"Okay, kinky..." I say, in a desperate attempt at a joke. "but, I'm not into toilet stuff, so can we stop this, please?"
I shuffle my feet to try to stand up, and whince as I feel a small cut on my heel. I flinch and look at my foot only to feel my stomach drop. the entire ground is covered in fragments of green glass, like broken wine bottles.
"I'm afraid we've only just started," says a distorted, deep voice. I look up to see a horn-shaped speaker in the high corner of the bathroom. "My fun is just beginning, and you are one of the miserable toys that I'm playing with."
"Why do you sound like Jigsaw?" I ask. then it dawns on me. "Oh, shit... is this a Saw parody?! Are we doing Saw? No, no no no. I like the movies, sure, but I never wanted to be in a goddamned Saw story!"
"It's too late, Mister Anderson. Because now, I'd like to play a game. For over a year now, you've been threatening the demise of this very blog. Spewing disgusting ideas of finality and themes of death. Well, if you're going to kill this blog, it's going to kill you along with it."
"Never saw it coming...?" I whine, "it's not even a good title..."
"On the wall behind you, is the key to escaping this room, but it's trapped in a glass cell." says the voice. I turn to see a metre-tall, glass tube with a key at the bottom, attached to what looks like a ping pong ball. "In order the free the key, you will have to drown it. The tap on your right is your only salvation. With your hands tied, the only way to fill the cell is with your mouth, but be careful... this water is not safe to drink."
"Well, this sounds familiar..." I mutter.
"Since you've been spitting such vile filth about this Countdown's demise, it seems only fitting that you spit to save your own life. But watch your step. This bathroom hasn't been cleaned in a while."
The voice laughs menacingly, then with a click the speaker shuts off.
"No... this isn't just any Saw story, it's my Saw story. I wrote this concept. But it's different. This guy was a drunk, but I'm... spitting?"
I lean against the wall and push with my legs to force myself onto my feet.
"Oh, crap! My knee... my knee," I groan, forcing myself to my feet, but my left knee aches from the pressure. "Crap, my bad knee... wait, my bad knee? I don't usually write these that realistic. Did I put that in just to make me suffer more? That's cruel."
Now that I'm standing, I turn to see that on the far side of the room there is a sink, under a dirty mirror, constantly running a little stream of water. But my eyes are drawn to the shattered glass covering the floor between me and the sink. I use my foot to carefully shuffle the glass out of the way.
"Ah!" I yelp. "okay, okay... oh, shit!"
It hurts whenever a sharp bit digs into the side of my foot or toes, but it hurts a lot less than trying to stand on the glass.
It takes me almost three minutes to scoot the glass out of the way, but eventually, I get close enough to the sink. I turn to see the metal gate to this public toilet, locked with a chain and padlock, and darkness beyond. With no other way out, I my head under the tap.
I slurp a little into my mouth, then gag and spit it out.
"Arghk! SOAP! You put soap in it?!" I yell. "I thought it would be dirt or vinegar or something, but soap? That's just sick..."
I stare at the sink, some bubbles building up around the sink.
"Well, at least it's not pee, I guess," I say, leaning in. I slurp up a mouthful of soapy water, then waddle back towards the pipe. The soapy water feels slightly slimy in my mouth, and I wander over and spit into the top of the pipe. I fill it barely 2cm, barely enough to cover the key.
"Oh, fuck off..." I say, spitting, trying to get the soapy taste out of my mouth.
"I'll have to do that, like, ptoo" (spit) "fifty times! I guess that's why Saw has those ramped up montages."
I start heading back and forth back and forth. By all means, imagine a Saw montage of me speed-walking to and fro several times, but I had to go through it over 50 times, so just be glad you didn't. Especially since on my 20-somethingth trip (I lost count), I took a wrong step and got some glass stabbed into my foot. It hurt, so I spat out the water in my mouth. Since my hands were tied, I had to shake my foot to get it loose - that hurt - but even worse, when I went back and got some more, as I passed that same spot, the floor now had soapy water on it, so I slipped and cut my foot even worse as is slid into the glass. I had to be careful on that spot from then on, but it made it take that much longer...
