(soft romantic music)
(couple moaning)
- Crap, I'm late again!
- Well, blow it off.
- I can't, I need the money.
- Babysit tomorrow night.
- Brad, I've gotta go.
- Fine.
(girl yells)
- Debbie?
No!
(Brad cries)
(eerie music)
(dancey music)
(doorbell rings)
- Pumpkin, will you get that?
I think it's the babysitter.
(doorbell rings)
Pumpkin, will you get that?
(video game explosions)
(doorbell rings)
Fine, I'll get it myself.
(guns fire)
Goddammit, Whitney!
This is exactly what I'm talking about.
(crickets chirping)
(girl clears throat)
You the babysitter?
- I'm a Firefly girl.
I'm selling cookies.
- Do you have an idea what those things
would do to my thighs?
- Bitch.
(dramatic music)
(doorbell rings)
- Don't worry about it, I'll get it.
(music stops)
(doorbell rings)
(fire crackles) (doorbell rings)
(rock music) (guns fire)
Whitney, you can't just...
Oh, forgive me, come on in.
I'm Sandy.
Oopsie, careful now.
You're the babysitter, right?
- I am death.
- Debbie, right, nice cape.
Can you zip me?
Oh, sorry.
Scythe.
What sale, Hot Topic?
Oh, Whitney's in the den there,
there's macaroni and cheese in the closet,
here you go.
Great, take that.
Oh, here, sorry.
There.
And see ya.
Bye, Whit, love you.
(guns fire)
(rock music)
- [Whitney] Well, that sucks.
Who are you?
- I am...
(soft music)
Death.
I'm Debbie.
- Oh.
Are you goth or something?
- Goth?
- You know,
gothic.
You look goth.
- I don't know.
- Well, do you always wear black,
listen to depressing music,
and wander about in a generally gloomy mood all the time?
- Yes.
Yes, I do.
- Definitely goth.
- Are you goth?
- Nah, I'm too young to be goth,
but my mom says I'm pretty morbid sometimes.
Wanna play Bloodspattered Corpse Orgy?
- Sounds like fun.
What are the rules?
- No rules, you just kill as much as possible.
- I can do that.
- Good, grab a joystick.
Not that.
Here.
(rock music)
(guns fire)
Uh oh, watch out for the brain sucker.
Oh, no, I'm out of ammo, run, run!
Turn, press it,
no, jump left!
Hurry, hurry, hurry!
Quick!
Let me.
Fudge.
(electricity crackles)
- Are you okay?
- I think so.
I...
Wow.
You just saved my life.
- I guess I did.
- You should be rewarded.
I don't have any money,
but I can make you macaroni and cheese.
- I've never had macaroni and cheese.
- No way.
You have no idea what you've been missing.
- I think you may be right.
And that's what makes the cheese sauce.
- Yep.
Here, try it.
- Mmm.
That's amazing.
- Told you.
- How'd you learn to make that?
- My mom.
At least she's good for something.
- You don't like your mom?
I thought all people liked their moms.
- Well, think again.
Oopsie.
Come on, Debbie.
- That was delicious.
- Glad you liked it.
So what do you wanna do now?
- Isn't it your bedtime?
- Bedtime?
That's a good one.
You think my mom cares what time I go to bed?
- Doesn't she?
- Only when her boyfriend's around
and that's 'cause she doesn't want me to "spoil the mood."
If you know what I mean.
- Oh.
- Hey, wanna make a miracle birth?
- Huh?
- "Sea Munkees."
- Mom tried to talk me out of it.
Says they don't really work,
but I think she just didn't want me to have them.
- But she did get them for you.
- Yeah, only after I laid a major guilt-trip on her.
- Guilt-trip?
- She had to miss my dance recital because of work again.
So I told her she was a lousy mom.
She got me the Sea Monkees to make up for it.
- What's that?
- Our soon to be children.
We pour this powder into the water.
And they come to life.
- Just like the macaroni and cheese.
- Yeah.
Only we don't eat them.
- Unless they're naughty.
- Yeah, then we'll teach 'em a lesson.
That's it?
They don't look anything like the picture.
This is all her fault.
- They're dead.
(door creaks)
- You know,
I could kill her if I wanted to.
- You're just disappointed.
- Nuh-uh.
See?
I could really do it.
- You want her dead?
Why?
- Why not?
- She's your mother, for starters.
- I'd rather live with my Aunt Sarah.
She doesn't have to work all the time.
Besides, she's got a much nicer house,
she buys me the best birthday gifts,
and I bet ya she'd even let me have a dog.
- You ever kill anybody before?
- No. - It's not so easy.
- Sure it is.
Just aim and fire.
It's her own fault too.
Doesn't she know you shouldn't leave guns
lying around the house when you've got children?
- You know, once it's done, it's done,
you can't take it back.
Dead is dead.
- Like I care.
- Well, that's good.
I mean, it's not like you'll need her, I suppose.
She's already given birth to you,
paid for your dance classes,
bought you video games,
taught you how to make macaroni and cheese.
She's probably not good for much else, right?
- Probably not.
- And it's not like you love her.
- No way.
- Besides,
I bet you'll have fun shooting her.
The look on her face when she realizes she's going to die.
All of the blood.
Hey, maybe if you're lucky, she won't die right away,
and then you'll get to watch her suffer a little.
(mom chokes)
She'll probably defecate all over the floor.
And the police will find her laying in her own feces.
That'll show her.
And then they'll ship you off to live with cool Aunt Sarah.
That is, if they don't send you to jail, of course.
But so what if they do?
You're young.
They'll go easy on you.
I'm sure they'll agree she deserved it
and at least you'll be rid of her, right?
Yeah.
I say go for it.
(car brakes screech)
Hey.
She's back.
Now's your chance.
- I was just fooling around.
(car door closes) Quick!
Go tell her I'm asleep.
- I thought you didn't have a bedtime.
- I lied.
Thanks, Debbie.
(soft music)
- [Mom] Hello?
I'm home!
(mom screams)
(door slams)
(Whitney gasps)
- You wanted to live with your aunt anyway, right?
(eerie music)
I guess today's your lucky day.
(cheerful music)
(Whitney cries)
- No.
Mommy.