The Tale of Jordan Frye and Jimmy Casket

Chapter 9: Annabelle and Seven-Eleven

In a local 7-11, a cashier was bored out of his mind. He played with the cash machine buttons and observed the empty store. "Who in the hell," he thought, "Is up at eleven at night to come eat a freaking hot dog?" Of course there was the occasional drunkard or cheap bachelorette party but, for the most part, the graveyard shift is utterly boring.

Unless you see a shotgun shell fire through the doors, shattering the glass and setting off the burglary alarm. The cashier jolted awake, nearly falling to the ground. When he cautiously stood up he saw a bald, chubby man with a small 12 year old kid. A hostage? Didn't look like it. When the man made eye contact with him, his heart sank. The middle aged man stomped towards the twenty-three year old, with the kid not far behind. The bald man aimed the shotgun at the cashier, "You can have the money," the cashier carefully told him, as he was taught in protocol, "just don't shoo-,"

"I'm not here for the money," the bald man snapped in a rough southern accent, "I'm here for information. Where are we?"

That's odd, to say the least. He was never told about anything like this in training. "How do you not know where you are?" he asked.

"Well-," the middle aged man stopped to read the cashier's name tag, "Andrew, that is a very long story and not one I'm willing to talk about. Now," he brought the shotgun closer to Andrew's neck, "Where are we?"

--

Papa Acachalla was slammed onto the hood of a police car right outside the 7-11. The cashier was outside the shattered door and had an annoyingly smug smile on his face. Lucky for him, the police station was only a few minutes away by cop car. "Come on!" He cried, "I am PAPA ACACHALLA! I am a 700 year old time lord that could kill all of you right here, right now! Where's my son?"

"That is none of your concern, Mr. Acachalla." A cop scolded, getting him off the hood of the car and into the car.

"It is ALL of my concern! Now, let me out of these stupid cuffs!"

"No." By now, the cop was amused by this man's actions, letting out a little smirk.

Papa saw the cop's smile, "What's so funny?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing." The cop grinned, getting into the driver's seat, "Just your arrogance." He thought. The cop turned to his walkie-talkie, "Is the kid alright?"

"Yeah," another cop responded, "He's not hurt. Says his name is Billy. Let's just take his father to Channon."

--

It was incredibly difficult to get Billy Acachalla to stop moving around, let alone to get him to sit down and answer their questions. Sometimes he spoke to fast, Privates O'Brain and Pierson couldn't understand what he was saying. "Hold up, hold up," Pierson asked, "You're telling us that you and your father are from a video game called 'G-mod'," Billy nodded, "and you're here to save a group of creators called... Venturiantale?"

The hyperactive kid was bouncing in his chair, "Uh-huh! We're trying to save the world from Jimmy Casket!"

When Billy brought this up, each of the Privates were surprised. Why would a little kid know about such a brutal serial murderer? However he knew, they need to check if he knew what he was talking about. The cops were getting more desperate every day. That case has hit so many dead ends, it's ridiculous. "What do you know about 'Jimmy Casket'?" Pierson asked.

The kid gave it some thought, "Jimmy Casket is a murdererer and kills people with a knife. Usually, Johnny Ghost controls him but, sometimes he breaks. Like, when the time me, Mama, and Sally, got turned into dinosaurs and we threatened to eat Ghost but, then, he turned into Casket and killed us! And also-"