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Description
Mr. and Mrs. Jackson were quite the wealthy entrepreneurs and they used their wealth to good use. Mr. Jackson was a prime example of the successful business, and he dressed like it too. He was dressed as sharp as possible and never allowed anyone to see him in any lesser state. His wife was the epitome of healthiness; her figure was what many would consider “bombin’!” and she loved to show it off. These made sure to enjoy the maximum from their wealth, and today they were going to enjoy one of finer things of being billionairs.

They had just brought their first mansion. This mansion was an architectural masterpiece. The marble columns by the entrance stood magnificently as it glimmered in the sunlight, flashing like a beautiful display of lights. Each room was expertly designed to tell any visitors that the couple who lived here were elegant citizens, elegant and modern. Everything was slick, smooth, shiny, and modern and all the electronics were voice activated. It was the mansion that other mansions aspire to be when they grow up. It was truly magnificent.

Mr. and Mrs. Jackson settled into their new home comfortably. Everything was perfect. The neighbors were neighborly, the environment was friendly, and the weather was excellent. Nothing, what so ever, was going to ruin these two’s greatest day of their lives.

But something did.

As the couple settled in their master bedroom, up in the second floor, sleeping comfortably in their King (or Queen, whichever is bigger and more luxurious) size bed, surrounded by portraits of their lives, a racket was being made down in the kitchen at the first floor. This woke Mrs. Jackson up, and she sat up, listening to the racket, the thought that a burglar had intruded into their home had entered her mind.

“Peter, wake up!” called Mrs. Jackson, shaking her husband awake.

“What is it, honey?” mumbled Peter; half awake and wishing he was still asleep.

“I hear something come from the first floor,” she answered, shaking like a leaf, afraid that the burglar was going to eventually come up and find them in their bedroom.

Peter listened but couldn’t hear anything. “I don’t hear-”, suddenly the racket began again, jolting Peter into an upright position. “Holy crap!” he blasphemised, “Alright, Lois, you stay here. I’m going to check to see what that racket is.” He jumped out of bed, grabbed his autographed bat, signed by all the players of the New York Yankees, and made his way down stairs. All the lights were off, he could barely see anything. But he saw the glow of a light coming from one room, the kitchen. He approached it with caution, tightening his grip on the bat. As he tipped toed his way to the kitchen, his bat made contact with a vase, causing a slight tink. Suddenly the light shut off and the refrigerator could be heard closing. Peter began running into the kitchen, screaming at the top of his lungs, raising the bat to the top of his head, ready to strike anyone he found. But the kitchen was empty. The windows were locked shut and the only other exit was where he had entered through. The only thing that was left was a can rolling across the marble floor, which was breathtaking under the moonlight, by the way. He looked towards where the can had rolled from to find a pile of discarded wrappers and empty cans.

“Honey, what did you find?” asked Lois from behind him, scaring the socks off of him, causing to yelp instantly, nearly whacking his wife across her head.

“Sweetie!” he began, panting, “Don’t do that!”

“Sorry,” she apologized, “So did you find the burglar?”

“No” he responded, “whoever it was, they’re gone now. But luckily it looks like they’ve only broke in to eat our food.”

“All of it?” she asked, puzzled by this new found information.

“Yup. I’m guessing it must have been a group because that’s a lot of food for one person to eat,” he commented, looking at the large pile.

Suddenly a low moan could be across the halls. A shiver crept up the couple’s back as they heard this.

“What’s that?”Whimpered Lois, holding onto her husband for protection.

“I don’t know,” responded Peter between shivering teeth, hugging his wife for safety.

Suddenly they heard a voice, it was near. As if it had joined them in their embrace for protection. The voice was soft, cold, a bit slurred, but ghastly. It spoke slowly into their ears.

