couple days. And he was a little wide to comfortably wander the interior walls to check. So I stopped the bagging and killing, and just wandered around doing whatever until some code got called.
I watched rooms from behind the red windows and studied the cast members. There were a few really bad ones who made me jealous I wasn’t in their shoes. One guy wearing a straitjacket in the Madhouse room was practically catatonic. I swear he routinely pissed his pants because he never went on break, never said a word, never moved. He just stared intensely at every person who came through like each one was a better piece of meat. It was hard to tell how much of it was even an act. But it sucked, whatever it was. That guy would be perfect for cleaning up dead stuff.
After a few hours of doing my own thing in the Castle, I got bored and took my first break outside. I sat down at an empty table, spotted Renaldo, and called him over.
“Hey, bro, need anything?” he said.
“Nah, man. I just wanted to hang.”
“I thought you’d ditch me once you became royalty, man, you’re a good dude.”
“Dude, I’m the custodian. I don’t see the Castle rooms unless someone pukes or pisses in one. They give me a druid robe, some bleach, and paper towels. Not very royal.”
He kept begging to hear stories about me banging chicks. I had to repeatedly tell him that it wasn’t happening until he finally switched topics.
“I was thinking, we should start a band,” he said.
“I don’t know how to play anything.”
“Dude, you can be the singer since you’re tall.”
“What do you play?”
“Nothing yet, but dude, I can just fuckin’ sell my soul to Satan and turn into a shredder overnight! We will be so rad and famous, bro. You don’t even know.”
“Does that really work?”
“Oh, fuuuuck yeah, it does.”
“How do you know?”
“Charlie, you know, from the Castle? Dude is satanic.”
Made sense. Charlie actually played Satan in the Castle. He was a big guy and loved carrying his role with him wherever he went.
“Can he shred?”
“Nah, he asked for a bigger dick.”
“He told you that? Did it work?”
“Dude, I’m not gay! How would I know? But yeah, he said it did and I didn’t see it, but . . . I did see proof.”
“Yeah?”
“At the time, he was bangin’ the death rocker chick that plays Lizzie Borden and when he was telling me I was like, ‘No way, bro,’ but then she came out of the Castle and was walking all fucked up and he goes, ‘See?’ The only problem he says is that it’s too big now and that’s why she dumped him. And now he only bangs fat chicks ’cause their pussies are huge.”
“Hm,” I said while looking around. I needed to make sure no one witnessed me hanging out with a dude who’d just said that.
“Yeah, dude. My dick’s big enough and I hate fat chicks so I’m like, fuck, dude, shred!”
“Hmmm.” My eyes darted around again.
“Are you in?”
“I don’t know what I’d sell my soul for. I don’t want to be a singer.”
“Dude, you gotta know something.”
“I gotta think . . . the Castle.”
“Bro, if you sell it to sing like King, you can basically make any other dream come true with your metal power. You can buy this place with your metal money. Best of both worlds. The band, man!”
“I don’t know. How do you even do it?”
“I have this album and there’s this one song where they just lay it right out, dude. It’s so fucked up that you can only buy it as an import!”
“Whoa.”
“Yeah, it’s like the government knows this shit is real and they’re just, like, no way.”
I nodded. This made sense.
“We should test it out first,” I said.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea.”
“What if we tried it with, like, a cat?”
“Wait, that would be like a sacrifice. Totally different,” Renaldo said.
“No no, we won’t kill him, we’ll like just, like, broker his deal with the Devil.”
“What should we sell the cat’s soul
I watched rooms from behind the red windows and studied the cast members. There were a few really bad ones who made me jealous I wasn’t in their shoes. One guy wearing a straitjacket in the Madhouse room was practically catatonic. I swear he routinely pissed his pants because he never went on break, never said a word, never moved. He just stared intensely at every person who came through like each one was a better piece of meat. It was hard to tell how much of it was even an act. But it sucked, whatever it was. That guy would be perfect for cleaning up dead stuff.
After a few hours of doing my own thing in the Castle, I got bored and took my first break outside. I sat down at an empty table, spotted Renaldo, and called him over.
“Hey, bro, need anything?” he said.
“Nah, man. I just wanted to hang.”
“I thought you’d ditch me once you became royalty, man, you’re a good dude.”
“Dude, I’m the custodian. I don’t see the Castle rooms unless someone pukes or pisses in one. They give me a druid robe, some bleach, and paper towels. Not very royal.”
He kept begging to hear stories about me banging chicks. I had to repeatedly tell him that it wasn’t happening until he finally switched topics.
“I was thinking, we should start a band,” he said.
“I don’t know how to play anything.”
“Dude, you can be the singer since you’re tall.”
“What do you play?”
“Nothing yet, but dude, I can just fuckin’ sell my soul to Satan and turn into a shredder overnight! We will be so rad and famous, bro. You don’t even know.”
“Does that really work?”
“Oh, fuuuuck yeah, it does.”
“How do you know?”
“Charlie, you know, from the Castle? Dude is satanic.”
Made sense. Charlie actually played Satan in the Castle. He was a big guy and loved carrying his role with him wherever he went.
“Can he shred?”
“Nah, he asked for a bigger dick.”
“He told you that? Did it work?”
“Dude, I’m not gay! How would I know? But yeah, he said it did and I didn’t see it, but . . . I did see proof.”
“Yeah?”
“At the time, he was bangin’ the death rocker chick that plays Lizzie Borden and when he was telling me I was like, ‘No way, bro,’ but then she came out of the Castle and was walking all fucked up and he goes, ‘See?’ The only problem he says is that it’s too big now and that’s why she dumped him. And now he only bangs fat chicks ’cause their pussies are huge.”
“Hm,” I said while looking around. I needed to make sure no one witnessed me hanging out with a dude who’d just said that.
“Yeah, dude. My dick’s big enough and I hate fat chicks so I’m like, fuck, dude, shred!”
“Hmmm.” My eyes darted around again.
“Are you in?”
“I don’t know what I’d sell my soul for. I don’t want to be a singer.”
“Dude, you gotta know something.”
“I gotta think . . . the Castle.”
“Bro, if you sell it to sing like King, you can basically make any other dream come true with your metal power. You can buy this place with your metal money. Best of both worlds. The band, man!”
“I don’t know. How do you even do it?”
“I have this album and there’s this one song where they just lay it right out, dude. It’s so fucked up that you can only buy it as an import!”
“Whoa.”
“Yeah, it’s like the government knows this shit is real and they’re just, like, no way.”
I nodded. This made sense.
“We should test it out first,” I said.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea.”
“What if we tried it with, like, a cat?”
“Wait, that would be like a sacrifice. Totally different,” Renaldo said.
“No no, we won’t kill him, we’ll like just, like, broker his deal with the Devil.”
“What should we sell the cat’s soul
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