Chapter Four: If You Give A Mouse a Cookie…

The Beast smiled to itself, pulling Misty's clothes on with slow, lucid motions. It had been in hundreds of bodies, thousands of bodies even through the ages, even trying on a half dead one or two to fix them up before The Beast killed them again. Even though it had gone through all these hosts, it had never been in a body quite like this before and certainly not one that had nearly as much fun. A bit of the soul was latched onto it now, giving it a fantastic wild streak that made its eyes light up with its breath quicken. Its hands stopped dressing for a moment as it felt memories flash through its head, the wild night with Ash before. It had been there, in the back, though Misty had been in full control. Its head rolled back with a quiet moan of ecstasy, its hands coming up to clasp over its heaving chest.

"That was fucking mine," Misty snarled, trapped inside her mind. "He's mine. He's always been mine. You took him from me, you bastard. Why couldn't you have left him alone. The one thing I asked of you. I gave you my body. I'm giving you a way to kill everyone and you couldn't have just left him alive for me? You couldn't have left him alone? If you had just given him a chance I would have…I wouldn't fight you. If you let him go I would have let you kill everyone. But, oh no, not anymore. I'm not letting you kill anyone. You're going to die. I'll make sure you do."

"Hmm," The Beast said thoughtfully, smoothing down the yellow top. "I've heard that one before. Death threats aren't new to me, sweetie. Everyone tries to kill me, and I'm still here. You can't exactly take control either. I need you alive a little while longer. That's the only way I can get close to your family and friends. You can't take over though, not any longer than a few seconds if you're truly persistent." It sighed and did up its hair in her typical style, not a hair out of place as she finger combed the ponytail. "I have a feeling you will be persistent on this. I really wish you wouldn't. I have a bit more experience at this than you do."

"That's what you were telling me last night," Misty growled, distinctly remembering that voice whispering advice in the back of her mind. "And I will kill you. Those death threats you got before were nothing, Beast. You've never met a girl like me. I'm crazy, and I'll find a way to kill you even if no one else did. You don't know me."

"But I do!" The Beast giggled, bouncing a bit as she sat to tug on her shoes. "I know all about you lovey, and I know you're not the average girl. Trust me, it's so exciting being in a body so much fun to act out. If anyone could kill me, I quite suspect it would be you. You've got a kind of ruthlessness in you. You've got a…a killing instinct. You have a murderer's streak inside your heat. Comes from that crazy mother of yours, doesn't it? She's still out there after trying to kill you. I can't believe that. You humans are usually so good when it comes to catching people once you know their names. Tell me, does it sting to know your very own mother hated you enough to attempt homicide?"

"She was sick in the head," Misty retorted calmly. "And that's none of your business either. I'm not sick in the head like her. Some people are simply crazy like that, but I'm not. I'm normal. I don't have that murderer's streak or whatever you want to call it. I'm a different kind of crazy."

It pouted, brushing off Misty's shorts and striding out of the tent. "No you're not, you mean girl. You just threatened to kill me. How could you possibly say you're not crazy like that? You've got the murderer's streak in you. I can feel it and so can you, don't even try to lie to me. You know it. That's hot rush you get when you hear a cracking bone isn't worry. It's a sick little flash of pleasure. Sometimes it happens, the genetics to be a killer. It's a miracle you haven't actually slaughtered anyone yet."

"I'm not a natural born killer. I know you're just trying to get in my head."

"Listen, kiddo, I'm in your head. I'm killing your family and friends one by one and forcing you to watch while they think that it's your own hands that kills them. I'm pretty sure I've got the torture thing down. This is just a lovely chat between victim and killer before the action starts up again. Surely you've seen this kind of thing in the movies. You can't be that much of a homebody. I'm honestly trying to tell you that, you, my dear, are a ticking time bomb. If I didn't step in to kill people you really would have started the murdering spree. You should be thankful. At least Ash was killed by me and not you."

Misty would have gulped if she had control of her throat, instead she bubbled over with anger and sadness and denial. "I would never have killed him, not him or my friends. I'm not my mother. I'm different. I'm no killer. I'm not a killer. I can't be. I…I know I'm not. Don't you think I would have killed someone by now?"

"Ah, well there's a kicker. What if I am you? I talk like you; I look like you; I'm in your body; I know all your memories and thoughts and dreams. It seems an awful lot like I am you. Maybe I'm your inner killer, being released through an alternate personality? Ooh! That's so much like a TV show! What do you think? Should they base a show off us? I don't know how we'd get our story out, what with me killing everyone I see and you being trapped inside your own body and forced to watch my spree."

