Eerie, Indiana fanfiction: Bright Lights

[froodle]

Marshall stumbled, brought up short against the office door that had only opened part-way.

"What..." was all he said, before the sparkling tide of sequins seeping through the narrow crack caught his eye. He leapt back with a curse, reaching for the pocket-sized breath freshener filled with a mixture of holy water, garlic, and colloidal silver.

Behind him, Dash too had noticed the oozing puddle of glitz and retreated to the top of the stairs. In the early morning quiet, the tread of his heavy boots echoed loudly on the worn hallway carpet. Marshall turned toward his least trusted associate, one accusatory finger already extended.

"This is you, isn't it?" he said. "I told you to stay away from the leprechauns, but you just couldn't-"

Dash scowled.

"Not that it's any of your business which fake-Irish midgets I choose to disagree with," he said, "But actually I haven't been near them in months. The Eerie Dairy offered me a healthy stipend not to mess with them, and given the choice between cold hard cash and dying in a not-even-slightly-accidental milk truck collision, I took the money."

"Oh," said Marshall. He considered this for a moment, decided that it had a certain ring of avaricious truth, and let it go.

"It was probably the Ladies," said Dash. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Marshall poked experimentally at the heap of shiny embellishments at his feet.

"There's no blood, though," he said. "If the Ladies had fought an emergency craft battle here, you'd expect a lot more gore."

Dash's response to this was lost, as the chipped and battered office door creaked and groaned, and began to inch shudderingly inwards. Marshall's trigger finger rested lightly on the push-down top of his weaponised breath spray, and with his free hand he reached into his jacket pocket and slipped on a set of knuckle dusters forged from the melted-down remains of a meteorite that had destroyed the original Loyal Order of Corn lodge.

"Hey guys," said Simon, poking his head through the half-open doorway. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was tousled, and he held a glue gun like a man who knew how to use it. "Sorry about the mess."

"Are you... okay?" asked Marshall. "Do you need help?"

Simon shook his head. Stray glitter flew in all directions.

"No, I'm almost done," he said. "Let me get a broom and clear this stuff away from the door."

Marshall looked at the glitter again. He looked at Simon's pink cheeks, the rumpled, hastily-buttoned shirt front.

"Should we go?" he asked.

Simon looked confused.

"No...?" he said, his voice trailing off, turning the word into a question. He vanished from the sliver of doorway, and the susurration of rapid brushstrokes against a laminate floor could be heard in the quiet hallway.

Marshall and Dash exchanged a glance, Marshall spreading his hands wide in an I-don't-know gesture. Dash shrugged.

The door swung open, hitting the bookcase behind it with a loud thump.

"Come on in," said Simon, beaming. "You're gonna love this."

He grabbed the sleeve of Marshall's coat, tugging him forward in a way he hadn't done since they were kids. Bemused and still a little wary, Marshall stepped inside their tiny shared office space. Footsteps at his back told him Dash was following behind.

"Ta-da!" said Simon.

Marshall gaped. Over his shoulder, a sharp intake of breath let him know Dash was having the same reaction.

A hellhound, coal-black and covered in a writhing mass of vipers, sat primly in the middle of their cramped waiting room. His chest puffed out, his barbed tail curled neatly around his vast hindquarters, and his front paws neatly pressed together in front of him, Sparky cocked all three heads expectantly.

"You taught him to sit," said Marshall, his tone awed. "That's incredible, Simon."

"What?" said Simon. "No, he- Mars, does he not sit when you tell him to?"

"No!" said Marshall. "He either ignores me or starts whining for belly rubs and snacks. Has he been obeying you this whole time?"

Sparky grinned a trio of satisfied doggy grins, his forked tongues lolling.

"Wait," said Dash. "What's he wearing?"

"Isn't it great?" said Simon. "I made it myself." He reached out to smooth the broad lapels of an eye-searingly sparkly dinner jacket that spread over the broad shoulders of a three-headed devil dog.

"I suppose you'd have to," said Marshall, very faintly.

"We made it to the semi-finals," said Simon, adjusting three iridescent bowties in turn. "They called me yesterday afternoon. I've been up all night working on his competition outfit."

