#dexterfella

     Dexterfella absently fiddled with the pendant around their neck. It still hadn’t completely sunk in that they were in possession of a powerful tool. According to the person who had procured the charm for them, it would allow them to swap between the Happy Fella doll their disembodied soul had taken up residence in, and a temporary reconstruction of their original body.

     In somewhat shorter form, Dexterfella could become Dexter Erotoph whenever they chose, for a limited time, but as many times as they wanted.

     As Dexterfella grasped the pendant, they paused to admire the intricate details. The charm was a brass-colored pendulum with a ring of tiny opals set around the center. Various symbols and phrases written in an unidentified language decorated the rest. There were no English characters, nor were there any recognizable foreign characters.

     Dexterfella closed their eyes, and quietly hummed a low “A” note to themself. After five seconds, they muttered the phrase the charmgiver had instructed them to use.

     Ad te voco, vim fortiorem vita ipsa. Ego me restituo.

     A sharp tingle shot up their back, and their hands began to quiver. The wooden floor seemed to fall away from them, and some kind of haze began to cloud their peripherals. No matter how many times they did this, they would never get used to it.

     After about forty five seconds or so, the haze receded, and the ground had stopped moving. They placed their hands on the ground to steady themself, and was relieved to feel the cold hardwood beneath their palms. Just to be certain, they rose to their feet from their crouched position, and noted that the floor was much further away. Feeling along their face yielded a more rectangular jawline, and a pair of glasses resting on their forehead that hadn’t previously been there. The ritual was complete.

     Dexter flexed a hand, eyes scanning over their fingers to make sure nothing had changed. Even though this body had always been theirs, it still felt odd to return to. After everything, while they didn’t necessarily prefer the doll form, it felt more familiar to them at this point than their own body did. Really went to show how long they’d been displaced, they thought.

     The sound of footsteps didn’t deter them from glancing in the wall mirror, though they were just oblivious enough to jump at Bob’s voice. “Wh- oh. Didn’t expect to see ya like this today.”

     Dexter ran a hand through their hair, hoping that Bob wouldn’t notice what a rat nest it was. “Yeah, I’m still not used to it either.”

     “Don’t worry about your hair. You’re still handsome.”

     Dexter couldn’t even respond to that without sounding ridiculous. They could already feel their face burning. Subconsciously they hugged themself, glancing off to the side so they wouldn’t have to see Bob’s smug grin. “Shut up.”

     As soon as those words left their mouth, they knew they’d screwed up big time. And Bob’s falsely offended gasp sealed their fate.

     “What did you just say to me?” he questioned, his tone quiet but lethal. Even though he was only playing around, it was still kind of scary.

     “N-nothing! I didn’t say anything-” that was all Dexter could sputter out before the wind whooshed out of them. They’d been so focused on trying to remedy their mistake that they hadn’t noticed Bob approaching.

     And now they were on the floor, with a very large and very smug man sitting beside them.

     “You seem a little on edge,” Bob teased, his eyes boring directly into Dexter’s. “I think I can help with that…”

     Dexter held their breath.

     “Tell me, did you know that being tickled reduces stress?”

     And he attacked, viciously sinking his claws into Dexter’s sides, eliciting a loud shriek from his victim, which quickly devolved into squealing laughs.

     “This’ll teach ya to talk to me that way,” Bob chuckled, and dug his fingers into Dexter’s belly. “Coochie coo~”

     The baby talk only embarrassed Dexter more. “S-SHUHUHUT-”

     “Are ya tellin’ me to shut up again?” Bob questioned, leaning over so his face was directly above Dexter’s. “Clearly I’m bein’ too lenient… I’m gonna have to up my game.”

     Apparently “upping his game” entailed scooping his flustered partner from the floor and holding them against himself while he went ham on the poor exterminator’s ribs and smothered their neck with kisses and light nibbles.

     “NOOOHAHAHA! *snort* I-IHAHAHA! *snort* A-ACCIPE ME!”