"You're not," Misty denied, more to assure herself than to annoy the thing controlling her body.

"I'm not? Are you sure, cutie? You don't sound too sure. You're starting to wonder. I'd be wondering too. The police will wonder, when all this is done. If nothing else, they will think it was you. You had your mother's disorder. Completely crazy. You were a murderer, driven by blood and lust and, ooh, this would make a helluva TV show."

"Shut up."

"Oh! The best part, the best part! You'll be carrying Ash's child, and that child will carry on the murdering legacy. It'll be a never ending chain of murderers, wouldn't that be amazing? I suppose I should tell you that your gene has been passed down since the dawn of man. It's primal. That's how humans made it, you know. They've got theories all over on it. It's because we're crazy fucking bastards that'll kill anything. There's a reason why you've all named your problems 'inner demons'."

"You think I made you?" Misty sniffed. "Impossible. I'm not nearly this creative. You can't come from my mind, because I doubt I'd shield myself from it. I get a pleasure out of it, remember? I can't lie, I do feel it, I guess. There is that…good feeling I get when you started killing. I know that I was born to be a killer. I can escape my destiny. You don't have to be a killer either, you know. You could be a good guy. You could be an angel of mercy and just stop killing everyone you come across. Please! You know it's so much more fun to have sex. You can have sex with whoever you want."

"Sex is not more fun than killing," The Beast snorted.

"…Is too."

"Not it's not."

"…Too."

"Not! It's not and…" It froze. "I'm not getting into a child's fight with you. It's pointless. I'm no moron. Killing is more fun than sex, end of discussion. Now will you please be quiet so I can go kill your friends. I'm a very busy alter ego."

"Make me, hellish demon." Misty had decided to let go of the idea of winning any kind of legitimate argument, and the plan couldn't be put into action until later. So why not be annoying instead? Make her captor suffer. It was revenge in the smallest dose, but it was revenge, and she could rest happily in that. "I know a song that gets on everybody's nerves, everybody's nerves, everybody's nerves. I know a song that gets on everybody's nerves and this is how it goes."

Misty was quiet, making The Beast raise an eyebrow. "Well, what's the damn song? You started it, finish it."

"I know a song-"

"You just sang that part, what's the next part?" The Beast inquired, but its plea fell on deaf ears. It went to the girls' memories, searching frantically for the record that held the song, and groaned aloud when it realized what it was. Through generations there was different ways to annoy, and the endless, repetitive sound had to be the worst. Its teeth grit, hands clenching. "I'm regretting not killing your lover slower."

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"Mrs. Ketchum! Brock!" The Beast called, barging through the front door and tearing through the house. It was her voice, a voice it had no right to use but went right ahead with it. "Mrs. Ketchum, please come out. You don't know what kind of time I've had. It's hell out there, Mrs. Ketchum, oh please." It begged, pleaded to what Misty was positive was an empty house. "Mrs. Ketchum? Please be here, Mrs. Ketchum!"

"Well, now you're just being retarded. She's not here, hotshot. She's probably at Prof. Oak's. She's not here twenty four/seven, especially when her son's on a mini-journey. She has a life. What are you going to do? Wait outside in the bushes until she comes back and remake your entrance? That doesn't even sound anything like me. She's going to know something's up. You still sound like a witch out of a fairy tale. 'Come here so I can eat you!' Try something a little more original. Run in crying. I scream when I cry, very loudly. Have fun embarrassing yourself like that."

It humphed, rolling her eyes and putting her hands on her hips in a Misty-ish way. It spoke to the air, looking ridiculous in the Ketchum household: "For your information, retard, I don't get embarrassed. In case you didn't notice, when I fought your boyfriend I was butt naked. Running in crying isn't embarrassing in the least. I can't believe that woman has a life. It's kind of rude, if you think about it. I'm trying to make a dramatic entrance and kill her and she doesn't even have the common courtesy to show up. I'm not saying that I blame her, she didn't know I was coming, but it's still rude and I don't think she should be allowed to do that."

"Yes. Damn her. Damn her for being late to her own murder scene. How could she possibly be so rude? She deserves to die now, and definitely in a painful way. Damn her." Misty agreed sarcastically. She was a bit startled that The Beast was, well, not Misty-ish. At times it mocked her perfectly, and at others it was childish, almost innocent in the ways of the world except for the murder. "How old are you, for a demon?"

