𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐄 || the simpsons

Chapter Seven: Only One Will Die Tonight

Smithers stepped out into the cool night, glancing around him. The only sources of light came from the lampposts that lined the streets, and the moon overhead, which was blocked in several places by dark clouds. The cement sidewalk was still damp from the previous storm, and water gathered in several places along the sides of the road, spilling into the gutters.

The occasional car drove down the street, breaking the silence as it headed to its destination, but there were not too many. It was very late, and not many people would be awake at this hour. Waylon checked his watch, which read 11:38. It had been a while since Moe had came. 

He knew that what he was doing was insane, and that there was no way that it work. Even if Monty did show enough compassion to do something about what had just happened, which he obviously won't, what could he do? What could anyone do? Moe was probably miles away at this point, if not farther, escaping the consequences of his actions. He would be too far away to catch. But at the same time, he would be too far away to do anything else to Waylon. 

So why was he so paranoid? All he had to do was walk to the end of the block and get in his car. There was no one around, the street completely deserted of any living being, except himself. He began to head in the direction of the vehicle, his footsteps loud against the pavement.

Suddenly, Waylon saw, out of the corner of his eye, a flicker of light. It was a different light than the fluorescent bulbs along the roads. He turned to look to the other side of the road, and saw that he was not alone in the night. A figure stood, leaning against a lamppost, holding a lighter to his face. It looked as if he was attempting to light a cigarette. The small flame was not enough to show the man's face, which was covered in shadow. But for some reason, Waylon noticed that his silhouette and posture looked familiar to him. 

The stranger put away the flame, setting the lighter in his pocket. He exhaled slowly, causing smoke to billow around him, creating an eerie fog. The man sighed to himself, leaning his head back, then suddenly noticed that Waylon had been standing there, across the street, for a while now. He turned his head, and his face was illuminated by the light of the lamppost. As Smithers recognized the man, he stumbled backwards, gasping in horror.

It was Moe.

All the memories of the night came back to Waylon as he and Moe stared at each other. Moe looked just as shocked as him. The two men watched each other on opposite sides of the street, neither of them moving. Eventually, a slow smile grew on Moe's face, just like the one he had worn before, and he raised a hand as a sign of greeting. Waylon, however, did not move. He couldn't. He was paralyzed, rooted to the spot with fear, flashbacks of what Moe had done to him coursing through him like poison. 

He quickly snapped out of his trance and came back to his senses. Moe was still standing there, staring at him with that terrifying smile. He ran, ran away from that spot, towards his car where he knew he'd be safe. He could still feel Moe's eyes following him as he ran. Smithers jumped into his car and slammed the door behind him. Sighing in relief, he put the key into the ignition and heard the roar of the engine respond. He drove off as fast as he could, his tires squealing as he headed towards Monty Burns's mansion.

Moe was still watching him, slightly amused by the fear of his acquaintance. He was slightly shocked that Waylon had been able to leave his home after what he had done to him.

Let alone stand, he thought to himself, and chuckled, as twisted, depraved thoughts ran through his mind.

Where's he even going? he asked himself. He can't be going to tell someone about what I did, obviously. He has no one to tell!

Moe laughed to himself, and then suddenly stopped. He realized his one fatal mistake, a mistake that would ruin his plans and undoubtedly land him in jail...or worse.

Monty Burns.

He realized that Waylon had left in order to tell Burns about what he had done. He was the only one who he had cared about his entire life. And if he succeeded, Moe would be thrown in jail, and the two of them were free to become an official couple. Images of them together filled his mind, causing him to become angrier and angrier. He had to stop them, he had to. It was the only way to make Waylon his forever. 

He threw down his cigarette, crushing it under his foot, and began to head towards his own car. Just before he reached it, a voice spoke in his head.

Dead where they stand...they'd be dead where they stand.

A second smile grew on Moe's face, this one more sinister than the last. He ran to his bar door and unlocked it. Running behind the counter, he searched for the one vital object that he would need to use. After a few minutes, he located it, and brought it out from underneath. He ran his hand along the length of the object, chuckling to himself.

They won't be dead where they stand, he thought. No...

Only one will die tonight.

The roof of the house became visible as Smithers neared his destination. The whole way there, he had continually glanced over his shoulder, terrified that, at any moment, Moe would appear. But the drive there was uninterrupted. He pulled into the driveway of the mansion, gazing up at its multi-story beauty. 

He had barely any time to appreciate it, however. As soon as the car was parked, he leapt out, and walked quickly to the front door. He reached it and knocked frantically upon its highly polished mahogany surface. 

"Please, Monty," he said, more to himself than to anyone. "Please open the door. I know it's late, and I know you don't care about me, but I need you here. I need you to open the door, cause I don't know what I'm going to do if you don't."