A/N: Based on my favorite episode of The Twilight Zone called "Living Doll"

It had been a couple of months after Kendall and Jo broke up and things had slowly gone back to normal. Bro-time had tripled and things seemed to be going great for the four best friends. Little did they know that something dark lurked among them.

Logan was never one to hate anyone or anything, but over the past few months Carlos had relapsed into his helmet wearing ways, and as each day passed, Logan's disgust and hatred of the object grew and grew.

He wasn't quite sure why he hated the damned thing so much. Maybe it was because of the times Carlos used it as a cereal bowl and spilled milk all over his homework. Maybe it was the way Carlos treated it like a living entity by playing cards with it or fixing it a plate for breakfast. Maybe it was all of these things. Or maybe it was something deeper, like jealousy.

Jealous of a helmet? If you were to breach this topic in conversation with Logan, he would call you crazy. "How could a person be jealous of an object?" he would say. He would claim it was impossible and the subject would be dropped. But if the genius were to examine his feelings closer, he would know this was exactly why he had such a vendetta against the helmet.

Carlos' helmet had been a special gift from his father when he made the varsity hockey team their freshman year of high school. Anything his farther gave him became a prized possession. As most children do, Carlos idolized his dad. He was a cop after all. Who better to idolize than a real life hero?

But Logan's relationship with his father was very different.

Jerry Mitchell and his wife had never wanted any children, but still, six months after being married, Joanna was pregnant. Logan had been a mistake, an accident, and his father never let him forget it. No matter what Logan did, he could never gain his father's love. The only thing Logan's father ever gave him was life, and, according to Jerry, it was a worthless one. Logan's father was not a hero. He was a villain.


Logan groaned as he sat up in his bed, awakening from a restless slumber. He blinked his eyes blearily and stretched before making his way to the bathroom. The genius stopped in front of the mirror, frowning at what he saw in his reflection. There were dark circles under his eyes from his lack of sleep. He had tossed and turned all night, plagued with nightmares and feelings of inadequacies. On top of all that, he had somehow managed to over sleep. He hated starting his day late and knew he would be in a terrible mood the remainder of the day.

He grumpily made his way downstairs to the kitchen only to stop in his tracks when he saw the familiar shiny, black helmet atop his friend's head. Carlos had brought it to the breakfast table once again. Anger boiled deep inside Logan, but he bit down on his tongue harshly to prevent any hateful comments. He continued on to make himself some cereal and sat down at the table as far away from the Latino as possible.

Carlos sat there oblivious to the negative energy radiating from Logan. He merrily chewed on his piece of toast, not bothering to wipe the crumbs that had settled on his chin. He hummed quietly to himself thinking of nothing in particular. He gulped down his glass of orange juice loudly before declaring he was still hungry. He took his helmet off and gently sat it on the table before heading into the kitchen. He returned minutes later with two plates of toast, placing one in front of his helmet before retaking his seat.

Logan threw down his spoon with a loud clink as he stood up roughly and nearly knocked his chair over. "Are you serious?" His words were loud and angry, but he wasn't shouting.

"What do you mean?" Carlos asked with his mouth full of toast.

Logan scoffed. "I didn't complain too much when you went back on your promise of having your helmet at the table, but making it its own plate of food? This is ridiculous, Carlos. You're seventeen years old. When are you going to grow up? You treat that helmet like it's your goddamn imaginary friend."

Carlos paused mid-chew with tears welling up in his eyes. Swallowing hard, he pushed his plate away and got up to leave with out saying a word to Logan. The genius instantly felt remorse, the feeling being punctuated by the sobs he heard coming from Carlos' room.

Logan was now left alone in the kitchen with the proverbial thorn in his side. He looked at it and narrowed his eyes. It was all this damn helmet's fault. If it wasn't for it, Logan wouldn't have yelled at Carlos like that and made him cry. He almost growled at it as he lifted it off the table, looking at it with disgust.

I don't think I like you.

Logan dropped the helmet and it bounced off the wooden floor a few times before coming to a rest under the table. Who said that? Where did that voice come from? He looked around and just like before he was alone in the kitchen. He looked at the helmet suspiciously before picking it up again and examining it for any damage.

I think I may actually hate you.

Logan shook his head trying to clear his mind. He was obviously hearing things. There was no one in the room but himself and the helmet, and it sure as hell didn't say it. Still, Logan couldn't help but to be weirded out by what was being said. Was he going crazy? With one last look at the troublesome helmet, Logan tossed it in the trash can and then took the bag down to the dumpster.

He came back upstairs with a small smile on his face. It was over and done with. Yes, Carlos would morn the loss of his beloved helmet, but he would eventually get over it. Logan was sure of it.


The two friends had avoided each other the rest of the day, but by the next morning Logan was ready to apologize. It really wasn't like him to snap like that, but the helmet seemed to bring out the worst in him. Logan was in a much better mood this morning so with a smile on his face and a spring in his step, he entered the living room.

Carlos was sprawled out on the couch watching cartoons, the remote in one hand and a poptart in the other. This wouldn't seem odd to anyone but Logan because of one thing. Resting on top of his friend's head was the very helmet that Logan had taken to the dumpster the night before! Logan's good mood dissipated quickly.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Carlos looked at Logan, confused. "Eating a poptart?"

"No! I mean with your helmet! Why are you wearing your helmet?"

"But I always wear my helmet."

"You shouldn't be wearing it now. You can't be wearing it now."

"Are you on that again?" Carlos asked, annoyed. "I'm not at the dinner table, Logan. You have no right to be angry."

Carlos stood up and started to leave but Logan grabbed his shoulder tightly, stopping him.

"Are you trying to play a trick on me? Is this some sort of joke?" The bookworm was growling as he spoke.

