Title: Voices in the Dark

Author: The Dragoness (aka Cupcake/Regan)

Notes: Yes, I like Nny too, and yes, he's going to be in this in a few chapters. But for now it's all about Squee, so get used to it. XP. Poor little Squeegee…

Disclaimer: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac is copyrighted by Jhonen Vasquez. And stuff. Yay. =^_^=

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter One: New Blood

A blur of fine, black hair and the glimpse of a worn teddy bear peaking its fathomless eyes over the edge of a backpack were all that alerted passery's to the presence of the young teenager. Not that anyone would care anyway, being too absorbed in their own frivolous activities. In any case, Squee had already taken great pains to fit in with his surroundings; being inconspicuous was high on his list of daily necessities, as was staying alive on a daily basis.

What idiots. Completely oblivious to the state of the world around them. Makes me fucking sick.

"They can't help it. And please watch your language."

Releasing each of the six locks on the door, Squee quickly stepped inside and sealed the safeguards behind him. The house was nothing spectacular; the sparse furniture denoted a decisive lack of feminine touch to be sure, but neither the person nor the voice who inhabited it were remotely concerned about style. The wooden floor, wide rooms, television set, and yards and yards of weapons and locks in the basement were their simple necessities. Letting his backpack slump to the floor, he retreated to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich, trying to forget the image of the psycotic murderer whose head he'd beaten in with his algebra book today. Nothing a bit of peanut butter and jelly couldn't help…

They're idiots though, and you know it. What kind of person who is not an idiot would willingly heap their world with misery, chaos, and evilness, and leave it to rot?

Squee glanced over the counter at the bear still lodged in his backpack on the floor. Ten years of wear and tear had not put a damper on the cynic's observant personality in the least. "I do wish you wouldn't remind me of that; I'm trying to digest my saturated fats and preservatives in peace, thank you very much."

Years had passed, and seven years of memories had too for The Child Who Had Been Todd. The silent wheel of time still turned, controlled by the same cruel fate that had plunged his existence into a dark and dreary cave of fear and rushing adrenalin, one with so many endless paths that he had long since forgotten how to return to the normal world from which he came. He sometimes wondered if he even had come from such a place. He tried to think back to a happier time, but all he could remember were those nightmarish caves. Each twist and each gaping cavern he encountered became more and more horrifying. More prone to cause any eight year old to scream his head off and hide under his bead, praying to God that that monster still didn't live under there. Parents, murderers, aliens, and Satan himself lurked behind the stagmalites, waiting for the time when he'd stumble blindly into their pathway.

But The Child Who Had Been Todd was no longer eight years old, nor remotely what anyone could call "normal." Dwelling on the edge of nightmares incarnate did wonders for the personality. Relinquishing all ties to the world that had spawned him, Squee knew how to defend himself against monsters, disembodied voices, and raging adults at the ripe age of fifteen. But intelligent (for one must be intelligent not to be taken advantage of) and quick-witted (for one must be quick-witted not to be eaten), Squee couldn't help retaining a few of his old characteristics: his manners and his hope. Hope that perhaps one day the nightmares would stop, he'd be able to be a normal teenager, and hey, maybe he'd even find a girlfriend. But in fate's vicious circle, it was that bright and shiny hope that attracted the monsters and evils who had enough brains to recognize what it was, fueling their gut-wrenching desires to consume something so pure in the decayed, filth-ridden world though which they roamed.

By the way, I'm going to have to go out tonight. Got a meeting to attend. Think you can hold off the fort on your own?

"Sure. I'll manage."

Good. A pause. Seriously, I can't stand it. If I had eyes to gorge out, believe me, I would find much better uses for that butter knife you're holding.

Squee sighed softly and quickly finished smearing the peanut butter neatly across his sandwich. "C'mon… you act like the world isn't like this every day of our lives." The expected smart-ass comeback failed to materialize, but Squee didn't think about it as he began to mechanically chew on his snack. Shmee's frustrated comments had become less frequent over the past year. The bear (or rather his voice… Squee still hadn't quite grasped the complete concept of guardians and parasitical voices) was always with him, always warding off evil or warning him of the first sight of it, but quiet contemplation had become a new daily habit. Then again, what else did one do without the ability to move around?

