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He opens his eyes to meet a second set of huge, eerily sentient eyes staring into his, and for a moment he just lies there, trying to figure out... The world, mostly.
Close by, on the floor, he can hear Mack and Flo laughing with what sounds like delight, and the chittering language of Sprinkles, creepy fucking Sprinkles, and really he should have fucking tossed that thing in the trash the day after they'd caved and bought it, made up some kind of lie, gotten them something else to distract them...
But the chittering is coming from the floor. And the thing is on his chest.
And now that he listens, it doesn't sound like just Mack and Flo and Sprinkles down there.
Um.
He tries to sit up, shoving the thing off his chest as he does so, and that's when all five of them hurl themselves at him, cackling insanely. He hears Mack and Flo yell in surprise - "Sprinkles, no, that's Daddy!" - and then he's in a whirlwind of brightly colored fur and biting. He manages to get upright, stumbles, tears one of them off his back and slams it to the floor. It has time to get out a single indignant squawk before he crushes its head with his bare heel.
So now his foot is cut. Wonderful.
Operating on some instinct he doesn't take the time to question, the girls shrieking in the background, he stumbles into the kitchen, fumbling for the kitchen knives, managing to throw two more against the fridge. A third ends up in the sink, and he doesn't think; he stabs it into the garbage disposal with the butcher knife, the girls screaming, "Daddy, don't kill Sprinkles!" and their voices drowned out by the squeal of the disposal when he hits the switch and the angry screech of Sprinkles as it dies.
Or starts to.
Because then the power goes out.
I take one nap, he thinks, listening to Sprinkles as it groans pitifully from the garbage disposal, counterpoint to the girls' sobbing. I take just. One. Nap.
Close by, on the floor, he can hear Mack and Flo laughing with what sounds like delight, and the chittering language of Sprinkles, creepy fucking Sprinkles, and really he should have fucking tossed that thing in the trash the day after they'd caved and bought it, made up some kind of lie, gotten them something else to distract them...
But the chittering is coming from the floor. And the thing is on his chest.
And now that he listens, it doesn't sound like just Mack and Flo and Sprinkles down there.
Um.
He tries to sit up, shoving the thing off his chest as he does so, and that's when all five of them hurl themselves at him, cackling insanely. He hears Mack and Flo yell in surprise - "Sprinkles, no, that's Daddy!" - and then he's in a whirlwind of brightly colored fur and biting. He manages to get upright, stumbles, tears one of them off his back and slams it to the floor. It has time to get out a single indignant squawk before he crushes its head with his bare heel.
So now his foot is cut. Wonderful.
Operating on some instinct he doesn't take the time to question, the girls shrieking in the background, he stumbles into the kitchen, fumbling for the kitchen knives, managing to throw two more against the fridge. A third ends up in the sink, and he doesn't think; he stabs it into the garbage disposal with the butcher knife, the girls screaming, "Daddy, don't kill Sprinkles!" and their voices drowned out by the squeal of the disposal when he hits the switch and the angry screech of Sprinkles as it dies.
Or starts to.
Because then the power goes out.
I take one nap, he thinks, listening to Sprinkles as it groans pitifully from the garbage disposal, counterpoint to the girls' sobbing. I take just. One. Nap.
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"Guess I oughta make a couple calls."
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