     And suddenly Dexter transformed, shrinking and folding in on themself until they settled back into doll form, enabling them to easily slip out of Bob’s grip. Dexterfella hit the ground running, daring to yell “Catch me if you can!” at Bob, who was still trying to figure out what had just happened.

     It took Bob a second, but he slowly rose to his feet, his bemused expression contorting into a borderline predatory grin. “So it’s a chase ya want, eh?” he said, mostly to himself. “Well then, I’m more than happy to oblige.”

     Dexterfella had to admit, they really hadn’t thought this through. Did they really just back themselves into a game of cat and mouse with a serial killer? Yeah, real smart. They remembered that Bob would tell them stories of his rookie days, when he’d played chase with his victims. He spoke highly of these memories, reliving every gory detail with great excitement.

     That only reinforced the fact that this was a complete and utter mistake.

     Dexterfella ducked under an end table to consider their options. If they kept running, maybe Bob would tire out. Hiding would be a mistake. No, it was better to run. In doll form they’d have no lack of stamina, and they could only hope that Bob wouldn’t outlast them.

     They heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps, and they knew Bob was hot on their heels. They counted to five, then tore off at a sprint. They didn’t look back, they just kept their gaze ahead.

     Which quickly proved to be their third mistake of the day, as they were quickly scooped up from behind.

     They squeaked in surprise, automatically glancing over their shoulder. There was Bob’s smug face, grinning down at them. “I thought ya knew better than to underestimate me. You’ve really done it this time.”

     Dexterfella tried to squirm out of his grasp. “Let go of me!!”

     “Hmmm. Nah, I don’t think I will. And since you were so rude to me today, I’m gonna make sure ya get what ya deserve.”

     Bob shifted his grip, now holding the doll with both hands. There was a beat of silence as they locked eyes, before Bob made his move. He nestled his face into the other’s plush belly, occasionally pausing to nibble a random spot. All the while, poor Dexterfella was overcome with hysterical squealing and very exaggerated snorts. “GAHAHAHAHAHH! *snrk* N-NNOOOOO! *snort* THIS IS SUHUHUCH BULLSH- *snrk* HEHEHEHE!!”

     “Good god, after all this ya still won’t watch your mouth!” Bob chided lightheartedly. “No matter. Just gives me a chance to tickle ya more. Not that I need an excuse~”

     Dexterfella knew resistance was pointless. Not only did Bob have the size and strength advantage, but any willpower they had completely died once the tickles started. They could deal with a lot of stuff, but they were completely useless against tickles.

     For all of three seconds, Dexterfella was given a chance to catch their breath, but their relief quickly turned to panic when they realized why - Bob had briefly withdrawn to take a very exaggerated inhale. They tried to brace themself, but no amount of premeditation could stop them from almost screaming as Bob blew a very loud and obnoxious raspberry into their stomach. BBBBBTTTTT!

     Unfortunately for Dexterfella, they were so small in this form that the raspberry affected more than just the targeted area - their whole body shook with ticklish jolts as they struggled to breathe. “AAAAIIIIEEEE! NO MORE! NO MOHOHOHORE! MERCYYY! I GIVE! UNCLE!!”

     Possibly sensing their fatigue, this time Bob relented. His evil smirk had changed to a considerably softer one, as he pulled the doll against his chest. “Alright, alright, I think you’ve had enough. But if you’re ever rude to me again…”

     Dexterfella got the point, gratefully sinking into Bob’s embrace. Before, they’d been very averse to being held or touched, but being transfigured into a child’s toy seemed to change that. Now it was one of their favorite comforts. “I get it, I get it. *huff* Was the raspberry *wheeze* necessary?”

     “‘Course it was! Ya really thought I was just gonna pass up that opportunity?”

     The day was finally catching up with Dexter, and it showed. They no longer had the energy to argue with Bob, which was rare. Instead they leaned into his embrace, resting their head under his chin and beginning to slowly drift off. They heard a low chuckle as Bob said something to them quietly. They couldn’t hear what it was, but that was okay.