“More food”

Mr. and Mrs. Jackson ran to their bedroom, screaming bloody murder as they flipped the light switch on and jumped into their bed, wrapping themselves in layers upon layers of blankets. They were rich enough to own that many blankets, the softest and most beautifully designed blankets that money could buy. And was used a protective shield from whatever Paranormal Activity© was occurring out in their halls.

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The next day, convinced they brought and were currently living in a Haunted Mansion©, they hired a psychic to communicate with the spirit living within.

The couple sat in the living room, waiting for their psychic to arrive. When they heard knocking at the door, they answered it and were met with an interesting looking person. Basically this guy looked like a much formal-looking Lil’ John and were expecting him to either sign them a telegram or end his sentences in “mon”. But in tradition of breaking harmful stereotypes (ugh) the man spoke in a formal and deep tone of voice.

“Good morning, I’m Mr. Stone, the psychic you had called earlier.” said the fine looking gentleman.

“Wow, you were fast,” complimented Peter, surprised at his performance so far.

“We take Paranormal Activity© very seriously. Let’s sit.”

They gathered around a coffee table. Their butler having served coffee to the three as the couple explained to Mr. Stone what had happened last night. After some thinking, jotting down some notes on his pad and sipping some coffee, Mr. Stone began talking.

“I’ve only seen this one other time. There was this family, the Kotler family. They were dealing with a phantom. It would eat whatever food they had laying around. They had contacted me after dealing with this phantom for several months. But when I had arrived, the family was gone.”

“Did they move out?” asked Peter frightened.

“No, no one saw a moving truck pass by in the hour it took me to get there.” He responded, receiving a surprised look from the couple, “Yes, I’m fast. I told you, I take my job very seriously.”

“Well were they… murdered?” asked Lois, scared for her life.

“I don’t know. The police searched but no body was found in the house or in the 15 mile radius around the house. They had completely disappeared.” He answered, with a grave tone in his voice.

“So what should we do?” asked Peter.

“We must act immediately!” ordered Mr. Stone, “Communicate with the phantom and see what she means by “More Food”. Maybe we can help in some way.”

“You think there’s a higher motive than just because she’s hungry?” asked Lois, puzzled by this plan.

Mr. Stone nodded. From his suitcase he removed an Ouija board and several candles and set them down on the table. After turning off all the lights in the house, they waited for the day to darken into night before beginning the ceremony. Peter was going to make a comment about why didn’t he just arrive at night but he was shushed.

“Oh hungry spirit from beyond, tell us what it is that you seek!” Mr. Stone chanted, “Do you have any ulterior motive to complete?”

Suddenly the Ouija arrow began moving, much to the couple’s shock and surprise. It began spelling a word.

“F. O. O. S? Foos? Foosball? Do any of you play foosball?” asked Mr. Stone, trying to comprehend the message.

“Actually, I think its F-O-O-D; the S was supposed to be a D. She wanted the D.” repeated Lois, “Am I right?”

The Ouija arrow moved again.

“Y. W. D? YWD, does that mean anything to you?” asked Mr. Stone.

Lois was going to, once again, correct Mr. Stone, before a horrible, shrieking scream pierced the air, causing the three to cover their ears. The Ouija board lit on fire instantaneously before them and a figure of a young lady, dressed in the usual attire for ghostly phantoms, appeared above the roaring flames. The glow of the fire giving her a menacing look, despite her cute feature, which had distorted into a grimace.

“Oh great phantom!” began Peter, kneeling before her.

“SILENCE!” she shrieked, “Listen and listen well!” she began, looking down at the cowering husband, “I want one thing and one thing only! I!” She stomped her foot down, causing the ground to shake, throwing what parents call a tantrum, “Want!” she gave another stomp, “FOOD!” she yelled, stomping her food down harder, lifting her hands just to throw them down as well, causing the room to shake harder than before, knocking books and vase off their shelves and shattering onto the floor.

Suddenly, everything was silent. The three, who had coward into a fetal position, opened their eyes and got up to find that everything was back the way it was.