"Not old at all," It returned. It flicked her eyes around the room, walking into the kitchen and open and closing all sorts of drawers. It was curious, lifting knives and spoons before putting them away. "I'm listening for Mrs. Ketchum, so don't worry. I'll hear her long before she gets her and cry on the sofa when she walks through the door. Maybe I can hide one of these knives on me. It'll be perfect. When she comes to talk to me I can just turn and stab her. It'll be over so quick no one will no what happened. Eating the victim always throws the cops off the trail, too, and that's my favorite part."

"You're a child?"

"I'm not stupid, if that's what you're hoping for. I'm just…curious. I like to know how things work, especially since things are so strange nowadays. It's been a long time since I've been in town. Everything's so new. I've never seen a TV before. Tell me how you turn it on. I want to watch a show."

"Why should I tell you?"

"Because I'll kill her slow if you don't. Kill 'er fast if you do. Fast is better. There's no pain or torture for you or the woman," It responded calmly. "If you want her to have at least a bit of peace, tell me how to turn this damn thing on. I'll see what I want to watch." It sat down on the sofa and stared at the black screen before it, looking as if it might find some way to turn it on with its mind. "Hurry up! How do I turn it on? She could come any second now and I'm very interested."

"There's a black thing on the counter called a remote. Pick it up and hit the button that says power."

She picked up the black remote and twisted it around in her hands, slowly at first, then quickly. "How do I make it speak?"

"No, it reads power. You know, words? You can read, can't you? Even the youngest kids can read nowadays, it's not a special skill anymore." If Misty had a mouth at the moment, she would have smiled. The Beast was giving her clue after clue to its weaknesses. Curiosity killed The Beast, so to speak.

"I can read if you can," It shrugged, pulling out the memory with ease. She found the button and pressed it, turning on the TV and gasping with unbridled joy. "That's amazing. How do you get people inside a little box? You shrink them with some sort of magic, don't you? That's the only way you could do it. You have to shrink them. It's like a little play inside the box! How often does it play? Once a day? More?"

"It plays all day," Misty said, her voice lilting. "It's not magic; it's science. The people are normal sized and they're millions of miles away. You can change the channel too. Press thirty six, I think that's the horror station here. You can watch disgusting creatures just like you. They're all into murder and death and destruction. I'm surprised you hadn't tried this sooner. People haven't gone into the woods since the TV was invented?"

"Takes energy to switch hosts," It explained absentmindedly, flipping to the horror channel and grinning as a screaming women was disemboweled. "Well, at least after a host dies. As long as my host is alive I can switch as often as I please. That's how I can stay out so long when I need to. Right before my host dies, I change. Sometimes I can't switch fast enough and the host goes. It was exactly one hundred years after my last host died when you wandered into the woods. After each body dies, I need one hundred years to get fixed up. Then I come back. But a lot changed in just one hundred years. It's a bit exciting, almost like time travel. You go away, then you come back and absolutely everything's changed."

"How long do you live?"

"Forever. I'm immortal. Kill me here I just go back to hell. I probably won't come back though. People have forgotten all about how to call up demons, so most of us are trapped in hell. It's ridiculous. You humans have bombs and guns and diseases and such and you don't need us anymore. It hurts to not be needed."

"I'm sure." Misty said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. But her plan was working. She wasn't sure how long Mrs. Ketchum would be out. She hoped it wouldn't be too long. With The Beast preoccupied with watching TV and divulging information it wouldn't notice Delia walking through the door. Even better, the act would not be very good if The Beast went from watching the horror station to crying about the murder of her friends. There was hope for the plan yet. She just had to cross her fingers and wish for the best.

"Huh. You people don't even need demons in you anymore. You kill people all on your own. Where's the fun in that? You're an evil race, I swear. First you cast out the thing that made you evil and then you become evil yourselves. That's crazy. I don't know how you stand being human. I would have killed myself a long time ago. Worse than demons. At least we show our true colors. You're nothing but backstabbers." It sighed and fell back on the couch. "Now I understand why you don't call up demons anymore. You don't need 'em. You just go and do the dirty work yourself."

"You have a grim outlook on the human race."

"Don't kid yourself. It's a positive outlook compared to what you all have done. I'm not the only one that has it. Pokémon aren't too keen on you either. You run around stuffing them into little balls. It's disgraceful. Some of them don't mind, and those are the kind that spring out of the bushes. They want to be caught. Plenty of them don't. They hide. You think they're rare, when really they just don't want to be your little slaves. Shocking to imagine such defiance, a pokémon wanting to be free, but it's true. All pokémon hate people. Though they might be a little more forgiving if you gave them TV's."