     Even though they hadn’t expected to end up here today, they wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

     Kevin glanced back at his watch in exasperation. Why did he keep coming back to a job he hated? It wasn’t like this was the only place he could work in town.

     That familiar ringing made him sigh automatically. “Can I help you?” he questioned unenthusiastically. He could already imagine what they were going to say. He mentally braced himself for someone to start chirping at him for something he couldn’t control.

     But his imagination wasn’t big enough to predict what the answer was. “Actually, I think ya can.”

     Kevin’s thoughts were a mix of confusion and disbelief, with just a dash of fear. He knew that voice… but there was no way… He raised his eyes from his watch.

     And his breath caught in his throat, his pulse increasing as he finally got a good view of the speaker - he wore a red sweater and a devil mask, and was grinning sickeningly from ear to ear.

     That was bad enough, but once Kevin saw who the devil was accompanied by, the feeling of dread he was experiencing only increased tenfold. Clutched under Bob’s arm was another horribly familiar face - a child-sized doll with ragged brown hair, blue overalls, and the same disturbing smile as the devil.

     Kevin finally came to his senses and stumbled backwards, knocking a box of gummy worms off the shelf. Just ONE of those two would’ve been too much, but clearly the universe hated him.

     “What’s wrong?” Dexter sneered. “Aren’t you happy to see us?”

     “I think the cat’s got his tongue,” Bob replied mockingly. “But we can fix that.”

     Kevin scrambled to his feet, desperately searching for a way out. He was so frazzled he didn’t remember the back door, and somehow thought running AROUND his unwelcome guests was a good idea. He was pretty fast when he wanted to be.

     He waited until Bob almost reached the counter, then took off. But he’d misjudged how far away he needed to be, and ended up right next to the serial killer - close enough for the latter to grab his collar. “Bad choice, candy man,” the killer chuckled.

     Kevin’s momentum was cut off by Bob grabbing his shirt, and he was flung backwards - right into the murderer’s arms. He didn’t even have a chance to catch his breath before he was in a tight hold - Bob was definitely stronger than he looked.

     Kevin tried to squirm away, thrashing and elbowing wherever he could reach, trying to get Bob to release him. Unfortunately, the killer seemed unbothered by his attacks, if anything they only seemed to amuse him. “You’re just makin’ things worse for yourself.”

     “Then lemme go!!”

     “Keep hittin’ me like that, and it’s not gonna happen.”

     Dexter, who was sitting on the counter, dropped to the floor and moved toward the door to get a better look at Kevin. “Hah! You’re a squirmy one. Whole lotta good that’s gonna do, though. Hold him down, would you, Bob?”

     The devil crouched and sat, dragging Kevin down with him and laying him out in a reclined sitting position. Bob shifted his grip from Kevin’s midsection, forcing him to lift his arms and exposing his torso. Dexter approached, their evil grin switching to a sly one. “This should be fun.”

     “Don’t forget the tool,” Bob reminded him.

     “Oh yeah, I did forget. Hold on…” they withdrew a thin black stick from one of their pockets and continued their slow advance. It didn’t look like a weapon, but it didn’t look friendly either.

     It had taken a few minutes, but somehow Kevin hadn’t registered until now that neither of his assailants were armed. Last time he’d seen either of these two was with knives and a serious bloodlust. If they wanted him dead, he’d be dead.

    But then what were they doing?

     Dexter was now standing to Kevin’s right, fiddling with the tool. Bob’s grip tightened ever so slightly, still keeping Kevin from moving but not enough to hurt him. “L-listen, you really don’t need to do this. I mean, there’s a bunch of candy on the shelf there. You don’t need my permission, do you, Mr. Velseb?”

     Bob laughed, sending a shiver down Kevin's spine. “Appealing to my sweet tooth won’t work this time. You’re right that I don’t need your permission, but we’re after something a little… sweeter.”

     Dexter nodded. “Yeah, murder’s getting pretty old. We’re trying something a little different, something infinitely more entertaining.”