“What was that?” asked Lois, feeling herself shivering uncontrollably.

“That, my dear, was a close encounter of the first kind.” Mr. Stone responded.

“Is that for when you see aliens?” asked Peter.

Mr. Stone stared at Peter wide eyed, “Would you rather I say I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT HAPPENED!!”

Peter sank back, avoiding eye contact, “So… after this close encounter, what’s next?”

“Well,” Mr. Stone started, straightening himself out, “We must do what the phantom asked of us. She wants more food, we give her more food. Clearly she died in search of eating as much as she could, though from the looks of it was method of acquiring the food that killed her, not the consumption.” Mr. Stone explained.

“So what, we just keeping restocking our food cabinets every night until eventually she’s satisfied?” asked Lois confused, unsure what Mr. Stone’s intentions were.

“No, we fill your kitchen with as much food as possible. She wants to eat as much as she can and tonight she will!” Mr. Stone answered.

“It already is tonight.” Peter pointed out, pointing to moon’s view from the window.

“Yeah, but you get what I’m saying, right?” they nodded, “Good, now let’s start restocking.”

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After an hour of cramming every nook and cranny of the kitchen with food, the trio headed upstairs. A monitor showed the view of the kitchen, where they can see when their plan comes into action. After waiting for several hours, the three of them were unable to stay awake any longer and collapsed before the screen, snoozing softly and quietly. Before long activity began happening in the monitor. Several pot and pans began shaking as cabinet doors creaked open and fridge was shaking. Before anything else could happen, the screen began showing static, obscuring the view of what was occurring.

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After a while some moaning could be heard across the mansion, a deep sickening moan followed by a pained groan. It echoed across the halls and into every room but the source of it all as in the kitchen. The static in the monitor flickered away as it showed the view of the kitchen once again. Peter, woken up by the screen sudden shift of brightness, was the first to see the screen. All he could see was a mess of wrappers and can scattered across the now messy floor of the kitchen. A large ball of mixed, colorful slush was sitting right on the kitchen counter. Peter was confused by this sight on the monitor before he connected the dots and realized what he was looking at. He shook his wife and psychic awake to show what was on the monitor.

“She took the bait!” applauded Mr. Stone.

“But did it work, is she finally satisfied?” asked Lois, not wanting to celebrate too soon.

“There’s only one way to find out.” The trio made their way down to the kitchen to see if she was truly satisfied now. But what they were met was a haunting view. The phantom, before a young slim woman, her features carved into her like a masterpiece, now laid on the table, almost obscured by the enormous, white orb that loomed before her. She had grown in all sizes, her shape trying to contain everything that Ravenous Phantom™ had devoured in the last hour. Her hands were placed firmly on the quivering dome, trying to sooth the cries of pain of her gut as it begged for no more food to be digested. Although her skin was as white as snow, her face still looked a sickly green as she realized ghosts also have a limit, not just people. An aura seems to have formed around her. It felt powerful and pulsated every time her belly gave out a deep groan. It almost felt like it was trying to push away the three unwanted visitors.

The trio thought that the phantom was finally done. She was no longer going to bother them and that she truly satisfied, until they noticed the ring of food that circled above her. She moaned horrible and slurred out the two most ill-advised words she could say at the moment.

“More… Food…”

They watched as a single Twinkie-I mean cheese puff (What’s a Twinkie?) floated down and forced itself into her open maw, causing the aura to pulsate stronger and belly to groan louder. The phantom clutched her gut, shutting her eyes as she realized she had done a horrible mistake.

The ground shook as the aura began to grow more powerful, trying to keep the belly together. But it apparent that the attempt was futile, with the added cheese puff, the gut began to balloon bigger before the trio, obscuring the phantoms face. Everything began to act frantically. The lights flickered on and off. A gust of wind was blowing in all directions and the cabinet doors around her began swaying rapidly, slamming closed continuously. Worst of all, the ring of food began circling the large, growing dome as it collected more food that had been hidden in the kitchen and made its way down the phantoms throat and into her tightly packed belly. The ghost had clearly lost all control of the situation and was going to pay the price of overindulgence very soon.

