Challenge the Fourth: In Which West Necromances

After awhile it was my turn to enter the dining room and meet Sylar’s mother. I told myself it would be easy, like talking to my own mom after she had taken a bit too much Valium, but as the smell of decaying flesh hit my nostrils I had to admit that she was, in fact, dead. I sat down at the table in front of the Ouija board and said, “Hello, Mrs. Gray. It’s nice to finally meet you. How are you today?”

The pointy thing on the board moved, spelling out YOU ARE DAMNED.

“Eh, what?”

ALL OF YOU ARE DAMNED TO HELL. MURDERERS! FORNICATORS!

“Robots!” I added.

OH GOD, WHAT HAS BECOME OF MY GABRIEL?

“Maybe you’ll feel better after we eat some supper and I tell you about how awesome Sylar is. You should be proud of him!” Honestly, it felt weird carrying on a conversation like this, but on the other hand it was kinda cool. It reminded me of that one episode of Doctor Who where these gas aliens were making the dead walk. Hey, maybe Sylar’s mom was an alien? Wouldn’t that be awesome? I bet the reason why Sylar is so awesomely alien is because he has alien genes. I said earlier that Sylar’s alienness means that he deserves to rule over us all, so if he literally was an alien that would be even cooler.

The pointy thing on the board started twitching again. I WOULD LIKE SOME TUNA SANDWICHES.

“I don’t really like tuna sandwiches,” I said. There’s a good reason why I don’t like tuna sandwiches, too. The day I woke up with my memory gone after being captured by Horn-Rimmed Glasses I was late to school, and I didn’t have any time to pack a lunch. That day the cafeteria served soggy tuna sandwiches, and it was gross.

YOU WILL CLEAN YOUR PLATE, YOUNG MAN. YOU’RE A GROWING BOY, AND IT’S BRAIN FOOD.

“Okay, okay,” I said as I went to the kitchen to talk to the show’s caterers. They came back with tuna sandwiches on a silver platter. I reached for a sandwich, but then Mrs. Gray’s spirit made a candlestick fly at my head.

YOU HAVE TO SAY GRACE.

“Uh, Good food, good meat, good God, lets eat!?” I honestly hadn’t said grace at the table in years, not since my parents got tired of hearing me pray that we would be spared from the robot uprising. Her spirit threw another candlestick at me.

YOU HAVE TO SAY IT RIGHT. I looked at her blankly, and the wind blew through the windows like a sigh. She spelled the entire prayer out on the Ouija board, and then I was allowed to grab a sandwich. When I finished, I saw the pointy thing move again. FEED ME. I scooted my chair closer to her, tore off a piece of sandwich, popped it in her mouth, then opened and closed her mouth again so she could chew, and tipped her head back so she could swallow. It was strangely intimate as my fingertips brushed against her desiccated lips. THANK YOU.

I noticed maggots crawling on her scalp. “Would you like me to comb your hair?” I asked as the pointer indicated ‘YES.’ I took the comb from my shirt pocket (I always try to look my best for Elle) and proceeded to work all of the maggots out of her hair. “If I win this reality show, I’ll make sure that all of Sylar’s dreams and your dreams come true. Don’t worry; I’ll keep your little boy safe from the robots.”

YOU’RE A SPECIAL BOY.

“Thank you, ma’am.”