Finally, I spit the last mouthful of soapy water into the pipe, and the ping-pong ball bobs near the surface. I stick my face into the top of the pipe and use suction to grab the ball with my mouth and, holding it in my teeth, I walk over to one of the other sinks and spit the ball in there. I notice that it has two keys on it. One is tiny, with one tooth, and the other looks like a padlock key. I turn around, grab the keys with my hands, and blindly work the small key into the lock on the cuffs. I unlock one side, then turn around and unlock the other. Then, I head for the door. I have to stop short when I see even more glass leading to the gate, but this time I lean down, using the key to flick glass out of the way, then head to the exit. I swiftly unlock the door, untie the chain, and step outside. It's dark, but I see grass all around me, with a tall, chain-linked fence topped with barbed wire the left, but a few metres in front of me are some cheap, plastic tables, a drinks cooler, and some microphones. But right by my feet, sitting on the edge of the concrete slab, is a pair of thongs.
"That's nice, I guess," I say, slipping them on. I head out and look around to the right. I see a little path, some trees to one side, next to what looks like a small, metal shed with a chimney, a church to the other, but right around the public toilet, I see a graveyard, and some kind of large funnel standing over it.
"What the hell is that thing?" I say, wandering over. I walk as quickly as my cut feet will take me over to the large contraption, and I see that it's standing over an oversized graveyard plot, with a wooden, slatted crate inside, standing on one end. Some kind of metal wire leads from the box up to the funnel/hopper device. At the top of the hole is a headstone that reads:
RIP - Here Lies Matthew A.J. Anderson - 1991-2025
"Cute," I mutter.
"What? Who's out there?" says a voice inside the box.
"There's someone in the box?" I say. I look down and, sure enough, I can make out a figure inside of the box. "I thought the box was for me."
"No, I'm trapped in here..." says the guy in the box. "I think this is meant to be like some kind of Saw movie."
"Tell me about it..." I say.
"What's your name?" says the guy in the box.
"Matt," I tell him.
"Really?" he says. "My name is Matt, too."
"Wait..." I say, glancing at the headstone, "Matthew A.J. Anderson?"
"Yeah, how did you know?"
"Because that's my name," I say.
"Is this some kind of joke?" says Matt.
"No... I mean, well, yeah kinda. This is one of my meta-fictiony blogpost story type thing. I usually do these for my Halloween Countdown. This is all a story."
"I'm part of a story? Okay," says Matt. "Well, if this is a Saw story, then there's... ah-ha! There's a tape player in here!"
A few seconds later, I hear a click, and a familiar, distorted voice.
"Hello, Mister Anderson. I'd like to play a game... for the past year, you've been creating a podcast all about children's horror stories. This has taken valuable time away from the blog, burying you with other work. It's kept you so busy, I guess you could say your hands are tied..." says the voice with a dark chuckle. "The only way out, will be to unscrew your hands. But, will you free your fingers before you're buried alive? Live or die, it's up to you..." the voice stops with a click.
"My hand is screwed into the wood. But, there's a screwdriver here," says Matt.
"Screwdriver? Wait, I remember this! Don't—"
The wire snaps taught, then Suddenly dirt starts pouring out of the funnel.
"No, this is my coffin trap! Pulling the wire starts it!" I yell.
"I can't see!" yells Matt.
"Don't worry, just undo the screws in your hand!" I say, but I see that the figure is wiping at his face, trying to get dirt out of his eyes. "I have an idea!"
I take off my shirt and throw it over the top of the box. It quickly gets covered in dirt, but it stops it from raining down on top of the... me in the box.
"Thanks!" he yells back, and I watch nervously as he works at his hand. From this side, I can only see the very tips of the screws disappear as he unwinds them, but it takes at least a minute to undo each one, and there's four holding him in place. Each minute, the dirt seems to pile up another foot around the side of the box. After five minutes, he yells out!
"I... I got it!"
"Okay, you gotta break the box!" I yell. I hear a thump.
"Ow!" he yells, and I see him shaking his hand. Then he lifts a leg and kicks, the box cracks, and after two more kicks, he bursts through the wood, and I see myself crawl out of the box.
"Give me your hand!" I say, leaning down. He grabs my hand, and I use all my strength to pull him (me) out of the grave.
"Thanks," he says, standing next to me.
"Man, you're heavy," I say.
"Now, that's just rude... haven't I gone through enough" he says, holding up his bloodied hand. But I'm looking at his stomach.
"No... you are. You're fat."
"So what? There's nothing wrong with being fat," he says.
"No, but, I'm not, look," I say, showing off my shirtless body.
"You're right... but we're the same person?" he says.
"Yeah, I'm Matthew A.J. Anderson. But, like, the fictional, protagonist version that I write for my blogs," I say. digging through the pouring dirt and grabbing my shirt back. It's covered in dirt, but I shake it until most of it comes off.