Mr. Stone, recognizing the severity of the situation at hand, began pushing his customers out of the mansion. “Alright, time for the second part of my plan, everyone outside! Now! Out! Out! Out!”

Once they were outside, the couple turned to Mr. Stone. “What’s going on? Why did we have to exit?” asked Peter, arms crossed.

“Well, you know, either one of two things was going to happen: 1. she was going to disappear in a puff of smoke and never come back again… or 2. Her and her aura was going to destroy the whole mansion in a huge, cataclysmic explosion.”

“What?” they both shouted.

“I’m hoping for number one.” He chuckled nervously, crossing his fingers in hope, “Fingers crossed.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this could happen?” yelled Lois.

“Would you have agreed?” he asked, raising his eyebrow in smugness.

“No!” answered Peter, “We would have come up with another plan. Like… Not stocking any food at all.”

“And what would she do? She was going to get angry!” replied Mr. Stone, pointing out their flaw.

“Yeah, and from the way she was acting, she seemed to be a spoiled brat. And Spoiled brats LEAVE when they don’t get what they want. Well, they say some mean stuff first, but then they LEAVE!!”

“Huh,” thought Mr. Stone for a bit, in that time an explosion was seen coming from the mansion, obliterating not only the kitchen but every other room in a two room radius. Leaving the Mansion in a concave shape, a tribute to Waluigi’s Г. “You’ve got a point,” responded the psychic. The couple left with their mouth open, staring at the shattering remains on the mansion. “Don’t worry,” Mr. Stone assured, “If I know how these Paranormal Activities© work, it’ll be back to normal tomorrow. As if nothing happened. I swear, if my name isn’t Mr. Flint Stone.”

It wasn’t.

Description
Mr. and Mrs. Jackson were quite the wealthy entrepreneurs and they used their wealth to good use. Mr. Jackson was a prime example of the successful business, and he dressed like it too. He was dressed as sharp as possible and never allowed anyone to see him in any lesser state. His wife was the epitome of healthiness; her figure was what many would consider “bombin’!” and she loved to show it off. These made sure to enjoy the maximum from their wealth, and today they were going to enjoy one of finer things of being billionairs.

They had just brought their first mansion. This mansion was an architectural masterpiece. The marble columns by the entrance stood magnificently as it glimmered in the sunlight, flashing like a beautiful display of lights. Each room was expertly designed to tell any visitors that the couple who lived here were elegant citizens, elegant and modern. Everything was slick, smooth, shiny, and modern and all the electronics were voice activated. It was the mansion that other mansions aspire to be when they grow up. It was truly magnificent.

Mr. and Mrs. Jackson settled into their new home comfortably. Everything was perfect. The neighbors were neighborly, the environment was friendly, and the weather was excellent. Nothing, what so ever, was going to ruin these two’s greatest day of their lives.

But something did.

As the couple settled in their master bedroom, up in the second floor, sleeping comfortably in their King (or Queen, whichever is bigger and more luxurious) size bed, surrounded by portraits of their lives, a racket was being made down in the kitchen at the first floor. This woke Mrs. Jackson up, and she sat up, listening to the racket, the thought that a burglar had intruded into their home had entered her mind.

“Peter, wake up!” called Mrs. Jackson, shaking her husband awake.

“What is it, honey?” mumbled Peter; half awake and wishing he was still asleep.

“I hear something come from the first floor,” she answered, shaking like a leaf, afraid that the burglar was going to eventually come up and find them in their bedroom.