"Misty?" Delia asked, walking through the side door and dropping a bag of groceries on the table. "What are you doing here so…I don't know whether to use the word late or early. Brock came back and he told me you were right behind him, then you didn't come for a while but you're here now and…" She blew her bangs out of her face and ran a hand through her hair. "Where are the others?"

"The…the others?" The Beast gulped, searching for a lie. It couldn't possibly tell them they all died, could it? The woman wouldn't believe the story for a second. What to do, what to do? "They stayed behind. I tried to stick around for a little while, but the bugs kept coming at me and Ash was…I just couldn't stay any longer. I'm sure you understand what that's like, don't you Mrs. Ketchum? Boys can be so annoying."

She nodded sympathetically. "I'm sure. May and Drew kissing constantly probably didn't help much, did it, Misty? I've got some lotion for you to put on those bug bites. You won't be itching all night as long as you're with me! But did Ash say when he was coming back? I want to know how many to cook for."

"Oh, he's just camping out for another day. He wanted to prove he could stay around longer than me. It's some kind of macho thing I guess. May said she might be coming here later tonight for dinner, if she couldn't take the bugs much longer. She said she was sorry for not being clear, but she's really trying to stick out the bugs a little longer. I think it was to impress Drew." The Beast sat up and looked into the kitchen with a smile, resting its head on crossed arms.

"Mmm, that seems like her," The woman nodded. "I don't know why she tries so hard to impress the boy. He seems nice enough and he likes her just the way she is. You're not that way with Ash, are you?"

"Of course not!" The Beast said, a perfect Misty imitation shining through. "Why would you say that? It's not like we're dating. The last person in the world I'd want to impress is him! I'm looking for someone closer to my maturity level. Not that, er, your son isn't great, Mrs. Ketchum. He's a great guy I just-"

"I know, I know. We've been through this a thousand times before," She laughed, smoothing her white apron with one hand and eyeing the girl on the sofa. "What are you doing on your butt? Get over here and help an old woman unpack her groceries. I'm making you dinner, in case you've forgotten. You owe me some major chore time, especially since Ash isn't around. Whatever happened in the woods must have thrown you off, Misty. You're usually right on your feet whenever I bring in some kind of housework."

"You know how it is, Mrs. Ketchum," The Beast said, getting to its feet. "My mind's everywhere but here. I can't focus today. The bug bites are getting annoying and…I'm sorry. You sit down, take a rest. I can get all the bags picked up for you. I feel so guilty!" It tangled a hand in her hair and gave a short, guilty laugh to prove it.

"Oh, Misty. You know I was just kidding. You don't have to do a thing!"

"I feel like it, Mrs. Ketchum, sit down," It insisted. "It's the least I can do considering you're going to be my meal tonight."

"I'm going to make your meal," The housewife teased, "Not be your meal."

"Right," It laughed. "My mistake."

"I'm not sure if that's a corny joke or a slipup. Share with me, did you just accidentally inform Mrs. Ketchum you're going to go cannibal on her?"

It was a joke, The Beast lied, internally cursing itself for the Freudian slip before going about the housework.

"I'm glad to have you, Misty. You're a great help. Brock's coming over tonight too. He'll be here in just a few minutes," Mrs. Ketchum called over form the couch. "He went out to the woods today to try and find you. Won't he be surprised when he comes back. He gave me a call, said he found something and he'd be back to tell me in person. He sounded awfully worked up about it. I hope he didn't find a dead pokémon or something sad like that. I know it's not anything good."

The Beast choked on air, feeling its chest tighten with worry. "He…He didn't say what it was Mrs. Ketchum? You're sure?"

"No, he said it would be best if I saw him in person to get the news," Mrs. Ketchum said from the couch, curling up and letting her eyes close a bit. "What were you doing watching the horror channel, Misty? You hate horror movies."

"Oh, gee, looks like you're getting busted here, aren't you?" Misty sniggered. "Whatchya going to do? Brock's on the way and Mrs. Ketchum is getting very suspicious of you, clever demon. You're failing big time at this. I don't even have to plan a thing. You're screwing this up all by yourself. That's one heck of a talent, I have to say. Can you sabotage anything, or just things you've started? I don't know, because you helped start my relationship with Ash, and you sabotaged that. I only ask, not because I'm stupid, but because I'm curious." She poked it with an imaginary stick.