Brood over evil and the trash heap that was reality was the simple answer. That was one field Squee had experience in. His experience in it had become so pronounced in fact that Shmee had long ago decided the safest thing would be to channel dangerous auras through his guardian for an easy-to-pick-up frequency. With a sixth sense he'd be safe... but he was miserable at the same time. And the feeling of dread that never seemed to leave him had been steadily growing stronger. He crammed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth. Stronger, stronger, stronger, stronger, stronger, stronger, stronger. Like grotesque, rotting hands reaching out to grab him, to suck his battered soul from his lifeless, twitching body-

He swallowed the last bite and reached for a glass of milk. Time to start his homework.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The place of the meeting was unimportant. Such is usually the case when the attendees have a tendency not to use their bodies… if they even have one that is. But the voices did have to figure out some spot to converge in. And thus the entities who would decide the fate of the mortal world met in the dusty attic of an elderly lady's rotting home. Naivete may have led them to believe that their discussions were safe from the non-existent ears of evilness and chaos, but all who were assembled in mind alone were far too experienced to believe it. Dirt, grime, chaos, misery, and filth were all around them, thanks to the humans who had begun the whole cycle by carelessly polluting the world with their pettiness and strife, practically fertilizing the path for the birth of nightmare-like monsters. The evilness of the inanimate and the willpower of the parasitic were something even the knowledgeable Voices and Guardians feared. And thus the reasoning behind the meeting.

Shmee had called it of course, having never been satisfied with his role of merely guiding his fifteen-year-old ward and resisting most of the intangible powers that came to prey on the boy. Lucky him to be in charge of such a trauma magnet. Woo. Then again, the deceased Nailbunny had really had his work cut out for him. The rest of the Voices had ogled over the mind-boggling pulsations of chaos that had ensued from the dwelling place of the former Wall Keeper before his death and the temporary end of the universe. In fact, that event seven years ago had set in motion the events that sparked the need for such a meeting. The pains, fears, and evilness of the world, condensed and coiled to the point where it became tangible in the form of a hideous monster on the loose was enough spur them to leave their wards unprotected for just one night. Endlessly hungry to feed off of more fear and suffering in the forms of death and blood, the trapped monster had long ago dispersing itself over the far reaches of the Earth like a giant, dark cloud, raining down thick drops of chaos and misery wherever it went. The Parasites, milder versions who were forced to feed off of the minds of their victims to become powerful were populating the world more and more as their hosts became more troubled and confused. The struggle had been going on since mankind's creation, but something had to be done. Now.

I am far too unmannered for formalities, and I don't think our present circumstances would allow for it anyway. Shmee's voice easily overpowered the quiet murmurs echoing around the attic. For seven years, our situation's gotten worse, specifically since that whole Wall Keeper incident. We're fighting a losing battle, folks. Enough of our numbers have died in order to see that.

It's not the situation we're worried about. Enny, an ancient voice who presently inhabited a thick storybook in a little girl's bedroom, cut in. It's how to solve it.

I'm doing all I can.

I'm protecting my ward, but I can't take on anyone else's.

There's too many.

We're not strong enough.

The other voices joined in, announcing their opinions as well. After a moment, Enny made herself heard above the din. This is all very true. Shmee has just remarked that this is due to our failing numbers, which translates into failing strength and willpower. Thus, the only solution is obvious: we need new blood in our ranks.

Shmee gave a sarcastic snort. You forget, Enny dear, that voices are supposed to be immortal, despite the fact that we're being killed off. Chalk another one up to the bright thinkers up in the afterlife. Everyone here has existed since this whole system began; we move from ward to ward, but no more of us are made.

Have we ever tried? Enny's soft whisper was heard clearly through the sudden silence as the others considered the unthinkable. It would take an incredible soul. An pure soul. Innocent enough to be manipulated. Strong enough to make a difference. Ripped from the realm of the living into the space between. What a loss it would be. But… what a gain.

What a gain… Shmee voiced the single mental thought of the group out loud. Yes… even one such type would do to just push the balance in our favor. Sadly, it is a gain we must be forced to take. So we'll go out and search for the one to do it. His voice closed in on itself and he wished he had eyes to narrow. We'll… search.

*~*~*~*~*~

On Friday the dread came. On Saturday the dread came. On Sunday the dread came. Oh wow, did it come. Squee was almost physically ill from the mental images and emotions that raced through his head: foreboding feelings of blood, gore, guts, monsters, plagues, and death violated his thoughts. Even peanut butter and jelly sandwiches didn't help. It was an intensity unlike anything he'd ever known. When he asked Shmee what it might be caused by, the bear was always silent. Either that, or after asking one too many times, he'd snappishly respond with, The world is ending. Happy now?