     That sounded bad. Kevin couldn’t bear the thought of whatever torturous process they were about to put him through - he could only hope it was quick. He turned his head to the side and squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a small squeak of fear.

     But instead of pain, he felt a light buzzing sensation on his side. He squeaked in surprise, before opening his eyes, right in time to see Dexter tase his side with the tool. “Damn it, this isn’t working…”

     Kevin tried to ask what was going on, but was immediately silenced by Dexter jabbing the tool into his side again. “Quit it!”

     “I think the settings are too low,” Bob observed.

     Irritated, Dexter fiddled with the tool before it visibly crackled with a pale yellow light. “There we go. This should work.”

     They poked it into Kevin’s side again, and the cashier let out a squeal. It still didn’t hurt, no - it was much worse than that.

     It tickled.

     “I SAID Q-QUIT IT!!” he shrieked.

     The two villains shared a laugh. “Sounds like it’s working, huh?” Dexter snickered.

     Every shock sent ticklish jolts through the poor candyman’s body. It was strongest at his midsection, where the tool made contact, but managed to travel all the way up to his head and down to his feet. It wasn’t even that intense - it was… actually kind of…

     He wasn’t able to finish this thought before Dexter jabbed the tool into his ribs, eliciting another squeal. “Enjoying yourself, Kev?”

     The nickname made Kevin’s brain stop for a second. First they waltzed in here with obvious hostile intent, and now one of them was being all chummy with him? To be fair, they were using some kind of odd tickle device against him - not something you’d expect from a pair of psychos.

     “Try one of the other settings!” Bob encouraged. His energy was similar to that of a child.

     Dexter pressed a button on the base of the stick, and a multitude of large, very soft looking feathers expanded from the opposite tip. The tool now strongly resembled a feather duster, and looked far less threatening.

     Well, as a weapon, it was less threatening. As a tickle device, it was even scarier than before.

     And what was worse was that Bob was now lifting up Kevin's shirt - not all the way, but just enough to expose his quivering midsection.

     “Hold him tight, Bob. We don’t need him getting away now.”

     “Relax. He ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

     This was going to suck.

     The feathers didn’t even make contact before Kevin started giggling hysterically. Dexter hadn’t even moved that much, and he was already losing his mind. “Plehehease!!”

     “I haven’t even touched you!” Dexter laughed. “Are you just that ticklish?”

     “He must be,” Bob mused. “Well, ya better give the boy what he wants.”

     Good god… just hearing that made Kevin want to blush. Could Bob read minds? Under normal circumstances he’d consider that ridiculous, but based on the things he’d witnessed…

     …he couldn’t finish that thought either before those way-too-soft-to-be-legal feathers finally made contact, and he let out an embarrassing squeal. How could something so simple completely break him?!

     “Don’t ruin your voice, now,” he heard Bob say to him. “We wouldn’t want to stop hearing that lovely laugh ya got, hey?”

     His… lovely laugh? Was this for real? They liked his laugh?? He didn’t know whether to be flattered or more embarrassed. He’d had a few people compliment his looks, and some even tried to pick him up, but never once had they commented on his laugh.

     Dexter continued brushing the feathered end back and forth over the patch of pink skin, sending the poor cashier into absolute hysterics. Those stupidly soft feathers were going to be the death of him.

     Or maybe not, since Bob had just dug his claws into his ribs. He’d been so focused on the feathers that he hadn’t noticed the serial killer changing the position of his arms. Before, he’d been holding Kevin’s arms with his own, but now Kevin’s arms were above his head, held together at the wrist and the killer’s other hand was now free. “A-AAAAAHAAHAHAHA!”

     “Take it easy, you’ll blow out his voice!” Dexter chided the larger man.

     “Calm down. I know what I’m doin’.”

     He certainly did, too - somehow he knew which rib spots were the worst. His hand spidered down the left set of ribs, even pausing at certain intervals and then poking between them, as if he were counting. But the worst was when he found that sweet spot just underneath the ribs…

     “You know what I’ve noticed?” Dexter questioned, briefly lifting the feather duster from the cashier’s blushing stomach. “This guy was pretty resistant when we first came in here, but once the tickles started, he stopped fighting. Did you catch that, Bob?”

