The Jeff Saga – Part One: It Begins

“Jeff – Part One: It Begins”
By Dan CHEek
25 August 2006
© Dan Cheek 2006

As Sam sat at the kitchen table, he tried his best to rub away the migraine.  Large amounts of pain medication had so far proven ineffective, so he was hoping the rubbing would help.  It wasn’t.  A horrible crash came from the living room.  That wasn’t helping either.

Reluctantly, Sam walked out to see what kind of carnage the Sock Puppets had engineered this time.  He was expecting to see quite a mess.  The Puppets, never wanting to disappoint, had obliged.  As Sam looked at his sofa, which was lodged into the ceiling, half of it coming through the floor upstairs, he shook his head.

All the Puppets were standing in front of Sam.  Bob kept looking up at the couch and then at Sam.  Doctor Sanity, resident evil genius, had a proud expression on his puppet face.  Lost Cause was kind of giggling softly as he did his best not to burst out laughing.  And Goblin was chewing on the carpet.

“Why have you done…whatever it is you’ve just done,” Sam asked to no Puppet in particular.

Bob, as usual, answered first.  “Sam, before you get all upset and make your blood pressure rise, let me explain.”

Sam took a deep breath.  “Okay,” he said in an obviously controlled voice, “Please explain why my couch is now a part of my ceiling.”

“Well,” Bob began, “You wanted to watch the ball game.  We didn’t.  We talked about this, remember?  And you said we could watch the television upstairs.  Remember?”

Sam was now pinching the bridge of his nose, squinting in pain.  “Yes,” he said, “I remember.  And the couch…”

Doctor Sanity interrupted him.  “Well, Sam, there’s no couch upstairs.  So we thought we’d move this one up there.  Unfortunately, the ceiling was thicker than I originally thought.”

“It hurts so bad,” Sam muttered, “Just get the couch out of the ceiling.  Then fix that hole.  And then disassemble whatever evil contraption you used to launch the damn thing in the first place.”

Lost Cause spoke up.  “Sam,” he said in his concerned tone, “If you have a headache, I know a great remedy.”

“Do I even want to know,” Sam asked.

“Probably not, sadly,” Lost Cause answered, “But I’ll help you anyway.  I’ll need a turkey baster and some White Out.”

Sam didn’t even bother responding.  He walked back into the kitchen, shaking his head and was about to sit down when the phone rang.  Grudgingly, Sam walked over and answered it.

“Hello,” he said in a tired tone.  Suffering through a migraine and having your sofa launched through the ceiling will do that to a person.

The voice on the other end was a cross between razor blades and ice.  “Very shortly, your definition of horror and suffering will be redefined as your skin is peeled off, layer by layer.  You shall feel my Hellfire and you will know that…”

“Look, if your from the phone company, I apologize for the late payment, but I can assure you the check is in the mail,” Sam interrupted.

“What are you talking about,” the other voice shot back, “Shut the fuck up and listen, you fleshy sack of sex slime.  And if you ever compare me to a phone company again, whatever the piss that is, I’ll ass rape you through your mouth.  Now, um, what was I saying?”

Sam sighed.  “Something about Hellfire, I think.”

“Ah, yes,” the voice replied, “My favorite part.  You shall feel my Hellfire and you will know that my wrath is upon you and that you and your soul are damned to an eternity of wallowing in pain.  You will beg for mercy, but I will only laugh.  You will cry and you will suffer and you will bleed.  And I will smile.  I shall arrive tomorrow at noon.  If I have to come looking for you, I WILL find you and you can take all that other stuff I said about suffering and all that, and then double it.”

Sam was rubbing his head again.  Obviously, someone was very upset with him.  Considering the chaos the Puppets had been creating, a phone call like this was long overdue.  “Um, can I get your name,” Sam asked.

“I am the love child of hate and pain, raised in a world of endless suffering.  I was schooled in the art of evil and graduated to become that which the prophecies warn against.  I am Jeff.”

Sam nodded.  “Okay, Jeff,” he said in a non-impressed tone, “Anything else I should know?”

“Yes,” Jeff answered in almost a growl, “Tell the Puppets Four that they are equally as fucked as you are.  And please know that all of this is entirely their fault, that I know you have no clue as to what this all about, and that I do not care.  My judgment is final and binding.”  Then there was a click as Jeff hung up on his end.