"Ah," said Marshall. "Good job." He paused. "What competition was this, again?"

Behind him, Dash scoffed. Simon looked wounded. He dug around in the clutter of his desk, dislodging trays of shining beads and packs of unused gluesticks until he found what he was looking for. He smoothed the crumbled flyer as best he could before handing it over.

"'"Pupstars'," Marshall read. "WERD-TV is proud to announce the very first televised singing dog compet-" he trailed off, his eyes scanning the rest of the poster. "Simon, this says it's sponsored by the Canine Arrest Team. It's a trap to lure Fifi and her people, you can't..."

"It's the Canine Activist Territory now," said Dash, snatching the flyer. "The dogs moved in, killed off the competition, and now they've got some high-priced PR guy rebranding the whole movement. You must have seen him on the local news - heavy-set, big scar down one side of his face? Wears one of those weird over-the-head retainers?"

Marshall stared.

"It's a legitimate celebration of doggy culture," said Simon, a little defensively. "And Sparky deserves the chance to show off his talents. Not every dog can harmonise with himself."

Sparky woofed in approval. His tail thumped against the floor, the great poisoned stinger gauging the imitation wood.

"The winner gets a three-album record deal with World o' Stuff Records," said Simon. When Marshall looked blank, he admitted, "It's a new label."

"There's a cash prize," said Dash.

Marshall pulled over one of the battered office chairs and lowered himself carefully onto the duct-taped seat.

"Okay," he said. "Have you picked out a set list yet?"





Microwave-verse

Bonfire by froodle, in which Pinocchio is ruined forever

Gingerbread by froodle, in which there is a witch in the Eerie Woods

Leaves by froodle, in which plantlife finds Marshall entirely too enticing

Offspring by froodle, in which there are dragons

Based on Your Previous Purchases by froodle, in which Mars should really pay attention to Amazon's reccomendations

Housework by froodle, in which a rota cannot be agreed upon

Breakfast by froodle, in which Dash's attempts at cookery do not go well

Ghost in the Machine by froodle, in which a new laptop opens an old wound

Consequences by froodle, in which an encounter with leprechauns leaves the boys very tired indeed

The Microwave by froodle, in which Andrea Fantucci returns to Eerie after a considerable absense

The Eldritch Abomination in the Room by froodle, in which the microwave is most definitely not discussed

Basic Household Maintenance by froodle, in which manticores are inconsiderate houseguests

Torrential by froodle, in which there is a storm, and the boys eat ice-cream

Linens by froodle, in which Dash X makes a bed

Night Music by froodle, in which Simon is woken by a nocturnal visitor

In For The Night by froodle, in which Dash refuses to leave the house

Hound by froodle, in which Simon makes a friend

Errands by froodle, in which Simon has a to-do list

Waterlogged by froodle, in which Eerie experiences heavy rainfall

Wildlife by froodle, in which Simon and Marshall go to the beach

Rainbow by froodle, in which Dash fails to properly appreciate Michael Flatley

Jackolantern by froodle, in which the local pumpkin patch has a problem

Comments

[friendof_dorothy]

I agree with simon, he's a good boy!

[froodle]

He is!

[deifire]

OMG, Steve Konkalewski lives!

All of this is hilarious! I love it!

[froodle]

Lives and is doing quite well for himself, at least pre zombie apocalypse. Those dogs paid for a good education.

[deifire]

It must have been an epic battle for Zona to get Steve away from them!

Of course, in the future, we'd be talking about the descendants of the original dogs, and maybe they're not quite as prepared for war?

[froodle]

Or the dogs are the true masterminds behind zona al a silent hill?

[deifire]

Is that the stunning 5th season reveal?!

[froodle]

Oh god. Oh GOD! please please please let fifi be revealed in the season finale, glaring at the camera like she does in the burbs/the retainer.

[evilinsanemonkey]

SPARKY IS A GOOD BOY

THE BEST BOY

please don't eat me sparky

god i love this!

[froodle]

Sparky agrees! Here is a picture of him practising his breakdancing skills before the big day:

[evilinsanemonkey]

*is dead of lolz*

[froodle]

He's getting a bit crazy!