Joe had been tooling around his house for awhile messing with the various ghosts who had taken up residence when he noticed someone standing across the street from his house. It was an old man in bib-overalls. Alright, he’d go see what that was about. Boogying out the front door he’d make his way over to the ‘fella, nodding to him. “So, what’s the deal?”
Ominous thunder cracked overhead despite it being a perfectly sunny day. The old man nodded over to Joe’s house. “That there’s the ‘ol Sumnter place. Back many years ago they ran a Fluffmart out of their house…then there was the fire. Kil’t everything there. Some folks reckon it’s cursed. Some say there’s been strange lights ‘n sounds…”
Joe held up an index finger. “Listen bud, this area isn’t even zoned to operate businesses out of. City planning would have their ASSES. Secondly, it’s two in the goddamn afternoon and you stink like whiskey and piss. GET OUTTA HERE!” The old man shuffled off the street, looking over his shoulder every so often. What the Hell was with retirees around here and their cries for attention? Next he’d say there was a Loch Ness monster in his bathtub. Well, whatever. He needed to be out here anyways. It was time to bring the vessel in.
Whistling and making his way to the Bad Part of Town™, the world’s #1 abuser would step over various hobos, syringes, and dead fluffies in his search of the perfect specimen. It wouldn’t take him long to find either. Poopy fluffies, the various shit colored punching bags of the world, were practically as common as oxygen here. A flood of them came out from behind every trashcan and litter pile, chirping and begging and literally shitting all over themselves in excitement. “Eeny, meeny, miny…c’mere, you.” He grabbed one of the most pathetic looking ones, which was saying a lot. Scruffy, brown, covered in poop, and begging for skettis. “Nuuu! Bad upsies, nyu daddeh!” It pleaded before being shoved into a sack. There was a fair amount of rustling and screeching.
“Quiet down, you! This is the Fun Sack, not the Sorry Sack!” He told the struggling fluffy, who immediately calmed down. “Wub funsies…” It muttered from within the sack, it’s tiny brain overwhelmed by such facts and logic. Joe slung the cargo over his shoulder and walked back home with a spring in his step.
Back at the house a normal person would say that bad had gone to worse. There were more spirits floating around than there had been before. He’d corralled a bunch of pillows into a broom closet where they had to watch as their lost spectral legs floated just out of grasp, the man finding it a downright hoot to keep them rooted in place with a magic crystal. Well. Joe had told them it was magical, it turned out that even as ghosts they were really fucking gullible and had been convinced a piece of shiny rock from the driveway had ghost binding properties. “Waaaannnn legggiiieeessss” They moaned in unison, causing their forever abuser to thump a foot against the door. “I told you! You can have your legs back NEXT eternity!” This caused them to whisper excitedly between one another, wondering how long an eternity was and if it was soon.
Going to the living room and dumping the poopy fluffy he’d just gotten, he watched as the poor little thing blinked, suckled on it’s hoof, and genuinely didn’t seem to know what was going on. That was fine. “Alright, listen up! HEY YOU I SAID SHUT IT!” He told a spectral mare forever trapped to relive through the way she had died, mostly by being set on fire. Yeah, he remembered that one pretty well. To her credit the mare did shut up and quietly suffered immolation in the corner, only giving small ‘huuhuus’.
“For this next ritual I need a pound of flesh, fresh moon dew, and gravedirt.” In a mixing bowl, he gathered his ingredients. The website which had sold him all his ghost items had made the instructions pretty clear but also said you could make do with what you had. Dumping a freezer-burnt bag of chicken nuggets, half a can of flat mountain dew, and the contents of his ashtray into the bowl he began to mix the fuck out of it. “Babbeh wub nuggie…” The poopy said inquisitively, looking into the bowl and getting whapped across the face with the wooden spoon. “Not yet, dumbfuck! I’m…makin’…MAGIC!” He transformed the items in the bowl into a disgusting sludge. Actually way more than he needed. A pound of flesh? He felt like an ounce should have worked. Whatever. Dipping a silver knife into the sludge, he’d bring out the blade and slick the poopy’s face with the concoction. “Cheehee! Babbeh wub!” It said, thinking they were playing a game.
“Adu due Damballa…ah…” He couldn’t read French or whatever this language was. “Alright, I command all of you ghost-shits to get into this new guy!” He said in a commanding voice. He could feel it immediately. It was like a sudden vortex had opened up around the poopy he had brought it. Papers in the room whirled around and there was a whistling as the screaming spirits in the place were brought slamming into their new vessel. Not all of them, no. Maybe a hundred. That was still a fuckton of spirits to go into one thing, though. “Babbeh wub…scawed…SMAWTY BODY NOW!” It said with an outpouring of voices. Different genders, ages, peeps and chirps. A conflict of interests, of fears and loves. But they knew one thing universally. That being?
“This is my dream come true. Really! KER-PLOW!” Joe yelled, sending the tip of his foot careening directly into the brown fluffy. Yeah, they were all different in there. They all felt the same thing. Even those who hadn’t had balls in their past lives would know true pain right now.
“SPECCIAAAWWWW WUMMMPPSSSS!” It was as if the house itself was bawling out from having it’s nutsack completely pulverized.
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
@Oragami you got your wish
