The Mortal Babysitter: A Dark Deception Fanfiction (Agatha x Reader)

Episode 7: Mama Fox

Tiptoe.

Tiptoe.

Tiptoe.

Graaar!

"What the f—!"

Tiptoe.

Tiptoe.

Tiptoe.

Maw! Maw!

"Chill, fam!"

Tiptoe.

Tiptoe.

Tiptoe.

Frrrrsh!

"A Dios mío!"

Wait a second.

I speak Spanish?

A heavy sigh swept past my lips.

"Please," I begged. "Just give me a break. If I can just get to where I work in one piece, I'll be golden."

I dragged my feet through the desolate neighborhood, goosebumps riddling my skin as the slightest sounds shook me harder than a bona fide mugger. Up above, the silky sky of black grinned my way, tormenting me with a fleet of shimmering stars—hope condensed into tiny packets.

Down below, no such things thrived; only an eeriness that slithered around my body like a symbiote. Blacked out houses. Empty streets. The impression that the world had gone into full doomsday mode.

I had slipped through at least a dozen portals, yet the depravity never changed. Neighborhood after neighborhood, I felt my blood cool down a few degrees, to the point where I could've sworn shards of ice slid against my veins.

I glanced down at the compass in my hand.

The needle pointed forward.

The right way.

Well, this is a crock of sh*t.

I don't get paid. I don't even get a pat on the back. All I get are bruises from Agatha tackling me and a dumb*ss compass THAT DOESN'T EVEN WORK.

Half of me (or maybe a little more) wanted to chuck this hunk of junk into the nearest bush, but I knew that as soon I lost this piece of scrap, Malak would be on me like white on rice.

"You threw what away?" he'd ask. "Do you not understand my generosity!?"

Yeah. So generous it broke only after a couple weeks.

Probably used the cheap metal to save money.

At the moment, I couldn't physically throw up, but you could understand my frustration and/or disgust.

In any case, I forged ahead, and thankfully (or maybe not?), after stepping through my umpteenth portal, the scenery around me did change.

Was it any less terrifying?

Of course not.

Rather than a shady looking neighborhood, I now found myself in the creepiest of graveyards; the Bugatti of cemeteries, as the kids say.

They say stuff like that, right?

We had it all: cracked tombstones with wicked writing; unkempt grass littered with dead vines and branches; a sea of trees acting as the walls, complete with ominous shadows that flickered from the corners of my eyes; and to top it all off, a light fog rolled all throughout, as if I'd been plopped into an arena where you fix generators. (Screw those QTEs.)