"Thanks for the donuts, Sir, and I hope I don't have to see you here for real."
"That won't be a problem, Officer Lyle."
"Good bye, then, Colt."
"See ya." Colt walked out of the police station with a smile on his face that was just a little too big to be innocent. He snapped back into the emotionless mask that he usually wore and took the last bite of his chocolate donut. He jumped into his '68 Mustang convertible and took off, driving down the highway. He had three beers by the time he crossed county lines, but he still wasn't drunk enough to be a problem.
Colt was the guy you knew who could top off a bottle of bourbon before you noticed he was drinking at all, and he used it to his advantage. Drunk or not, though, Colt still had to piss. He was already past the last-chance gas station, but he saw an old house in the distance. He got nearer, and saw that it was a nice place, big enough to house a small army. He stopped by and knocked on the door, but there was no answer.
Colt opened the door and noticed the note on the floor. He read it without blinking. He walked around the house, into the kitchen and through to the upstairs. He found the room that Jack had prepared for him, a classy number with Cherry floors and white walls. There was a Fender amplifier and set of pedals next to the black and white bedset, and he knew he had to go get his guitar. An envelope sat on the bed, though, one with the red stamp that nobody uses anymore, and Colt stopped to read it. It read:
"You might have doubted before, but now you know I am real, Colt. Since the others are out, I'll tell you myself what they already know: I am the house. I'll provide everything you need, food, clothing, and the like, but I'll need something in return: There is a list of names and contact information on your desk. You'll have to either kill them or save them. The ones you'll kill are those souls that taint the Earth with their very existance: Slimy businessmen and corrupt politicians, the scum of the world. The ones you'll save are those like you: Men and women prepared to do what it takes to make the world a better place. There's a grave already dug for the body in your trunk. It'll be gone by Sunday if you bury it there.
Colt took the key in the envelope. He grabbed his head. He didn't waste the time not believing himself, he'd either wake up from a dream or he wouldn't. He went down the stairs to get to his car.
Colt wheeled around and grabbed for his .45. A girl was standing in the corner, holding her hands together in front of her. She had white hair and a tail. A fucking tail. He feigned a headache just so that he didn't scream out 'WHAT THE FUCK'.
"Have you found your room yet, too?"
"Yeah, I have. Do you know who I am?"
"No. I'm sort of like you, except I've been here for a year now." The girl couldn't have been older than 16.
"Alright, then. Um, the house said that you were out."
"We were, but me and Song got back a couple minutes ago."
"Oh. That makes sense. As much as any of this does, anyway. Did you notice a grave anywhere around here? The house said there would be."
"You'll find it. Jack puts things where you'll notice them."
"Jesus, this is creepy. Okay, I'm going to go grab my guitar, and then I'll bury the dead body in my trunk."
"Wait, he already gave you a job?"
"Oh, no. You see, I kill people."
"Like policemen who also rape children. I just realised, I still have to piss, so where's the bathroom?"
"Upstairs and to the right. Fourth door down."
"Thanks, miss." Colt walked upstairs, and into the bathroom. The damned thing was pink as hell, and sort of gave him a massive headache.
"I see you've found the bathroom okay."
Colt went to turn around, but he couldn't stop pissing, and instead he just halfway ducked and got piss all over the back of the toilet seat.
"JESUS! Again!" Colt finished up, and zipped his pants.
"What, a girl can't paint her nails anymore?" This girl had blue eyes, and long black hair, that Colt found really, violently hot, but he didn't say anything.
"You're right. I'm sorry. I was just passing by, and nobody answered the door, you know. I'll clean this up now."
The girl laughed. Colt grabbed a paper towel, and he wiped up the mostly-clear piss that he always got when he drank. He threw it into an empty trashcan, and looked across the hall at the blue bathroom. God damn it, he thought. What a way to make an entrance.