Actually, it didn't seem like such a bad answer.

It just wasn't fair, Squee thought to himself as he experienced another wave of nausea that had nothing to do with the idiotic sitcom he was watching on television. For once in his pathetic life, why couldn't he just be normal? He hadn't asked to be a living trauma magnet. NEVER would he have asked for it. He would've asked for parents. Parents would be nice. Parents who didn't move across the country, leaving their twelve year old son to fend for himself would be wonderful. And the ability to relax, drink a soda, and watch shows on a Sunday evening with his friends would have been paradise

The only friend Squee had ever really associated with was not a pre-adolescent classmate who played video games on the weekends. Instead, he'd been taken under the wing of a psychotic homicidal maniac whose idea of fun was inventing new and fun techniques with which to disembowel people with sporks. Then again, Nny was not so much a friend as a mentor, or guardian even. Ironically enough, Squee could identify with his insanity, chaos, and blinding willingness to expose reality's flaws much more than he could relate to some kid and his high school basketball teams. Takes a lunatic to know one. Nny's visits were random and few, mostly coming around his birthday when he showed up to give the boy a few pieces of advice and perhaps a brainfreezy in place of a cake. He almost regretted the lack of visits, finding the man who was more prone to act like an angst-ridden teenager rather than his actual age to be more company than a lonely room that screamed with mental waves of horror. Perhaps Nny would know what to make of the images.

But on Monday the dread ceased.

In all honesty, Squee was shocked, but overjoyed nonetheless. Something good had actually happened in his life? Something better than opening a new jar of peanut butter? Incredible.

"Shmee! Hey, Shmee! You won't believe this, but all that junk that's been whirling around in my head all weekend is gone! How about that!" Shmee made a noise of affirmation, and Squee quickly placed the bear in his backpack in preparation for another day of school. "Isn't that great?" He asked, smiling broadly.

Huh? Oh… yeah. Great. Woo hoo.

Locking the six bolts behind him before jogging down the sidewalk, Squee smirked at his guardian's sarcasm. "Oh come on… be halfway cheerful for once. If I can do it, so can you." They turned down an alley to the right.

Shmee considered how amazing it was that such a sad individual could rebound so quickly. Must be that damned hope, or whatever it's called. Woo hoo HOO.

"Pathetic. Try it again."

Not now, Squee… I feel sick.

Concern roughly shoved happiness aside as Squee's worry over his faithful guardian rose. "Sick, you say? D'you think you're picking up what I was catching yesterday?"

No, it's not that. Don't worry. Please don't worry about me. Just go ahead and enjoy yourself. Why don't you talk a bit more?

"Um… okay. If you're sure you're all right" Squee instinctively walked a bit closer to the grimy brick wall as they pushed on further down the darkening side street. He couldn't quite yet see the light at the end of the tunnel, if his high school ahead in the distance could be called a beacon of any sort. "Well, you know how I always pick up frequencies with bad vibes in them? Well, of course you know… you filter them to me… Anyway, it was getting really bad over the past few days, and suddenly it just stopped! It was great; I could finally focus on what was really going on!" He took a big breath of air and shut his eyes. "I mean, I still know that there's a bully up ahead in the school yard, and a parasite lurking over that way in the café down the road, but at least I can think semi-normally again. I can't tell you how much I've wanted that."

He paused for a moment and blinked.

What's wrong? Shmee's voice sounded strained, even to himself.

Without warning, Squee suddenly threw back his head and laughed. Laughed for the first time in who knows how long. Shmee vaguely thought in the back of his mind how pleasing the boy must've looked to humans when he genuinely smiled. The sick feeling returned and he mentally turned away. "Nothing's wrong!" More laughter. A bright step in his walk. "It's just that I can't even feel them now! I can't hear anything unusual at all! Nothing! I've never been so happy in my entire life!" Shmee stole one more glance at his ward. He wore a beaming smile on his face. And it was no small surprise. For the first time in his life, he didn't sense foreboding misery. He didn't sense despair. He didn't sense evil.

And he didn't sense his own death when the serial killer stalked up behind him and rammed a crowbar through the back of his head.