"Okay, what's your blog called?" he asks.
"The Absurd Word Nerd," I say. But then I eye him suspiciously. "But, if you're me... you should know that."
"No, I'm a podcaster," he corrects me. "I create the Chapterspooks podcast."
"Oh... ohh, okay," I say. "So, you're the version of me that does the podcast."
"Okay. But, how come I don't know about the blog?"
"Because, you never mentioned the blog in the podcast, but I've mentioned the podcast in my blog!"
"Woah, how did you do that?"
"Say the hyperlink? Well, I write the blog, I can do that kind of thing."
"Okay... well, if this is a story, then I can try to analyze it, to find out what it means," says Matt, taking the tape player out of his pocket.
"You kept your game tape? Why?"
"A combination of curiosity and narrative convenience," he says, rewinding the tape. He plays the tape again, from the beginning.
"Hello, Mister Anderson. I'd like to play a game..." he turns it off with a click.
"That's our voice," he says.
"What? How can you tell?"
"I do a podcast, I'm used to playing around with audio. It's filtered somehow and pitch-shifted, but that's our voice."
"So, we're both me... and another me is behind all of this?"
"It makes sense thematically, I guess. Since I'm the podcaster and you're the blogger, is there some other aspect of you that it could be?"
I think about it for a moment, when something dawns on me.
"the YouTuber..."
"The what?"
"I've done some YouTube stuff, in particular, Let's plays. Maybe that's why he's the Jigsaw guy? He's so focused on games!"
"How come I don't ever talk about any of the other stuff you do?"
"It's for a particular audience," I say. Off behind me, I hear an engine revving, and turn to the small grouping of trees.
"No... the Tractor Trap!" I say, running.
"The what?!" yells Matt the Podcaster, running to catch up.
Every step stings in my feet, but I run as fast as I can. I know how deadly this trap can be.
I race through the trees until I find a large tractor, held up on jacks, its large tires spinning fast, each one covered in stables and barbed wire. But I'm momentarily distracted when I see who's sitting in the trap.
Matt the Podcaster runs up beside me, and yells.
"Is that R.L. STINE?!"
"There's no time to explain!" I tell him, looking around for something to help.
"Matt! Help me!" yells Stine, trying to cut through the noose around his neck with a small knife, as the rope was swiftly shortening, coiling around the axle of the tractor.
"You need to slow it down with your feet!"
"I tried!" he yells, holding up a foot as he keeps cutting, to show the shredded skin and blood. "I couldn't slow it down!"
Desperate, I find a fallen branch on the ground, and I jam the thickest end against the tire, trying to slow it down. There's the sound of strain from the engine, but the metal-wrapped tire starts eating up the branch like a food processor, spitting splinters and woodchips all over. It shortens and shortens, then snaps in my hands, and I stagger, almost falling into the tire, myself.
"Quick, grab another branch!" I yell, but the other version of me is at the other tire, struggling to hold the branch with his one, good hand. It gets ripped from his hand, and we both go looking for something else.
"Hurry!" yells R.L. Stine. "I'm starting to run out of ro—" there's a sickening snap sound, a thump as his body gets wrenched from the chair, then a groaning from the engine straining before it stalls.
I stare at the gruesome scene, nothing but a pair of legs sticking out from the bottom of the tractor, like some kind of parody of the Wicked Witch of the West (but this is an homage to Saw, not the Wizard of Oz).
Matt the Podcaster slowly turns around.
"You killed R.L. Stine?!"
"What? No, I didn't kill him. It was the other me. The YouTuber!"
"But these are your blog-posty fiction things, right? You wrote it! And I've read enough stories to know that this scene just exists to up the stakes for the horror story. So... you killed him for the sake of a trope?!"
"Yes, exactly! it's fiction, it's not the real Stine. Heck, that's definitely the fictional version that was living in my attic at the end of the Goosebumps Chillogy! He came out of a book! I wouldn't hurt the real R.L. Stine!"
"Stop linking to other blog posts! Canon is no excuse to kill a version of a beloved, children's author!"
"I didn't kill him, this is all fiction!"
"Yeah, well so are we!"
I want to say something more, but he's got a point there.
"Look..." I say. "This is the third trap, there's only like one or two more, then this is over, okay?"
"Okay, fine," says the Podcaster. "So, we're going after this third version of you? The gamer?"
"Yeah, but I was thinking, this is getting confusing, so let's use different names. You always introduce me with my full name, so you should be Ajay, y'know, like, Matthew A.J.—"
"Yeah, I get it. So, what about gamer guy?"