     Oh no.

     “I did,” his accomplice chuckled. “And I think I know what you’re thinking.”

     OH NO.

     Dexter tilted his head, now gazing upward and directly into Kevin’s watering eyes. “Not once did you ask us to stop, either, even after you realized what was happening. And that makes me think that you like this!”

     Kevin tried to lie, but he cut himself off with another shriek as Bob blew a raspberry into the sweet spot under his ribs. Who was he trying to fool? They knew the truth already. They’d been mercilessly wrecking him for the last fifteen minutes or so…

     …and he’d loved every second of it.

     A few more minutes passed, and they finally allowed him a chance to catch his breath. Bob still didn’t let him go, but he’d been considerate enough to remove his hands from Kevin’s ribs. “Haaah… haha… that was…”

     After a minute or so, Bob said, “Alright, that’s more than enough time. Let’s get back to tickling, shall we?”

     Wait… they weren’t done?!

Dexter tucked the tool back into their pocket. “Don’t hog him, alright? I want a piece too.”

     “You spent a good while getting him, and you say I’m hoggin’ him?”

     During this short altercation, Bob’s hands had found a new place on Kevin’s sides, though his claws were long enough to reach over onto his captive’s stomach. He lightly drummed his fingers against Kevin’s midsection, causing Kevin to squirm from the anticipation. Whatever they were planning, he was… actually looking forward to it. Sort of. A little. Maybe. Definitely.

     Dexter was now seated in his lap, glancing expectantly at Bob. It didn’t take long for the killer to transition from drumming to scribbling, and he had Kevin cackling in seconds. This sensation was quickly doubled by Dexter poking different spots on Kevin’s exposed midsection, varying from his sides to those ridiculously sensitive rib spots, and a couple times venturing dangerously close to his navel. Good god, if they were to go after his navel, he may actually go insane.

     Eventually Bob seemed to grow bored, and moved his hands back to Kevin’s sides. Thankfully that spot wasn’t nearly as bad as his stomach, but it was still pretty bad. Even before any tickles could happen he was already squirming - he must look silly, trying to wriggle away like he was. Unfortunately Bob had a tight enough grip to disallow him from escaping.

     “Hmm… since you work at the candy store, it makes sense why your laugh is so sweet…” Bob mused to himself. “In fact, your laugh really is sweeter than any candy I’ve ever had.”

     “Ain't that the truth,” Dexter agreed.

     At this point Kevin was at a complete loss for words - both because of the sudden behavior shift between these two crazies, and also because his laughter destroyed any chance of him forming coherent sentences. Then again, it wasn’t like he had much to say. He would never admit he liked being tickled, not even to people he liked.

     After what felt like hours, the villains finally released Kevin, leaving him a panting, giggling mess on the floor. “You think we went too far?” Dexter asked their companion.

     “If we did, he would’ve been completely broken. He looks fine to me.”

     Dexter gave the flustered candyman a once-over. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. This was fun.”

     “I agree. If I may, I say we come back here sometime and give him some more.”

     “Oh, hell yeah. I think he’s had enough for now, but I am definitely coming back. I want another chance to use this.” They brandished the tool in Kevin’s direction.

     Bob laughed. “Don’t you go anywhere, candyman. We’ll be back.”

     And with that, they left the store, chattering to each other about the experience. And even though Kevin was still too breathless to speak, he couldn’t help but wonder if they were serious about coming back for another round of tickling. And if they were…

     …he knew he’d be waiting for it.

     “Come again soon!” the cheerful host called after the children. As soon as they were safely out of sight, Streber slumped against the pillar with a sigh. While he did love his job - almost to a fault - it really did do a number on him.

     Thankfully, he’d just finished sending off the last group of kids for the night. He knew he needed to rest, but he figured a little tweaking on this week’s project couldn’t hurt. He could never be too careful, right?