Quiet, Misty, The Beats purred, opening the silverware drawer. Mommy has some work to do. Don't you just adore bring your daughter to work day? You can see me in action. I've never used a knife before, so don't be embarrassed if Mama makes some mistakes. She'll do her best to fix them. It shouldn't matter though, it all comes down to the same result: One skeleton, lying on a carpet stained with her own blood. Won't this be fun?

"Not Mrs. Ketchum," Misty urged, honesty in her words. "Don't kill her. Wait for Brock. If you kill him first you'll be safe, because Mrs. Ketchum can't take us. Brock can. Come on, if you're really my alter ego, shouldn't you be a little smarter than this? Now isn't the time to kill her. Not with Brock on his way. You're going to get us both killed, you stupid Beast! Don't do it! Not now! Wait 'til tonight! They sleep on their backs! You can stab them or slit them before they can scream!

"It looked interesting, Mrs. K. You see, I've started taking an interest in murder. You might even say a professional interest." The Beast twirled a large cutting knife, the length of Misty's forearm, in her hand. "There's no better way to understand it than to experience it. So I've been watching it on TV, real life. All that kind of stuff. I'm going to need all the experience my mother had if I'm going to be anything special. I want my name in the history books."

"Your mother was in law enforcement?" Mrs. Ketchum inquired.

The Beast chuckled. "Not quite." It continued its slow, sauntering walk to her. "My mother was a murderer, Delia. Not a self defense, or a paid murderer, but a true murderer. It was in her blood. A lust for death. It's in me too. I've been fighting for so, so long. Somehow…I can't seem to fight it anymore. See, Ash, May, Drew, they aren't coming back. They're dead. Killed in cold blood. I killed them. Then I ate them. Really, after you've killed, what's the harm in cannibalism? I was starving and the flesh was so warm."

"You're scaring me," Delia said, sitting up sharply. "This isn't funny. Put the knife away and cut it out, Misty. I don't know what's gotten into you."

"It's not what's gotten into me," It said, angling the knife towards the woman on the couch. "It's what's getting out. I'm a killer, Mrs. Ketchum, and there's nothing you can do to change it. Lay on your back and expose your throat. We'll make it easy and quick, though, I admit, I'll have loads more fun if you'll put up a bit of a fight. The chase is always something to look forward to. It's amazing. Oh, speaking of which, I slept with your son." It grinned. "Six and a half times."

"Brock," Mrs. Ketchum croaked nervously.

"He's not here. It's just me, you and a knife. Fun, isn't it? Sounds like a TV drama. Me, you and a knife. It's the next hit gameshow! It's like Russian Roulette, except you're screwed no matter what." It slid forward, behind the couch and knife right above her heart. "Any last words before I cut out and swallow your still beating heart."

"Brock!" She called louder. "Help!"

The Beast raised an eyebrow with a snicker. "And I wasted all that energy being poetic for you. Ah, well. Victims are never grateful anymore. At least I made your death fun, right out of a horror movie. And you get the pleasure of having the TV on as you die. You couldn't ask for a better death. I feel almost, disappointed to kill you. It's so…nice. There's not a bit of torture involved. Well, except for the fact that it is your son's sex buddy killing you. Wouldn't it be extra ironic if I was pregnant with you child."

"Brock, please," Mrs. Ketchum said, tears starting.

"Shut up," It said coolly, then jerked forward.

…But the knife twisted. Brock's heavy hand clutching over Misty's and thrusting it into its wildly beating heart. The knife sunk deep, easily slicing through breast, flesh, and muscle, then twisted as Brock flicked his hand with an air as stony as the rocks in his gym. His body was around her, bringing her in like a blanket as she threw her head back into his chest with an unearthly gurgling moan. Her free hand clutched at the side of his pants as if to reduce the pain, but it didn't work. Fresh blood flowed slowly down her body, though she was replenishing it as fast as she could, it was only delaying the inevitable. The host was dying, as hard as she fought for life, the body was fading, the lights going out in the corners of her eyes and each breath getting harder and harder to take. Legs buckled, but he supported her with a disgusted grunt, leaning down to whisper into her ear.

"How could you?" He asked gruffly, twisting the knife again.

"The bug," She moaned, clutching his pants tighter. It was Misty now, the bug beginning to abandon ship. It left only one switch on, the one to make more blood, to keep her alive long enough to change bodies. "Brock, kill the bug. Take the knife out. It's crawling around somewhere, I don't know where. It's a demon Brock, I swea.r I'm dead but it's not gone yet. You have to get it. You have to kill it. Oh, Arceus, I'm already dying you have to get the damn bug before it kills someone else."

