
They were sitting on the hood of Johnny's grey car in their eerie, quiet street. They were both sucking on their Brainfreezies and sharing the bag of candy. They were looking at the sky in the general direction of the city.
The tall buildings jumped out of the horizon and their lit windows speckled them with bright spots. There was light pollution, but it was an artificial-colored dome around the city that faded into the darkness of the true night. There was the right amount of clouds in the sky to give it a proper spooky feel and the moon, as cliché as it seemed, was as full and round as an eyeball. It was a whimsical clash between chaotic, artificial civilization and indifferent nature.
"It's pretty," Squee said.
"Yeah," Johnny agreed.
"It was a nice night."
"It's still night," Johnny pointed out before realizing what Squee meant. "Oh. Well, not exactly."
"Stuff like that happens to me all the time. It's not your fault."
The little boy yawned as they neared midnight, a time way past Squee's normal bedtime. Tonight had been full of activity and, despite the amount of sugar he had consumed he was sleepy. Johnny and the little vampire walked to house #779. Squee decided to not go through a window like Johnny wanted to.
"This was... pleasant in some ways," Johnny said as he passed Squee the milk Mr. Casil had ordered him to bring. "Maybe we could do it again next year."
"Um..."
Johnny suddenly looked up at the sky with wide, fearful eyes. There was a sound of something whizzing by above them.
"Fuck! I forgot that it's Tuesday!"
Johnny ran home and slammed the door behind him. Squee screamed, let the bottles of milk shatter on the stoop and rushed to his room to hide under the covers.
Itwasn't October 32nd, as many kids at the Skool thought. It was November 1st. Squee and Pepito were sitting at their lunch table.
"We had so much work yesterday," Pepito groaned as he stabbed his 'food' with his fork. "Why Halloween? Why?"
Pepito proceeded to abuse his food until it was reduced to ashes before paying attention to Squee.
"Sorry I couldn't go with you," the Antichrist said. "How was your Halloween?"
Squee opened his bagged lunch and said, "It was okay."
End A Very Spoooky Halloween
Wasn't that nice?
I hope I get inspired to write some more fanfiction. This felt pretty nice.
And now for some Frank Sinatra:
And now, the end is near, and so I face, the final curtain.
My friend, I'll say it clear,
I'll state my case, of which I'm certain.
I've lived, a life that's full, I've traveled each and every highway.
And more, much more than this,
I did it my way.
I'm dramatic,
--Exit