Carlos shrugged Logan's hand off harshly and looked at him like he was crazy. "I don't know what you're talking about." And with that he walked away mumbling under his breath about someone waking up on the wrong side of the bed and needing to take a chill pill.

As Carlos retreated to his bedroom, Logan left the apartment. He stormed down the stairs to the dumpster and was happy to see the garbage hadn't been picked up yet. He was usually overly cautious but all worries about sanitation or germs didn't even cross his mind as he could concentrate on one thing only: the helmet.

Despite the horrid smell, he jumped in the dumpster without hesitation. He sorted through piles of refuse looking for the trash he took out the night before. It was just an ordinary black bag that many people used and that would make it nearly impossible to find, but Logan had a very distinct way of tying it closed that would help him distinguish which was his.

After digging for about thirty minutes, Logan finally found what he was looking for and tore into the plastic as if he were gutting a fish. Out spilled the smelly remains of Chinese takeout, an empty jar of Cuda hair gel, and a finished box of dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets (among other things) but no helmet. He examined the contents again and this was definitely the bag from the day before. There was no question about it.

He sat in shock. The helmet had been in there when he threw it away. That he was sure of. And to his knowledge Carlos didn't have any extra helmets, at least none that were as precious to him as the one from his father.

Somehow the boy had known Logan had threwit away and retrieved it, but how? That's when Logan realized that he was the one to open it up. If Carlos had taken the helmet back, there would have been some sort of hole or some other sign that it had been tampered with, but the bag had been completely intact.


Logan wasn't sure how long he was in the shower before freezing cold water brought him out of his thoughts. He struggled to feel clean and wash away the grime from his skin and hair just as he struggled to try and make sense of today's events.

You didn't have to be a genius to know that inanimate objects don't just get up and move around themselves. There's no way that the helmet came back upstairs on its on accord. Someone had to have done it. It was obviously a prank. Carlos was just trying to freak him out as payback for throwing it out to begin with.

"That has to be it," Logan said to himself as he used the towel to quickly dry his hair. He wrapped it around his waist and he walked into his bedroom. He changed into pair of clean boxers and some comfortable clothes, planning to relax the rest of the day. It wasn't even noon and he had already had enough stress.

Just as Logan slipped a t-shirt over his head, a buzzing sound came from his bedside table. He popped his head and arms through the holes and then grabbed his phone. The caller ID showed 000-000-0000. Logan raised an eye brow at the odd number but answered it anyways.

"Hello?"

How could you, Logan?

Logan's eyes widened. "Who is this? Carlos, is that you?"

I hate you

"What do you want?"

You'll be sorry.

"Why are you doing this?"

Logan heard the voice on the other end laugh, but before he could ask any more questions his phone beeped indicating the call had ended. The genius was now furious. Carlos was taking this joke too far and he was not going to put up with it any longer.

He stormed out of his room, slamming the door behind him, and started shouting Carlos' name. When he received no answer, he burst into the other boy's room without knocking. There he saw the usual bundle of energy sleeping peacefully in his bed. He was snoring loudly which Logan knew he only did after being asleep for awhile. But if Carlos was asleep, then where did the phone call come from?

His eyes narrowed and he glared at the helmet resting loosely on the top of his friend's head. Logan knew it was an absurd notion. He knew that even thinking it made him certifiable. But he also knew that some unexplainable things had happened since last night and all rationality was gone. Logan knew that the helmet was behind all of this. It was crazy, but Logan could not draw any other conclusion.

Something in Logan snapped and he grabbed the helmet from the sleeping boy's head.

"I'll be sorry?" he asked incredulously as he headed towards the basement, "No. You'll be sorry."

He reached his destination and threw the helmet onto Buddha Bob's work bench. He dug through a nearby tool box pulling out a hammer. There was fire in his eyes as he lifted the tool above his head and with all his strength brought it down to the helmet. The blow created no damage so Logan repeated his action. Over and over and over but the helmet didn't crack or even dent.

I'm going to kill you.

"Not if I kill you first!" Logan shouted.

He tossed the hammer haphazardly to the side looking for something else to assault the helmet with. He saw a small blow torch in the corner and smiled as he picked it up. He hit the trigger and his smile grew at the sight of the blue flame flowing from the nozzle. There was a maniacal look in his eye as he walked back over to the work bench to attack the helmet once again, but before he could apply the extreme heat someone grabbed his wrist.

"What the hell are you doing, Logan?" It was Kendall. "Are you crazy?"

Logan didn't answer. He wasn't confident enough to say no.


Logan lay in his bed staring at the ceiling. His mind was racing and he was unable to sleep. He had completely lost it earlier and it scared him. Had he gone crazy? Was this some sort of Hollywood Fever? Maybe all the stress of the band was finally getting to him. He let out a deep sigh as he turned on his side to look at the clock. It read 1:30 AM. Everyone else in 2J was sound asleep by now.

The bookworm groaned as he sat up. He took a deep breath before tiptoeing out of the bedroom cautiously as to not wake Kendall. He was going to make himself a glass of warm milk to help calm his nerves and hopefully get some sleep.

The apartment was dark as Logan headed to the kitchen. He had made it down two steps before tripping on some unseen object. Unable to catch his balance, the genius tumbled to the bottom of the stairs. There was a loud crack as he made contact with the ground.

Logan lay there, motionless on the floor, with his body in unnatural angles. There was no emotion on his face and his lips were tinted blue as the fall had snapped his neck, killing him instantly. Beside him was Carlos' helmet. It had landed upside down, spinning slightly like a top, before coming to a rest. Its curved intricate pattern was curled toward the ceiling like a leering jack-o-latern. If Logan were alive he would have sworn it was smiling.

And maybe it was.