Peter listened but couldn’t hear anything. “I don’t hear-”, suddenly the racket began again, jolting Peter into an upright position. “Holy crap!” he blasphemised, “Alright, Lois, you stay here. I’m going to check to see what that racket is.” He jumped out of bed, grabbed his autographed bat, signed by all the players of the New York Yankees, and made his way down stairs. All the lights were off, he could barely see anything. But he saw the glow of a light coming from one room, the kitchen. He approached it with caution, tightening his grip on the bat. As he tipped toed his way to the kitchen, his bat made contact with a vase, causing a slight tink. Suddenly the light shut off and the refrigerator could be heard closing. Peter began running into the kitchen, screaming at the top of his lungs, raising the bat to the top of his head, ready to strike anyone he found. But the kitchen was empty. The windows were locked shut and the only other exit was where he had entered through. The only thing that was left was a can rolling across the marble floor, which was breathtaking under the moonlight, by the way. He looked towards where the can had rolled from to find a pile of discarded wrappers and empty cans.

“Honey, what did you find?” asked Lois from behind him, scaring the socks off of him, causing to yelp instantly, nearly whacking his wife across her head.

“Sweetie!” he began, panting, “Don’t do that!”

“Sorry,” she apologized, “So did you find the burglar?”

“No” he responded, “whoever it was, they’re gone now. But luckily it looks like they’ve only broke in to eat our food.”

“All of it?” she asked, puzzled by this new found information.

“Yup. I’m guessing it must have been a group because that’s a lot of food for one person to eat,” he commented, looking at the large pile.

Suddenly a low moan could be across the halls. A shiver crept up the couple’s back as they heard this.

“What’s that?”Whimpered Lois, holding onto her husband for protection.

“I don’t know,” responded Peter between shivering teeth, hugging his wife for safety.

Suddenly they heard a voice, it was near. As if it had joined them in their embrace for protection. The voice was soft, cold, a bit slurred, but ghastly. It spoke slowly into their ears.

“More food”

Mr. and Mrs. Jackson ran to their bedroom, screaming bloody murder as they flipped the light switch on and jumped into their bed, wrapping themselves in layers upon layers of blankets. They were rich enough to own that many blankets, the softest and most beautifully designed blankets that money could buy. And was used a protective shield from whatever Paranormal Activity© was occurring out in their halls.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, convinced they brought and were currently living in a Haunted Mansion©, they hired a psychic to communicate with the spirit living within.

The couple sat in the living room, waiting for their psychic to arrive. When they heard knocking at the door, they answered it and were met with an interesting looking person. Basically this guy looked like a much formal-looking Lil’ John and were expecting him to either sign them a telegram or end his sentences in “mon”. But in tradition of breaking harmful stereotypes (ugh) the man spoke in a formal and deep tone of voice.

“Good morning, I’m Mr. Stone, the psychic you had called earlier.” said the fine looking gentleman.

“Wow, you were fast,” complimented Peter, surprised at his performance so far.

“We take Paranormal Activity© very seriously. Let’s sit.”

They gathered around a coffee table. Their butler having served coffee to the three as the couple explained to Mr. Stone what had happened last night. After some thinking, jotting down some notes on his pad and sipping some coffee, Mr. Stone began talking.

“I’ve only seen this one other time. There was this family, the Kotler family. They were dealing with a phantom. It would eat whatever food they had laying around. They had contacted me after dealing with this phantom for several months. But when I had arrived, the family was gone.”

“Did they move out?” asked Peter frightened.

“No, no one saw a moving truck pass by in the hour it took me to get there.” He responded, receiving a surprised look from the couple, “Yes, I’m fast. I told you, I take my job very seriously.”

“Well were they… murdered?” asked Lois, scared for her life.

“I don’t know. The police searched but no body was found in the house or in the 15 mile radius around the house. They had completely disappeared.” He answered, with a grave tone in his voice.

“So what should we do?” asked Peter.

“We must act immediately!” ordered Mr. Stone, “Communicate with the phantom and see what she means by “More Food”. Maybe we can help in some way.”