     With a dramatic swish of the cape, he retreated indoors, intending to change clothes before retrieving his mirror. He could already imagine how comfortable his pajamas would feel. That was one of the smaller pleasures of doing the haunted house every year - looking forward to getting out of that stiff, unbearably heavy vampire set.

     He slipped behind the curtain he’d set up in his room and quickly changed. Even though he shared the house with people he’d trust with his life, he wasn’t quite comfortable with being even semi-uncovered around them.

     He took a seat at his desk and set to work, and he slipped into his usual work routine so effortlessly. He almost didn’t want to retrieve the mirror he’d left outside. It could probably wait… no, he’d already sworn himself to it… what was the harm in leaving it until tomorrow… no, it was supposed to rain tonight. While Streber didn’t like the idea of abandoning his current project, he hated the idea of three months worth of work being ruined by the weather even more. With an exaggerated sigh, he hesitantly rose from his chair and trudged toward the door.

     He glanced out over the deck and observed that it was already starting to drizzle - though thankfully, the wind was blowing it away from the porch. He guessed he had about ten minutes before the rain changed direction. He started by disconnecting the cables, making sure nothing was damaged. He was sure he’d look back at the footage from the camera and curse himself for something else he could’ve touched up on, but that was for another day. All he was focused on was getting the task done so he could get back to work. At least the pajamas made the work bearable.

     After a solid eight minutes of work, he had everything set up and just had to carry the mirror frame inside. This was the part of the job he didn’t like very much, but again, it was his own fault - he was the one who had to make everything into some huge extravagant ordeal.

     But eventually, he got through it, and he retreated to his corner to resume his work. The idea of synthetic limbs had always interested him, even before the… incident. Now he had an excuse to chase his fascination - or his “obsession” as his friends referred to it. It wasn’t - they just didn’t understand how truly in depth he would consider such things. It was an entire functioning limb that you could simply attach to your person, and these days it was fairly common - back in the day, who would’ve thought that humanity would advance so far?

     He was so wrapped up in his work that he hadn’t noticed the creaking down the hall. He paused, listening intently. Did they have rats? No, that couldn’t be… his friends weren’t such neat freaks like he was, but even they wouldn’t allow vermin in the house.

     And yet… there it was again.

     Against his better judgement, Streber set down his tools and carefully rose from his workstation. He picked up a flashlight and crept to the door, not wanting to wake anybody in the other rooms. He shone the light down the hall, laser-focused on wherever the light illuminated, eyes peeled for whatever was causing a disturbance in the force.

     He saw nothing.

     He huffed in annoyance. The last thing he needed was a distraction. “Stupid rats,” he grumbled to himself, before returning to his workstation. He’d just have to bear it, unfortunately. He didn’t do well with distractions. He figured he’d just go about the night with no physical distraction.

     Blocking out all external elements actually helped tremendously, and the prototype was finished within the hour. With a huge grin, he got to work affixing the new prosthetic to his arm - or lack thereof, he should say. He’d finished his work, and with nothing to indicate that he should’ve been paying attention to anything else.

     So you can imagine his fright when he felt someone grab his shoulder. “Who’re ya callin’ a rat?”

     It wasn’t just the fact that there was someone in his room so late at night that made this situation scary - the scariest part was that Streber knew who that someone was. His voice alone was enough to make Streber’s heart stop. He froze immediately after registering the person’s voice, and in that agonizingly slow way you see someone turn around in a horror movie, he glanced over his shoulder…

     …and the question he’d asked himself mentally was answered, as he stared directly into the cold, unfeeling eyes of Bob Velseb.

     The murderer tilted his head in an almost innocent way, still wearing that mile-wide grin like he had on the night of the incident. Just seeing his face made Streber want to crawl into a hole and die of fear. He couldn’t even utter a word because his throat had clenched up.

     “Did ya miss me?” the serial killer questioned. “Looks like I took your breath away. Oops~”

     His casual tone only had Streber more on edge. What fresh hell was this? Why, of all the people Streber hated that he had to face, why him?!