Sam’s mouth was hanging open and his mind was racing.  This “Jeff” knew about the Puppets.  That could only be bad.  No one, to the best of Sam’s knowledge, had ever known anything about them.  Even with all the bad shit that the Puppets had done, all the explosions, the carnage, and other bad things, no one had ever suggested that four Sock Puppets were behind it all.  Why WOULD they suspect something like that?  Everyone but Sam knew that Sock Puppets were fantasy.  Right?

Sam slowly put the phone back on the receiver and walked out into the living room, mouth still open.  The Sock Puppets were sitting on the floor watching television.  The sofa was still lodged in the ceiling.  Random bits of plaster fell here and there, shattering on the floor.

Bob looked over at Sam.  “Oh, hey Sam,” he said, “Listen, I know you’re pissed about the couch in the ceiling thing, but we just think it’s too dangerous to safely move.  Plus we don’t really feel like doing it.  You can probably just add some spackle and paint and no one will be the wiser, eh?”

Doctor Sanity nodded in agreement.  “If anyone asks, just tell them it’s a French chandelier.”

Sam barely heard them.  “Hey, I just got a phone call from some weirdo who says he’s coming here tomorrow to kill me and then all of you.  He actually mentioned you guys.  Someone knows about you and now I’m fucked.”

Lost Cause didn’t take his eyes off the television.  “Relax, Sam,” he said soothingly, “When this guy shows up, Goblin will eat him.  And then we’ll celebrate over a glass of Windex milk.”

Bob nodded.  “Or something like that, anyway,” he said, “Who is this ass clown anyway?”

Sam shook his head and forced himself to blink.  “He didn’t really say who he was.  But he did tell me that his name is Jeff.”

At the mention of the word “Jeff”, Goblin jumped up and set a new land speed record as he ran away to another room.  Lost Cause, Doctor Sanity, and Bob all sat up and froze.  It was the first time Sam had seen anything resembling fear from the Sock Puppets.  This wasn’t helping calm his nerves about all of this.

“You know this Jeff guy,” Sam asked to no one in particular.

It took a long minute before any of the Puppets spoke.  They stood there, frozen and trembling.  Lost Cause was muttering something under his breath over and over, but Sam couldn’t make out what it was.

“Sam, Jeff isn’t a ‘guy’,” Bob finally said, “Jeff is, we think, The Devil himself.”

It took a while for Sam to absorb that.  “The Devil is coming here to kill me,” he finally said.

Doctor Sanity shook his head.  “Sam, if Jeff comes here, him killing you will be the least of your problems.”

Sam was now trembling.  “I knew it.  I knew you guys really were from hell.  Let me guess, you’re demons who escaped hell and now Satan is coming to bring you guys back and me with you.  Oh, God.”

Bob shook his head and looked up at Sam, “We’re not demons and we’re not, I don’t think anyway, from Hell.  Jeff is, again to the best of our guesses, actually Satan, but we’re not a hundred percent on that, either.”

Lost Cause started hyperventilating and finally past out.  Doctor Sanity looked down at LC, and then over to Sam.  “Are you still mad about the couch,” he asked.

“Shut up about the couch,” Sam snapped.  “We’re fucked.  We need to leave.  Now.  Go hide.”

Bob and Doctor Sanity both started laughing.  “Yeah,” Bob finally managed to get out, “That’ll work.  You’re not too bright sometimes, Sam.”

“I want to know everything.  Now,” Sam demanded.  “Tell me everything about Jeff and why he’s coming here and why he’s going to kill us.  Tell me now.”  Little beads of sweat were now running down Sam’s forhead.

Bob nodded.  “Okay, sure Sam.  Let’s go talk in the kitchen.  C’mon, Doc.”  Sam and the two Puppets walked into the kitchen, leaving Lost Cause on the floor where he lay.

After a few minutes, Lost Cause slowly started to wake up.  He lifted his head slowly and looked around.  “Whahellohuh?” he slurred, still not fully awake.  Just then, there was a creaking sound and then the sofa that was protruding halfway through the ceiling came crashing down.  On top of Lost Cause.

The sound was something like someone hitting a whoopee cushion with a sledge hammer.  A cloud of plaster and dust filled the living room.  After several minutes, from under the couch, Lost Cause managed to eek out a few muffled words.  “Windex Milk.  Lots of Windex, hold the milk.  Ow….”

For almost two hours Sam, Doctor Sanity, and Bob sat out in the kitchen, talking about Jeff and why they were all so fucked.  At the end of that conversation, Sam realized that things were a lot worse than he could have ever thought possible.

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