“You think there’s a higher motive than just because she’s hungry?” asked Lois, puzzled by this plan.

Mr. Stone nodded. From his suitcase he removed an Ouija board and several candles and set them down on the table. After turning off all the lights in the house, they waited for the day to darken into night before beginning the ceremony. Peter was going to make a comment about why didn’t he just arrive at night but he was shushed.

“Oh hungry spirit from beyond, tell us what it is that you seek!” Mr. Stone chanted, “Do you have any ulterior motive to complete?”

Suddenly the Ouija arrow began moving, much to the couple’s shock and surprise. It began spelling a word.

“F. O. O. S? Foos? Foosball? Do any of you play foosball?” asked Mr. Stone, trying to comprehend the message.

“Actually, I think its F-O-O-D; the S was supposed to be a D. She wanted the D.” repeated Lois, “Am I right?”

The Ouija arrow moved again.

“Y. W. D? YWD, does that mean anything to you?” asked Mr. Stone.

Lois was going to, once again, correct Mr. Stone, before a horrible, shrieking scream pierced the air, causing the three to cover their ears. The Ouija board lit on fire instantaneously before them and a figure of a young lady, dressed in the usual attire for ghostly phantoms, appeared above the roaring flames. The glow of the fire giving her a menacing look, despite her cute feature, which had distorted into a grimace.

“Oh great phantom!” began Peter, kneeling before her.

“SILENCE!” she shrieked, “Listen and listen well!” she began, looking down at the cowering husband, “I want one thing and one thing only! I!” She stomped her foot down, causing the ground to shake, throwing what parents call a tantrum, “Want!” she gave another stomp, “FOOD!” she yelled, stomping her food down harder, lifting her hands just to throw them down as well, causing the room to shake harder than before, knocking books and vase off their shelves and shattering onto the floor.

Suddenly, everything was silent. The three, who had coward into a fetal position, opened their eyes and got up to find that everything was back the way it was.

“What was that?” asked Lois, feeling herself shivering uncontrollably.

“That, my dear, was a close encounter of the first kind.” Mr. Stone responded.

“Is that for when you see aliens?” asked Peter.

Mr. Stone stared at Peter wide eyed, “Would you rather I say I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT HAPPENED!!”

Peter sank back, avoiding eye contact, “So… after this close encounter, what’s next?”

“Well,” Mr. Stone started, straightening himself out, “We must do what the phantom asked of us. She wants more food, we give her more food. Clearly she died in search of eating as much as she could, though from the looks of it was method of acquiring the food that killed her, not the consumption.” Mr. Stone explained.

“So what, we just keeping restocking our food cabinets every night until eventually she’s satisfied?” asked Lois confused, unsure what Mr. Stone’s intentions were.

“No, we fill your kitchen with as much food as possible. She wants to eat as much as she can and tonight she will!” Mr. Stone answered.

“It already is tonight.” Peter pointed out, pointing to moon’s view from the window.

“Yeah, but you get what I’m saying, right?” they nodded, “Good, now let’s start restocking.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After an hour of cramming every nook and cranny of the kitchen with food, the trio headed upstairs. A monitor showed the view of the kitchen, where they can see when their plan comes into action. After waiting for several hours, the three of them were unable to stay awake any longer and collapsed before the screen, snoozing softly and quietly. Before long activity began happening in the monitor. Several pot and pans began shaking as cabinet doors creaked open and fridge was shaking. Before anything else could happen, the screen began showing static, obscuring the view of what was occurring.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After a while some moaning could be heard across the mansion, a deep sickening moan followed by a pained groan. It echoed across the halls and into every room but the source of it all as in the kitchen. The static in the monitor flickered away as it showed the view of the kitchen once again. Peter, woken up by the screen sudden shift of brightness, was the first to see the screen. All he could see was a mess of wrappers and can scattered across the now messy floor of the kitchen. A large ball of mixed, colorful slush was sitting right on the kitchen counter. Peter was confused by this sight on the monitor before he connected the dots and realized what he was looking at. He shook his wife and psychic awake to show what was on the monitor.

