C.C. was worried. No, worried was what C.C. was when he was running late when trying to deliver a cup of coffee or whenever he engaged in a conversation with another intelligent creature. Worried was his balanced mood, his normal; if he was worried, then he was okay. Tonight he was beyond worried. He was wrecked. Shredded. Literally coming undone. He shifted in and out of shadows without even thinking, his form flipping and folding like the goo inside of a lava lamp. What if the mummy sent goons after him? Or scarabs? Or (shudder) cats, with their hissing and their razor-sharp claws and their refusal to let him pet them? What if he lead the bad guys straight towards Parry’s. 
 
What if Parry was with the bad guys? He did drugs, after all, and C.C. had once been a fly on the wall during a laserdisc showing of the harmful effects of drugs in a middle school class when he was supposed to be observing one of the kids who was suspected of being an unregistered changeling. Regardless, after watching that film C.C. considered himself to be an expert on the effects of grass, and how it could lead one to descend into madness and become a heartless, soulless killing machine. Maybe the mummy had been on drugs, too. Why else would he want to harm the Count?
 
C.C. shook his head; no, no, no, that was impossible. Parry couldn’t have been a bad guy, because like C.C. he also helped to take care of children. Parry looked after them during the day, and C.C. made sure that they kept their noses clean during the night. Well, before the Count had told him to stop sneaking into the rooms of children, on account that he would be violating the edict if he did so. When C.C. had suggested that perhaps he just snuck into the rooms of supernatural children the idea was also poo-pooed, on account of it quote, just being creepy, end quote. Regardless, the point remained the same: Parry was a good guy, reefer madness aside. 
 
Yet, the bogeyman still paused as if he was a vampire waiting to be invited in when he came to Parry’s slightly ajar, somewhat destroyed, definitely ominous door. For a solid minute he stood next to the entranceway, listening in and uncertain of how to take the next step. He heard voices, way too many voices for the late hour of the night. Or would it be the early hour of the day? Whatever. From what he could tell the voices weren’t chanting any ancient mumbo jumbo, and there was no red cloud of doom circling the daycare. Plus, Rusty’s bike was there, and if C.C. knew anything, he knew that Rusty was good at running from trouble whenever it arose. Case and point, earlier that night. 
 
“Um, I’ll just show myself in. Please excuse me,” he said softly, pushing open the front door. A hinge creaked and then snapped, and C.C. shifted into the shadows on the wall as the top hinge came undone and the door leaned forward, the bottom two hinges keeping it from clattering to the ground. He decided that perhaps it would be for the best to pretend that the door had been that way when he found it and slipped further into Parry’s abode, following the sounds of voices as he stuck to the shadows. 
 
He didn’t know why he kept himself hidden, Parry had invited him over earlier. Nerves, probably. Still, he had to make his presence known so he could find Parry and spread the word. Somebody was walking from the playroom towards the basement. This was his shot. After she passed he stuck his head out of the shadows and, quieter than a mouse, stammered out:
 
“H-h-h-hel—” And they were gone. “—lo.”
 
No worries. A pantless person had just come out of the kitchen. Time for round two.
 
“Ex-ex-excuse me,” he managed to stutter out before she had disappeared up the stairs. “No, it’s okay, you’re busy. Good talk.” 
 
Okay, C.C., here came another one heading towards the kitchen. Time to get hyped. Let’s do this!
 
[sub]“...ah...um…”[/sub]
 
And not even the slightest turn of the head. Nailed it. 
 
C.C. sunk deeper into the shadows until he was indistinguishable from the shag carpet. Parties were exhausting. But, he knew he couldn’t give up. These people needed to be warned. It was his duty. He had to be brave. Strong. He had to do this for the Count. Set things right. Get everybody worked up to go against Nemsemet. Only he could do it. Popping up out of the shadows, C.C. swelled up his chest and marched right into the kitchen and—oh goodness it was crowded in there. No sweat. He could do this. One. Two. Three—
 
[b]“There’s a crazy mummy trying to kill everybody!”[/b]
 
Okay, job’s done. C.C. melted into shadows and zipped away.
 
“Tell them, Rusty,” came a nervous voice from behind the fridge. “Tell them that we gotta avenge the Count.”