Page 147 of Demons Dig Donuts

“If I did, I wouldn’t be standing here talking to you,” Misingno said cheerfully. “I’d be killing them back. I was home, I was getting ready to make a bowl of ice cream, and then… Why is it make a bowl of ice cream? I’m not actually making the bowl. Or the ice cream. Hmm.” His colorful gaze shifted to Indy, and he brightened. “Hi! It’s you! How are you?”

“I’m great,” Indy replied. “How’s your, uh, head?”

“No complaints.”

“So, you didn’t see who killed you? No clues? No nothing?”

“Mmm, no. I’ve been very busy. I’m not sure when they did it.” Misingno shrugged. “I just noticed.”

Indy stared. “You just noticed you were dead and then decided to… not be dead?”

“You got it!” Misingno beamed sweetly. “You are such a cutie.”

“Tha—I mean, I appreciate it.”

“Aw! You’re welcome.” Misingno glanced around at them all. “So, what’s up? Are we having a party? I love parties.”

“We were hoping you could help us track down a dream,” Gammy said carefully. “If not the original owner, whoever traded it or who it was traded to.”

“Oh my God! Love your hair,” Misingno gushed. “I love purple.”

“That is very kind of you, but the dream…?”

“I could probably help you. This is usually when I take a nap, but I’m feeling really refreshed.” Misingno hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s because I was dead. Huh.”

“What would you like to trade for this assistance?”

“Whatcha got?” Misingno’s eyes sparkled, and his chipper expression turned into something hungry. “Better make it good.”

Indy stepped forward. “So, uh. Hey! Sorry about kicking your head. Really sorry about that. So! Dreams. Memories. I have an entire catalogue of erotic filth, embarrassing first times, and—”

“No.” Misingno tilted his head at an odd angle. “I want pain.”

“Well—” Indy stopped.

He did indeed have lots of pain, but he couldn’t share it.

No, no, not now. Not fucking ever.

Not when he had so much to lose.

“No, not yours.” Misingno sneered. “Yours is stupid.”

Indy scoffed, not sure why but he was definitely offended. “Excuse me?”

“It’s stupid. Can you hear me all right? No, no.” Misingno pointed at Mr. Heiss. “I want his. I smelled it before and I smell it now. That’s what I want.” He pressed right into Mr. Heiss’s space, nose to nose with him, and he took a deep, shaking breath. “Oh, that, mmm, yeah, that. That is some scrumptious agony if I ever saw it. Mm, smelled it. Whatever.” He made a grabby motion with his hands. “Gimme.”

Mr. Heiss glared. “No.”

“Aw, why not?” Misingno pouted.

“No.”

“It’s old, too, isn’t it?” Misingno turned his head this way and that as he looked over Mr. Heiss, as if he could somehow divine information from the lines of his suit. “Very old. You’ve carried it for a long time. It’s nice and crunchy. Mmm, like toast. Yeah, toast with jam and butter and too much hummus. Yeah, I want it. Give.”

Mr. Heiss scowled. “I said no.”

“You do realize that my asking is merely a formality.” Misingno chuckled, and his eyes turned into pools of black. “I could make you give it to me. It wouldn’t take much at all. Just one wrong word and everything inside that pretty little head would be mine.”