"I'm sick of your fucking lies."

"I'm dying, you ass," She growled. "Why would I lie? So I can have the knife taken out and use my super human powers to heal? Hurry up and find it. Kill it. It's me, Brock, not the thing that killed Ash. I loved him, damn it! I slept with him! I slept with him before it killed him and you have to get revenge for me!"

He yanked the knife out and set her down carefully on the sofa, unsure as to whether she was telling the truth or not. "What does it look like?"

"I don't know," Misty said, her breathing ragged as she gripped the pillow. "You have to find it before it gets in someone else. It's a bug, look for a bug and step on it. And if you see a bump under your skin, stab it, because that fucker has to die. If you don't hurry, we're all screwed, so find it and kill it!"

"Misty," Mrs. Ketchum started through tears.

"Yes, I'm Misty. The Beast tried to kill you. Stabbing me was the right thing to do. I don't know how my heart's still working and I don't know how long it will be either, but it's not long. Mrs. K, Ash was the best kid I ever knew, and I loved him. He was also great in bed. Then The Beast killed him and, Mew, it's horrible and I wish I could be more sentimental but I don't have much time left. Mrs. K, you were great. You were like a mother that didn't try to kill me, and considering I've never had one of those, well, that's just fantastic. Thanks for being there and still caring that I'm dying even though a demon controlling my body tried to kill you." The girl felt her muscles spasm, making her arch and legs flash out, one catching Mrs. Ketchum in the side. "Sorry, unintentional. I didn't put all the groceries away either."

"Oh, Misty." She hugged the girl with warm arms, kissing her face over and over. "I knew it couldn't be you."

"It could've, but I don't think it was." She gulped. "I don't think it was."

The woman pulled away, rubbing her shoulder lightly. "What do you mean sweetheart? Wasn't it-"

"I don't know," Misty gulped. "It was saying…saying things about and alterego and…" The girl gasped again, her heart twitching and beginning to beat slower. "Just kill the bug. Oh, Mew, if you find a bug kill it and if you get a bug bite kill yourself, please. Murder that sucker. Send it back to hell and never let it back."

She gasped again, and closed her eyes, blood still pouring out, warming Delia's blouse. She waited, looking for the rise and fall of a chest, some sign of life, but she got none. The color was draining from her once flushed cheeks, her body becoming colder to the touch. Delia tried, again and again to wake her up, shaking the girl and crying out her name through tears. Brock was still searching in the background, bloodstained knife in hand and eyes on the floor. It was soon accepted that Misty was dead, and soon after that…well, they decided there was never any bug to begin with and it was, as crushing as it was, Misty that was the killer.

Brock and Mrs. Ketchum sat on the couch, looking at Misty's body and quietly discussing how they could explain it to the police. They decided the truth was best, no cover story needed with a history as crazy as Misty's, and knew that it didn't matter what they said because it would soon be distorted to what it was in the past: a campfire story. Misty would be possessed by Crimson Lake, the red waters were the victim's blood, and so on with the terrifying tale to keep nosy Pallet Town children out of the woods.

Brock did hear a strange sound, however, something like a cool whisper next to his ear explaining that: This all could have been avoided with a damn can of bug spray. But he tuned it out and went back to comforting the tearful ex-mother, rubbing her back and going his back to push dangerous thoughts out of his mind.

And, scuttling down the road back to the woods, was a praying mantis, covered in the gray matter that made up brains and crimson blood. If one had seen the creature and leaned down close enough, close enough to hear a squeaking voice, they would have heard something about a damn girl dying just a little too fast and having to wait another one hundred years before it would ever get to have a good old fashioned meal again.

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Let me explain this chapter's title. It's the title of a well-known children's story, a circle story. It's an elaborate series of events that starts with "If you give a mouse a cookie" and ends with something along the lines of, "you'll have to give a mouse a cookie." Since the monster lived, it's assumed that it'll do the same thing again, thus continuing the circle.

Now that that is out of the way, I apologize for being so late. See, I've been busy, really busy, and wallowing in a bit of self pity that, even though Slip of the Tongue was mostly something to fill my time, something easy and quick, it's always going to be my most popular work. I could write the pokémon fanfiction equivalent of the Mona Lisa, and I'm pretty sure that's still going to be number one, because it's straight out romance fluff and, well, because it has contestshipping (which is slowly taking over the fandom).

I hope you enjoyed the story, and thanks so much to all my dedicated reviewers. Your responses mean the world to me!