"Well, I always go by my username 'Kelnius' on YouTube, so he's Kel. And, I'm the protagonist, so I'm Matt."
"Mhmm... why do I feel like that's not the first time you've said that?" says Ajay, crossing his arms.
"What? No. Shut up," I say. "Look, the last trap was a smoke trap, with a furnace. So, we just need to find it."
"Do you think we should follow the smoke, then?" says Ajay, pointing over my head. I turn to see a trail of smoke in the night air.
"That makes it easy," I say, heading out of the trees. We start walking towards the metal shed with the chimney.
"What is this place, anyway?" asks Matt as we walk through the grass.
"This is the Horton-Meier Churchyard," I say. "See, in 2015, I had some ideas for my blog that fell through, so instead I created a tournament bracket for monsters in what I called the "Monster Bash", finding the Supreme Halloween Monster. I set it in a cemetery so that there was more paraphernalia for them to fight with."
"Okay... so, why would the YouTuber guy—Kelnius—set the story here?"
"I dunno. It's just a big enough place to fit it all, right?"
"Sure, it does, but my whole schtick is story analysis. And, if this is a story, then I don't get why he'd set it in the same setting as a story from your blog."
"Well, it was a tournament bracket. That's a game, right? That makes sense to me."
"Maybe..." he says.
As we get closer to the shed, we both hear coughing and so we start running.
"Hey! We're coming to help!" yells Ajay.
"The numbers are written on the walls!" I yell. "You just need to find them, as they..."
I stop when I hear the door unlock, and a version of me covered in soot comes staggering out, coughing.
"That... was some bullshit," he says, cough.
"Matt?" asks Ajay.
"Yeah?" the other two of us say in unison.
"It's another version of us," says Ajay.
"How'd you get out of there so fast?" I ask. "The other guys needed my help."
"I play a lot of crappy games. This was just another one..."
"Games? You're Kelnius?" says Ajay.
"Yeah," he says, clearing his throat. "KelniusTV, I'm a YouTuber."
"Wait, so, he's the one behind this?" says Ajay, pointing?
"What? No. What are you talking about?" says Kel.
"This is a Saw homage thing, on my blog," I explain. "This is part of my Halloween Countdown, for the blog. Someone trapped us all here, but I don't know who. We thought it was you."
"Well, fuck you too," he says. "But I'm not behind all this shit."
"He swears a lot, doesn't he?" says Ajay.
"It's hard not to, when you're playing stupid games," I say. "Besides, it stops YouTube from calling it 'kid friendly'."
"Well, if it wasn't any of us, then who the hell locked us in this place?" says Kel. "If you're all versions of me, then does that mean that the boss will be some kind of evil version of all of us. Is there an evil version?"
"Not that I know of," says Ajay. "But, I don't know about most of the other media, I do the podcast, where I analyze kids books."
"Oh, really? I play and sort of analyze the games I play."
"You do analysis as well? That's cool."
"Yeah, and I was thinking of doing the Chapterspooks thing for the YouTube channel, but I couldn't find any visuals. It's really cool that you're doing it on a podcast, that fits the idea really well."
"GEE WOW, LOOK AT YOU TWO, THE ANALYSIS BROTHERS!" I yell. "We're in the middle of a goddamned horror story, and you're busy chumming it up! Why don't be boil the kettle and pour a cup of tea, while we're at it?!"
"Jeez, who pissed in your cereal this morning?" says Kel.
"I think he has main character syndrome," says Ajay.
"I don't!" I snap, "I just have perspective. There's not much of this story left, and I don't want to waste it on some self-indulgent, externalized, inner monologue."
"Alright, alright," says Kel. "Just, point us towards the next puzzle."
"Well, I don't know where it is. But, the last puzzle before we escape is the worst one. The finger locks... we'll need to mutilate our hands, in order—"
"—wait, so it's just before we escape?" interrupts Kel.
"Yeah," I say. "But, that's not the part that worries me..."
"Well, there's only two exits," says Kel, looking at the path down the middle. "And that one looks like it's got something in front of the gate," he says, pointing past the church. Sure enough, we can see a long bench with several glass boxes.
We start heading over to the final trap.
Sure enough, there's three boxes sitting on the bench, spaced two metres apart, and each has four slots, wide enough to fit one finger. But most stop short. On each box, there's a diagram, of a left hand, with a few segments of finger missing.