“She took the bait!” applauded Mr. Stone.

“But did it work, is she finally satisfied?” asked Lois, not wanting to celebrate too soon.

“There’s only one way to find out.” The trio made their way down to the kitchen to see if she was truly satisfied now. But what they were met was a haunting view. The phantom, before a young slim woman, her features carved into her like a masterpiece, now laid on the table, almost obscured by the enormous, white orb that loomed before her. She had grown in all sizes, her shape trying to contain everything that Ravenous Phantom™ had devoured in the last hour. Her hands were placed firmly on the quivering dome, trying to sooth the cries of pain of her gut as it begged for no more food to be digested. Although her skin was as white as snow, her face still looked a sickly green as she realized ghosts also have a limit, not just people. An aura seems to have formed around her. It felt powerful and pulsated every time her belly gave out a deep groan. It almost felt like it was trying to push away the three unwanted visitors.

The trio thought that the phantom was finally done. She was no longer going to bother them and that she truly satisfied, until they noticed the ring of food that circled above her. She moaned horrible and slurred out the two most ill-advised words she could say at the moment.

“More… Food…”

They watched as a single Twinkie-I mean cheese puff (What’s a Twinkie?) floated down and forced itself into her open maw, causing the aura to pulsate stronger and belly to groan louder. The phantom clutched her gut, shutting her eyes as she realized she had done a horrible mistake.

The ground shook as the aura began to grow more powerful, trying to keep the belly together. But it apparent that the attempt was futile, with the added cheese puff, the gut began to balloon bigger before the trio, obscuring the phantoms face. Everything began to act frantically. The lights flickered on and off. A gust of wind was blowing in all directions and the cabinet doors around her began swaying rapidly, slamming closed continuously. Worst of all, the ring of food began circling the large, growing dome as it collected more food that had been hidden in the kitchen and made its way down the phantoms throat and into her tightly packed belly. The ghost had clearly lost all control of the situation and was going to pay the price of overindulgence very soon.

Mr. Stone, recognizing the severity of the situation at hand, began pushing his customers out of the mansion. “Alright, time for the second part of my plan, everyone outside! Now! Out! Out! Out!”

Once they were outside, the couple turned to Mr. Stone. “What’s going on? Why did we have to exit?” asked Peter, arms crossed.

“Well, you know, either one of two things was going to happen: 1. she was going to disappear in a puff of smoke and never come back again… or 2. Her and her aura was going to destroy the whole mansion in a huge, cataclysmic explosion.”

“What?” they both shouted.

“I’m hoping for number one.” He chuckled nervously, crossing his fingers in hope, “Fingers crossed.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this could happen?” yelled Lois.

“Would you have agreed?” he asked, raising his eyebrow in smugness.

“No!” answered Peter, “We would have come up with another plan. Like… Not stocking any food at all.”

“And what would she do? She was going to get angry!” replied Mr. Stone, pointing out their flaw.

“Yeah, and from the way she was acting, she seemed to be a spoiled brat. And Spoiled brats LEAVE when they don’t get what they want. Well, they say some mean stuff first, but then they LEAVE!!”

“Huh,” thought Mr. Stone for a bit, in that time an explosion was seen coming from the mansion, obliterating not only the kitchen but every other room in a two room radius. Leaving the Mansion in a concave shape, a tribute to Waluigi’s Г. “You’ve got a point,” responded the psychic. The couple left with their mouth open, staring at the shattering remains on the mansion. “Don’t worry,” Mr. Stone assured, “If I know how these Paranormal Activities© work, it’ll be back to normal tomorrow. As if nothing happened. I swear, if my name isn’t Mr. Flint Stone.”

It wasn’t.