     Only now did he notice the door was closed, and barred with a chair. Damn it. He was dead meat. There was no way he was getting out of this alive. Clearly the murderous freak hadn’t satiated his appetite and had come back for a second helping.

     “I’m not giving you my arm!” Streber finally managed to force out, sounding much more pathetic than he’d intended. What was his plan? Obviously he wasn’t a match for his assailant - not only did Bob have the height advantage, but he was a seasoned killer.

     Bob’s laugh sent chills down his spine. “Ya act like I need your permission. But lucky you, that ain’t why I’m here. Actually, I need a favor. I already have a backup method in mind, though if ya force my hand…”

     Bob didn’t need to finish the sentence for Streber to understand his intentions. But even so, that didn’t stop him from practically snarling his next words. “Why the hell would I help the freak who ripped my arm off and ate it in front of me?!”

     The killer was entirely unfazed by his anger, and only continued smiling. “I’ll tell ya why. Because even if ya say no to me, I have a way of… convincin’ ya, to put it one way. I would’ve said you’ve suffered enough, but given how you’re talkin’ to me, I think I changed my mind.”

     He was totally screwed now.

     “Now, I’ll give ya one last chance. And this is me being extremely generous. You can hear me out, or I can force your hand and make ya hear me out. So tell me, Streber…” he drawled, having closed what little distance there was, and forcing Streber to stand from his chair.

     “…won’t ya help an old friend?”

     This man was psychotic. There really was no other way to say it. Was there some kind of disconnect in his logic? Did he think threatening a former victim would work? It kind of did, but that was besides the point.

     “I’d rather die!” Streber shouted at him, internally cringing as he remembered who he was saying that to. Bob would probably be more than happy to help him with that.

     “I’m sure ya would, but unfortunately for you, that’d be too simple. I need ya alive. And if you’re gonna be like that, I’m afraid ya leave me no alternative.”

     Okay, maybe not.

     Streber remained wary of the knife in the killer’s hand, which he subconsciously knew had been there the whole time. What would Bob take this time? A leg? An organ? His head, perhaps? He’d said that killing him would be “too simple”, but Streber felt like he should know better than to trust the word of a monster.

     And something else that had evaded Streber until now was the fact that Bob still hadn’t let go of his shoulder.

     In a flash of movement, Bob had slammed him onto the floor, shoving him onto his back hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Streber didn’t even have time to process what happened until he was already on the floor, and entirely out of breath. He tried to stand up, but his assailant kept him pinned by holding a single hand on his chest. How could someone so bulky be so strong?!

     Bob glanced at his knife, before tucking it away somewhere under his sweater. “Don’t worry about that. I won’t be needin’ it this time.”

     Good god… what could he possibly have planned that didn’t involve a weapon? Was he going to use his bare hands?! Somehow that was scarier than him using a weapon - at least Streber was used to that!

     His train of thought - and subsequently, his fear - was quickly derailed by the embarrassingly high-pitched shriek that had just come out of him. What the hell? He was still on the ground… Bob was hovering over him…

     …and the killer’s hands had viciously grabbed his sides.

     He tried to ask what was going on, but his voice was swallowed by another squeak as Bob dug his claws in again. “WAHAHAHAIT WHAHAHA-?!”

     “I already told ya,” the serial killer chuckled. “I have a way of convincin’ ya to hear me out.”

     “GAAAAH! I’M SOHOHOHORYHYHY! I TAKE IT BAHAHAHACK!”

     “Little too late for that, I’m afraid. Ya made your choice. So just relax, and try not to scream too much. Your friends are sleepin’, after all.”

     During this little snippet of dialogue, Bob’s hands were climbing higher to the incapacitated vampire’s ribs. His loud laughs quickly escalated into squeals, but thankfully nobody came running to check on him. Bob wasn’t sure what he’d do if he got caught. He had an agenda, after all - he was just here to get what he needed and leave.

     “Now listen,” he said, his tone only a tiny bit more serious than before. “Ya chose the hard route, but I still need somethin’ from ya. And if ya say no, ya already know what I’m gonna do.”