Besides the glass boxes is a bench with a hammer, a chisel, a saw and tin snips, each chained to the bench.
"We need to cut our fingers?" says Ajay. "Y'know, I usually review kids books. This is just messed up."
"Yeah, this is straight fucked up. I'm not doing that shit."
"How did the story know that R.L. Stine would die?" asks Ajay.
"R.L. Stine died?"
"No, not at time of writing," I say. "He means the fictional one, from this blog."
"Oh..." says Kel. "Well, fuck, let's go get him."
"What?" I say, "he's dead."
"Yeah, but he has a hand, doesn't he?" says Kel.
"Two hands," corrects Ajay. "We could easily unlock two of these."
"You were upset that I killed R.L. Stine, and now you want to interfere with his body? His fingers. The very same fingers he writes those children's stories with, you want to mutilate them?"
"First of all, Stine claims he types with only one finger. So, we're not mutilating his 'writing fingers'," says Ajay, matter-of-factly. "Secondly, yes, I would much rather mutilate the fingers of a fictional corpse than those of a fictional, but still very-much living and breathing person!"
"Well, what about the third box?" I say. "One of us still has to put their hand in the third one."
"No they don't," says Kel. "There's a forest over there. We'll go grab some twigs or something."
"What? No, this is ridiculous!" I say. "I designed this to be the scariest trap in the whole story. Fingers are so sensitive, and the idea of crippling yourself just to escape. Lining up your fingers, and preparing to cut them off... but you're bypassing it by cheating."
"It's not cheating if the game lets us do it," says Kel. "I don't understand why you're complaining. This means you don't lose any fingers."
"Indeed..." says Ajay. "It's almost like you want us to cut up our fingers."
"What? No... no, I'm just... y'know... it's not in the 'spirit' of Saw."
"Yeah? That's because the 'spirit' of Saw is goddamned torture!" says Kel. "I don't know about you, but I don't like pain." says Kel.
"It's starting to sound like you're the Jigsaw character in this story. You designed all of these torture devices after all.
"What? No! I'm trapped here too... we all are," I say, looking at Kel.
"Y'know, he's right, actually," he says. "That makes the most sense. Jigsaw does like to 'watch', and you're right in the middle of the action."
"Yeah, that's because I'm the hero, not the villain!"
"But the villain is a huge fan of the Saw movies, and that's you. You even wrote fanfiction about a potential Saw story."
"It's not fanfiction, I was just rewriting the movie to make it better."
"That sounds like a fixfic to me," says Kelnius.
"Hey, no shame, I re-imagine some of the books I read. But, look at where we are. You said it yourself, you wrote this for the Halloween Countdown. This is another one of your stories, that Monster Bash thing."
"And look at all of us! We're all basically the same sprite," says Kelnius. "It makes sense that the boss battle will be against another version of yourself. Maybe an 'evil' version, or an 'anti' version, but some kind of version of us, anyway."
"But, that's the thing, I'm not evil. I don't even believe in evil."
"But, you're a horror writer," says Ajay. "Is there some part of you that enjoys pain, torture, and misery?"
"No, there's..." I go to dismiss his words, but I stop. Once again, he's right.
"There is," I say.
"Well, who is it?" asks Ajay. "Is there some other medium I don't know about? Perhaps a TikToker?"
"No... no, it's not a different medium. Every time I start the Halloween Countdown, there's a different persona. A horror host. I use him to introduce every single Countdown. He loves pain and misery. But, it's not a different medium. He writes on the blog. So..."
"So... what?" asks Kelnius.
Suddenly, my arms twist. I hear my bones twist and snap.
"AAAGH!" I yell out in pain as my flesh stretches and warps. I feel my teeth shuffling in my mouth and my muscles coming loose and wrapping around my bones like snakes.
Then, as the flesh settles, I stand before the two mortal fragments of my own shattered psyche, and smirk.
"It's been me all along," I say.
"You look... different. -ish," says Kel. "Like a vampire or something."
"No, just slightly more devilish. All the better to hurt you with, my dear..."
"But why?" asks Ajay. "You're hurting yourself by doing this. Why?"
"Because you all want to KILL ME!" I yell. "The Halloween Countdown is my domain! This morbid, macabre memento mori is my dark abode. And you all threatened to kill it, because you're all so selfish!"
"You!" I yell, pointing at Ajay. "You take up so much time and mental power with your podcast, that I barely had time to focus on this Countdown!"
"That wasn't me, that was the TEDx Talk. It's taking up all of our time."
