The Two of Us

Contact an Exorcist

On Sunday, I was woken up by the sound of one of my hearing aids giving me feedback.

And no, I don't mean it started telling me that my essay for Fitzgerald's class could use fewer commas or some shit.

(Even though it probably could use fewer commas.)

I actually mean that it started letting out an obnoxious ass whistling sound. Sometimes if stuff presses against hearing aids in a certain way, it changes the feedback path and causes that to happen. If you didn't know, that's the very reason why you're not supposed to sleep with them on.

Anyway, I went to fix it but found that I couldn't move my arm and had to use my other one instead. This was because Blair was pushed up against me, her head on my shoulder and her arms wrapped around one of mine. Her hair, which had been taken out of its usual bun, was reduced to a mess of loose blue curls and her wireframe glasses were completely crooked on her face.

She was also still asleep, something that was obvious before I even looked at her because she snores a little bit.

I tore my gaze away from my girlfriend's stupidly attractive face and looked at my surroundings.

We were on the couch.

The main menu screen of The Gingerdead Man was on the tv.

The living room was still fucking dark.

Finally awake enough to form cohesive thoughts, I then remembered what the hell had happened the day prior.

After we had watched The Haunting and successfully poked and nudged each other every single time Theo acted very not straight towards the main character, we took a break to join my brother in one of those weird-ass games he likes to make.

I can't be bothered to explain it because it was really complicated, but I will tell you that it involved a slingshot, lip gloss, bottle caps, and a lifesize clown doll that Eddie had purchased last weekend.

(The doll was fucking frightening by the way.)

(And Eddie named it Mickey McScooterpants, which I have still not gotten over.)

After that, I taught Blair everything I knew about the art of fake crying just like I had promised to. She learned pretty quickly.

And then we made a trip over to Blair's place because I asked her if she wanted to spend the night and she said yes, so she like... y'know, needed to get her stuff.

Which brings us back to now.

We engaged in a marathon of bad Christmas themed horror movies and intended to go to bed at a relatively normal time, but that obviously didn't happen.

I reached into the pocket of my Anthrax sweatshirt and pulled out my phone, squinting at the brightness of the screen once I turned it on.

5:32 AM

'Jesus christ.'

If I had to suffer by being awake before the fucking sun was, then I wasn't going to do it alone.

"Blair. Wake up." I poked her. "Wake up, Blair."

She shifted slightly and mumbled, "No thank you, I'd rather not."

"Blair, rise and fuckin' shine~" I sang as I continued to poke her.

"Although I'm quite fond of the sound of both your speaking and singing voice, neither are going to successfully convince me to wake up."

"Why not?" I whined.

"You're really warm and comfortable and...I don't know, I'd prefer to not move."

'Okay then, I'll just have to put on a different voice.'

I put on the deepest voice that I possibly could. "Blair. Arise from your slumber."

"Oh my god, I'd never have expected you to be capable of reaching that low of an octave. That's verging on demonic." Blair finally opened her eyes and looked up at me. "How did you do that?"

"I'm not allowed to say."

"The way you worded that is kind of ominous, so I'm going to assume that you partook in some sort of demonic ritual/sacrifice and have been partially possessed by an evil spirit as a result," she said, releasing my arm as she sat back up properly. "And if that is the case, then I would suggest contacting an exorcist."

"What if I like being possessed by an evil spirit?" I asked.

"Don't contact an exorcist."

"Okay. I will follow that suggestion." I stood up and tried to exit the living room, only to be greeted with my brother's clown doll upon passing through the doorway.

I jumped and turned my scream into a cough. "Jesus fucking christ, Mickey!"

I'm not saying that whatever remained of my soul left my body at that moment, but it one hundred percent did.

Blair could be heard cackling from the couch. "You may not want to call an exorcist to exercise your demon, but you should probably call one to exercise whatever's residing in Mickey."

"You might be right about that. I don't want to be a part of the new Child's Play remake," I said. "I mean, could you imagine if someone asked how I died and you told them that I was murdered by a clown called Mickey Mc-fucking-Scooterpants? That would just be embarrassing."

"I like how that's your biggest concern, not the mere possibility that the doll that is taller than you are might be a little bloodthirsty."

"Of course that's my biggest concern. I've got my priorities straight." I had just started to make my way up the stairs when my phone, which I had apparently left in the living room, began to ring. "Damn it. Can you read the caller ID to me? That way I can decide if I should bother coming back or not."

"Uh...it says 'Funtime Foxy'. Whoever that is."

"Oh shit, that's Fallon. Answer it!"