     “JUHUHUST SHUT UP AND TELL MEHEHEHE WHAT YOU WAHAHAHAHANT!”

     Bob raised an eyebrow, jabbing one of his claws into one of Streber’s underarms. “Keep runnin’ your mouth and I may not stop at just ticklin’ ya.”

     “I MEHEHEAN- HOW CAN I HEHEHEHELP YOUHOHOU?”

     “Better. Now, I need ya to make somethin’ for me. Well, me and a friend, specifically. Ya see what I’m doin’ with my claws right here?” He waved one set of digits over Streber’s flushed face, and wiggled the others into his ribs.

     “OBVIOUSLEHEHEHE! YOU’RE KILLING M- I MEAN, YEHEHES!”

     “I need ya to make a sort of tool that’ll give me a way to tickle someone multiple ways all at once. Like I could be using feathers on them one minute, but the next I could zap them. Ya know, like when ya ‘tase’ someone with your fingers?”

     Streber did know - he’d been the victim of getting ‘tased’ more times than he cared to admit. Did he really want to hand over that sort of power to someone like Bob, though? He was bad enough without this tool that didn’t exist yet. “WHY WOULD YOU WANT THAHAHAT?”

     Bob sighed. “If ya want the truth, killin’ people just ain’t cuttin’ it anymore. It’s all the same tired horror script now. But this-” he scribbled at Streber’s neck, “-this is much better.”

     Streber supposed that made sense, and a small part of him was relieved that Bob had opted not to kill him. But most of him was losing his mind from being tickled like this. “FIHIHINE! I’LL DO IHIHIHIT! JUST PLEHEHEASE, STAHAHAP!”

     To his great relief, Bob released him immediately. “I could go on for hours, but ya can’t exactly build me a tool if you’re on the floor, hmm?”

     Streber managed to pull himself to his feet using his chair, gasping for air. “At least… *huff* you have some sense…”

     “Did ya miss the part where I said I can keep ticklin’ ya for hours?”

     Streber really needed to stop insulting him…

     A few hours had passed, but Streber had definitely made progress. The tool resembled a long black tube, with different colored buttons laid out in a line. So far the features involved a feather duster, a ‘tase’ tool, a paintbrush, and a special device that could imitate raspberries by vibrating. He’d customized the tool to Bob’s exact specifications, which seemed to change every fifteen minutes. Every time Streber finished adding one feature, Bob would immediately think of a new one and demand he add it.

     While Bob had been hovering over his shoulder, watching him work and suggesting new features every little while, Streber had also had the misfortune of meeting his “friend” - a sentient Happy Fella doll with the same sadistic tendencies as Bob.

     Unfortunately, they also shared the serial killer’s newfound obsession with tickling, evidenced by their first meeting when Streber had dared to make fun of their eyes. That was a mistake Streber wouldn’t make again… if anything, the doll was even more intense than Bob had been.

     “It’s done!” Streber announced, holding out the tool to Bob. “Sleek and simple, but with all the features you requested.”

     Bob examined the tool carefully, turning it over in his hands. He seemed enamored by it, as if completely taken by the fact that someone actually listened to his crazy idea and made it happen.

     “Doesn’t look like much,” the doll noted.

     Streber bit back a retort. “That’s the point. It’s meant to look simple. Makes it easier to hide, and easier to transport.”

     The doll couldn’t argue with that. Bob’s grin was bright enough to light up the whole room. “It’s perfect. This is exactly what I wanted!”

     “If you like it, then I guess I’m fine with it. But hold on… are we sure that he didn’t swindle us?”

     Streber’s heart sank. What now?

     Bob regarded his companion curiously. “What do ya mean?”

     “You saw him build it, but we don’t know if it actually works, do we?”

     Realization dawned in Bob’s eyes, and his grin stretched even wider - how that was possible, Streber couldn’t say. “You’re right, Dexter… we don’t know if this thing actually works. But luckily for us, we have someone to test it on!”

     Yeah, Streber wasn’t getting out of this one either.