I had never, ever expected to write anything SpongeBob related. I love the show, but writing a fanfic for it seemed impossible. That is, until I saw the episode "Squid's Visit" the other day and thought it had so much potential to be something...different. Something more up my alley.

So, here's my take on the episode.

There was no room for rationalizing.

Squidward simply couldn't wrap his head around how he'd done it, capturing every minute detail of the interior of his home, down to the barely noticeable chip in the wall from when he'd moved in. This was something that had taken time, and he wondered how long it took, how much money was devoted to this twisted project. It had almost made him admire the boy, if only for a split second. Even he, as an artist, had not paid this much attention to detail.

He could hear the younger man's laugh carry through the house as he ventured slowly, quietly, throughout what was essentially his own home. But it wasn't. It was like something out of a dream—a nightmare, really—something so deceivingly familiar, yet haunting. Sinister. Fear crept up his back, raising his flesh, and he couldn't help but feel as though he were in danger.

He knew SpongeBob's childlike mindset would lead him to believe this was something endearing, in no way alarming, but something was off. That he couldn't deny. His neighbor had seemed over eager, more so than usual, to have him over finally after years of refusal. SpongeBob went so far as to steal the vacuum cleaner right from under his nose, and when he'd done it, he wasn't sure. Then again, he wasn't even sure when this construction project had began and he supposed he should start paying more attention to the yellow skinned boy.

Squidward came to a door at the end of the hall, what he assumed was a closet, and swung it open, reaching in blindly for the piece of equipment and was met with a handful of nothing. Cool air and silence.

Hesitantly, he forced himself to peer into the darkened space and felt along the wall for a switch, and flicked it upward, heart racing as the bulbs powered on and inch by inch lit the room.

He stopped in the center of the room, turning his body around and around to view the paintings that covered every inch of the walls.

"Oh, my...he copied them. All 492 of them," He whispered to himself. A sudden sickness washed over him and he collapsed onto the floor, his knees hitting the soft fabric of a throw rug, and after moving his body backward, realized his face was stitched perfectly into the material. It was all perfect, everything, even the statue.

He was in over his head, he realized, being here with his seemingly eccentric neighbor. He needed to get out. And fast.

Squidward took a deep breath and steadied himself before continuing his search for the stolen vacuum, and found the appliance tucked away in a closet, hidden from view behind a tall house plant.

"Great. Now I can get out of here," He mumbled, exhaling a calming breath, and tugged at the handle, expecting it to lift with ease. It didn't, and the more he pulled, the more his frustration grew, and in a final attempt, exerted all the strength he could muster.

The machine didn't budge, but he certainly had, flinging back toward the wall as his hands slipped from the handle's rubber grip. His head bounced hard off the wall, and within a mere minutes time, was unconscious.

Small feet shuffled down the hall toward the limp body and a smile—toothy and bright—spread across the younger man's lips. Everything had gone according to plan, though not exactly as planned, but the end result he desired was achieved.

It was time.

Well, that's the end...at least of the first chapter, and I apologize for it being so short. Should I continue it? Let me know what you think! Any and all feedback is appreciated. Thanks for reading.