Spiderdom and the Quest for the Sky Cat

The Chrisonator wasn’t happy.

He wasn’t happy because he didn’t know what Dr. Dementia planned to do next, and would have to act on a whim if something happened.

He wasn’t happy because he accidentally snapped one of his dumbbells thinking about it as Dr. Dementia’s spine.

He wasn’t happy because Alfire had destroyed half of the house in a childish fit about bedtimes. It didn’t help that they were just about to get fire insurance when he started heating up.

And he wasn’t happy because that pasta recipe Dementia gave him was missing one vital ingredient: pasta.

He knew he really should have seen it coming, what with the name of the dish being pasta Bolognese, but he was too busy trying to restore his house to its former grandeur to realize that he was just cooking the meat, tomatoes, garlic, peppers and onions, and not the pasta itself.

Kelly was upstairs telling off Alfire, and Ava-Jump and Frankey were busy doing something. He didn’t know what, and he really didn’t want to know what either.

The Chrisonator spooned more baby food into Ernie’s mouth, thinking carefully about how he would repay Dementia for what he did to the family’s meal.

The Wolstenholme family was indeed a very special one. The Chrisonator was a lot like Superman, only better and more good looking, in his opinion. He was practically invincible, super strong, able to fly, and damn did he look good in tights. His eldest, Alfire, was able to control fire and manipulate it. It was their fault they now had half a house; they put a fireplace in Alfire’s room. One day he’d be able to create fire itself, but he was still growing up. Frankey was telekinetic. She gained her name from opening things like doors, even when they were locked. She could change the channel on the TV without having the remote. Ava-Jump could, you guessed it, jump. Very high. They’d had to get their ceilings heightened, after she accidentally jumped through one into the bathroom, where The Chrisonator had been in the shower, singing his heart out to some love ballad. Ernie didn’t yet have his powers; they usually came in about his second year, so they didn’t have a cool superhero name for him.

The Chrisonator watched as Ernie began to dollop baby food on his head in delight. He turned away and picked up the phone, dialling Dr. Dementia’s number.

“Hello, Dr. Dementia’s office, Dom speaking. How can I help you?” Dom’s voice greeted him. Poor kid. He was hopelessly attracted to Dementia, that much was obvious. It was why he hung around the guy like a lost sheep. He was the one who had to massage Dementia’s probably stinky feet. Who knew what gross things were sprouting from the feet of evil? The Chrisonator shook his head and started to speak.

*

Dom was bored. Not to mention hungry. His stomach growled and Dr. Dementia looked over at him, eyebrow cocked.

“There’s some leftover pasta in the fridge, if you want it.” He said.

Dom scurried out of the room and threw open the fridge door. It was totally empty. He scowled.

He walked back into the room, still pouting, and flopped back down onto Matt’s “Wooden Chair Of Doom”. It wasn’t very doom-worthy. Actually, it was quite comfortable.

“I feel so evil today,” Dom was informed by Dr. Dementia. “First, I made The Chrisonator make pasta without the pasta. Then I told you there was pasta in the fridge and there wasn’t. I’m so evil.”

“That you are,” Dom mumbled.

Dr. Dementia sighed and kicked his feet up onto the table in front of him. “Sometimes I think I’m too evil for this planet, you know.”

“Really?” Dom said, feigning interest. To be quite honest, he didn’t give a rat’s fart about anything at the minute. He had a piece of wood lodged in his arse and he needed to get it out.

“Yes.” The silence that followed was uncomfortable and awkward.

“I’m busting for the toilet,” Dom said.

“Well, you can’t go.” Dr. Dementia giggled. “Score three for the evilest of all evil people!”