Chapter One- Dreams and Realities

Pain. Indescribable pain. Every time he closed his eyes it was the same. He was always suspended by some horrible machine, looking down at the twisted smile of a heartless demon as his heart raced at a breakneck pace. He would plead with the demon, assure him of his innocence, but it was never enough. The monster would always pull the lever and the world would turn a brilliant white as he was ripped to pieces, blood splattering with impossible volume and pain racking his thin frame.

Then he would wake up.

He breathed heavily, a pale boney hand resting over his furiously beating heart. He scowled as he swiped at his bleary, bloodshot eyes. Dreams like that were one of the many reasons he avoided sleep. Though, this was the only dream he always vividly remembered - the only dream that haunted him in the waking world. Blinking up at the ceiling he went over the dream once more, unconsciously rubbing at the scar above his left eye.

The situation he had been in…it seemed oddly familiar. As if he'd been through it before, only from a different vantage point. He wished Bunny were here. Nail Bunny had always been good at this psychological shit. He groaned, flopping over onto his belly and staring blankly at the television screen.

It was the Taco-taco commercial. He sniggered as the diners all ran for the bathrooms, bright smiles on their faces as they barely made it in time. He chimed in with the narrator towards the end. "Taco-taco, grade D beef! Sure to keep ya regular!" He dissolved into laughter once more, zoning off into the television.

It was some time later when the channel cut off for the night, a static-y screen replacing the lineup of infomercials, before he grabbed the clicker and switched the television off. He could really go for a Freezie. He jumped off the couch and inspected himself. Rumpled clothes, a few blood and other questionable liquids stained the surface a bit….Not too bad.

He dug in his pocket, grabbing a fistful of ones and change. He threw a dismembered finger over his shoulder disinterestedly. Success! He had just enough to buy the new flavor the commercials were babbling about. He made a happy noise and made his way towards the 24/7 gas station.

The night air felt good. When was the last he had been outside? He shrugged that thought off; something else was nagging at his brain. As if he'd forgotten something important. He thought long and hard, but nothing came to mind. He was ready to discard the worrisome feeling as his usual paranoia when he noticed something that made him stop dead in his tracks.

There, on the darkened window pane was the "demon" that had been plaguing him. He placed his hand on the glass, tracing the features of the "monster" and he finally understood his dream: the creature that endlessly tormented his sleep...was himself.

The calming breeze made an odd shift in direction. A black mist, almost translucent, swirled and twisted and began to take shape, but it dissolved in the wind before the man across the street could notice.

Traveling for a spirit was much more efficient than that of the flesh, to become one with the wind, invisible to all those unwanted spectators. Of course, invisibility came naturally to ghosts. The celestial being took another glance at the young man, knowing what had to be done, before whisking off towards House 777.

Johnny sucked on his Freezie straw broodingly, glaring straight ahead as Mozart's 40th Symphony blared from his headphones. Just because he made a deep, psychological realization didn't mean that he would go without his Sucky Munky, god dammit.

Glaring at the glass windows as he passed, he wondered what the dream had meant. That he was going to die in some unspeakable manner like his own unfortunate victims? Maybe. That he was crazy? Most likely.

He paused and stared up at little Squee's house, waving at the wide eyed boy who hugged tightly to his teddy bear before quickly shutting the curtains.

He picked back up on his last train of thought as he turned up his walkway. The thing was, he wasn't sure if he was insane anymore. Well...not as much as before anyway. After he had died, if that entire adventure hadn't just been a dream itself, he had felt...different.

Sure, the urge to kill things and see cute things mutilated was still there, but it wasn't as prominent. He felt he now needed a reason for most of his murders. He wondered if that was what you would call an "improvement". It was an odd sensation, having a conscience.

He opened up the door and stepped into the living room. He instantly felt that something wasn't quite right...

As Johnny entered the unkempt shack, the spirit couldn't help but smile to himself. The maniac didn't seem to have changed much. Well...except for the excessive amount of hair loss. That was the price for returning to the world of the living, and it made his smile grow wider at the pure idiocy of the whole concept. Ironically, he found Johnny's two demonic, horn-like bangs to be very fitting of the man's personality. Very impish.

He wondered if Johnny's personality really had changed since he last laid eyes on him. The Devil, or Senior Satan as he preferred, had informed him of a probable change in the maniac, but it was hard to look upon someone like this with different eyes. Especially his own murderer.

He decided to wait for Johnny to come completely inside and close the door before making his presence known, even though it seemed the young man already suspected something by the strange atmosphere that filled the room as a result of the spirit's manifestation. He knew of Johnny's reoccurring dream, having been monitoring him before coming back to this world, and wondered if he had grasped the connection. He decided to ask.

Continuing to stay in his spectral form, the spirit approached Johnny from behind as he asked the question, "Tell me, Johnny. Your dream." He leaned over to whisper in his ear. "Have you figured it out yet?"