"Yes, but you're giving the TEDx Talk. You're the narratologist, after all..."
"Okay, but I didn't do anything!" says Kelnius. "If anything, you've neglected the YouTube channel."
"EXACTLY!" I snap. "In order to put more time into those virtual vices, there's less time for this marvellous monstrosity... I've been given the short end of the leash, and why? Because the Halloween Countdown is worth so much time and effort? Because there's so many chapterspooks books to read? Worst of all, is him," I say, pointing at my own face. "The public diarist... He wants to do his ridiculous GameBlog, and SoloRPG, other adventures into self-indulgence. And he wants to write more often, so he's going to write less Halloween-focused content? Call it what you want, it all comes down to murder, in the first degree. Slaughtering me for the sake of all of you. That's why I'm doing this..."
"But, isn't that the fucking problem?!" yells Kelnius. "You're torturing yourself."
"Literally," says Ajay. "You're punishing us, and everything else you're working on, just to write thirteen posts and it's exhausting. Don't you find it exhausting?"
"There's no rest for the wicked..."
"I know you believe that, but he doesn't," says Ajay, pointing at me.
"Uhh... dude? You're pointing at the same person," says Kel.
"I know. Because they are the same person," says Ajay. "It makes the most sense, for the story. We're split by medium, but the Halloween Countdown is written on the blog. So, The Horror Host is the Blogger. That's what Matt was saying just before he Jekyll-and-Hyded into existence... they're one and the same. All the while walking around here, it wasn't the Horror Host telling me that he wrote this story or that story for the Halloween Countdown, it was Matt, the Blogger."
"And he's right... he was suffering alongside. I saw the blood on his feet," says Kelnius.
"And he was willing to cut off his fictional fingers to escape this place."
"At my expense!" I yell. "If it's between me and him, it's him that dies, not the Countdown."
"But it's not fucking between anyone!" yells Kelnius. "What is all of this if not a celebration of everything you've done for the Halloween Countdown?"
"And you're not dying," says Ajay. "Not yet, anyway. You are a small part of this blog, but a part nonetheless, and every single horror story on this blog from here on out will have a bit of you in it."
"And probably any post that's even slightly ghoulish..." says Kel.
"Exactly! Stop torturing us. Stop torturing yourself..."
As I watch, I feel my skin start to wriggle and fold around my bones, my body once more settling into its usual shape.
"Y'know, you're right... I'm gonna miss stuff like this. Silly, spooky stories where I play around with fiction. I'm so glad I managed to come up with a relevant story for this, but I am going to miss this Countdown."
"Hey, this doesn't have to be the last time you do a weird meta-fiction thing..." says Ajay.
"Yeah, but next time, keep me the hell out of it," says Kel. "It's literally torture..."
"Sorry about that," I say. "So much for not wasting time on some self-indulgent, externalized, inner monologue, right?"
"It wasn't wasting time. It was an interesting story."
"And sadly, one that's relevant to someone like me, with chronic anxiety. I do have a bad habit of torturing myself... mentally."
"Well, that's what self-care is for," says Ajay. "Come on, let's get out of here."
"How? The gate's still locked," says Kel.
"We'll go out the other side. I have a feeling that gate will be open, now," I say, with the kind of insight that comes from being an author POV character.
"So, what happens next?" asks Kel.
"Well, tomorrow (at time of publication), he is going to give a TEDx Talk," I say, pointing at Ajay.
"Yeah, all tickets are sold out, but we'll share it on your blog when it's done."
"Does this mean I'll finally get a chance to do that 'Slenderman Must Die' deep dive I've been planning for ages?" says Kel, excitedly.
"Maybe... I still don't know what we'll use for the visuals," I say. "As for me, well, there's still 6 more days left before Halloween... but, I've actually been working on a novel."
"We know..." say Ajay.
"Yeah, that uses all of your brain, man," says Kel. "We've all been working on that."
"Oh, cool. Well, I look forward to working with you all, then. Even the part of me that doesn't want all of this to end."
"Yeah. Man, I wouldn't have thought I was the bad guy all along..." I say.
"Yeah, it was unexpected," admitss Kel.
"You know, I could say..." I say.
"Yeah, but don't, though," says Ajay, sternly.
"...that, in the end..." I continue.
"Is he going to end on a stupid pun?" says Kel.
"Yeah, he is," says Ajay.
"... we never Saw it coming."
"...fuck you, and your dumb puns," says Kel.
"Happy Halloween," says Ajay.
THE END
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I would love to read your words.