Aaaaaand open…

…that…

…door…

And right on cue, Marf opens the door to the psychiatrist’s tacky little office and reluctantly enters. He scrunches his nose for a moment, adjusting to that mothball smell with a hint of stale nicotine gum. Marf closes the door and plops down on the red couch. Marf eyes the doctor but she continues writing away in her notepad, not looking up but acknowledging Marf.

How is your arm? I heard mister Flynn did a number on it.

Marf, expecting the back handed remarks, still gets annoyed and grunts back.

I’m fine, takes a helluva lot more than that to take me out of the game. Just like everyone else before him, Flynn can’t make me stop coming back for more.

Of course the psychiatrist was ready with an answer to that.

If you say so. Can you explain something to me though, Marf?

Hmm? What’s that?

Well I was under the impression that in your profession, someone can earn a championship title match after some wins. But here you are, a loss to Mark Flynn is followed up by an Xtreme title shot. How did this come about?

Marf sarcastically chuckles while glaring a hole through her.

Just gonna be an asshole right out of the gate, eh doc?

You don’t have to get hostile…

Marf cuts her off.

Save it! You wanna know why I’m in the match I’m in go take it up with the dipshits on the booking committee! Why the hell would I know why they put me in any match I’m in!?

Marf tries to stay seated and remain calm while the good doctor continues to prod.

Well it just seems like someone did you a favour…

Oh give me a fuckin’ break, there ain’t nobody around here doing me any favours.

Marf starts to laugh genuinely this time while shaking his head in disbelief.

Oh I beg to differ. I mean Theo did you a huge favour by setting up our sessions.

Happy chuckling Marf quickly evaporates as angry Marf nearly jumps off the couch and down the psychiatrist’s throat.

Are you fuckin’ high!? How in God’s name is Theo setting up these wretched, time wasting sessions as a favour to me!? This is a god damn punishment!

The psychiatrist stares stoically at Marf for a moment while he seethes on the red couch.

No I’m afraid not, Marf. This is the favour Theo pulled for you for whatever reason. Jail would have been a proper punishment for what you did…

All that colour from the anger suddenly starts to run out of Marf’s face. He stiffens up and stares at her.

What I did? The hell are you talking about now, doc?

She steadies herself while Marf anxiously waits for her to answer.

I need to ask you something very important and I want you to think real hard about the answer. What happened, the last time you saw Lycana?

Jesus Christ what is with your obsession in bringing her up in every session!?

The psychiatrist holds her ground.

I’m serious Marf. Take a moment if you need it but I want you to tell me about the last interaction between the two of you.

Marf shakes his head in disgust while looking like he just drove past a sewage plant with the windows down.

Who actually cares aside from you doc? You want me to talk about how I walked in on her and that hot head Caedus fucking like the pair of water buffalos they are? To get your rocks off or whatever? The hell is there to even discuss? I walked in on them, told them both to fuck off and that was the last time I saw or heard from that blue cunt.

Marf’s body is quietly trembling with anger as he recounts the event but the psychiatrist does not look convinced.

Yes, I’m quite aware of that story Marf. But that isn’t what I want to hear about. Because that was not the last time you saw her…nor did that even happen. At least not the part where you walked in on them having sexual intercourse…

Marf’s face crumples in on itself in confusion while he tries to figure out what’s going on.

What the hell are you talking about? Why would I have any reason to see that whore again?

The psychiatrist let’s out a long sigh while staring at Marf with some kind of misplaced pity.

So you never wondered why absolutely nobody has seen or heard from her either? You never thought back and wondered how that young girl you were helping raise is doing now? You never questioned why you can’t be booked on any shows taking place in North Carolina?

Something starts to crack inside of Marf and he quickly shakes his head.

No! She wronged me and that was the end…wasn’t it?

Marf slowly places his head in his hands as something buried deep in his mind begins to stir…

Marf…tell me what really happened.

Something buried deep begins to drag itself forward from Marf’s memory. He sits back on the tacky red couch and looks at the doctor with a stone cold gaze.

I saw her one more time after that…I stopped by our house…her house, to say goodbye to Reika. It hurt me a lot…and I think Lycana and I fought before I left. I think she said she was going to kill me if she ever saw me again…

Marf is lost in a trance but the psychiatrist pushes him on.

Did she really say that, Marf?

A single tear suddenly emerges from Marf’s blood shot eye and escapes down his face.

No…

She always knew the most venomous ways to verbally rip my heart out…

I could have just taken that…but I went to say my goodbyes to Reika. She was my last real connection to Lycana. And as I fumbled through my words to explain my absence she brought up having a new step dad. A step dad that told her she could call him Jimmy…oh god…

Marf is almost whispering but continues.

I took her in one last time. I hugged precious little Reika for the very last time…

…and then I murdered her right there that night. Snapped her spine like a small branch…

I couldn’t bear having to feel any emotions anymore…I killed Reika because I knew it would hurt Lycana worse than anything I could ever do to her…

Another tear races out while the psychiatrist watches him, mesmerized.

What happened after that, Marf?

I…watched Lycana break down when she found Reika’s broken little body. I took some sort of sick pleasure in watching her weep with such sorrow. I took it all in…

…and then I killed her too…

The tears are flowing hand in hand with these memories. Without missing a beat, the psychiatrist straightens up and taps her shitty clock on her shitty desk.

And that’s our time for this week. Wow, riveting stuff! I think we had a true breakthrough today Marf!

Marf stares at her blankly before getting up abruptly and opening the door to leave the office as quickly as he can.

…Go fuck yourself, doc.

Promo times!

Normally this would be promo time except…something stranger than usual is happening. There’s low but audible music playing from somewhere as Marf stumbles out of the darkness. He’s wearing what he thought was a Dracula costume but it’s actually a Blackula outfit. His ass is so getting cancelled for this. God help us all, he’s about to sing…

Ahem…

I was performing at Savage, late one night,
When my eyes beheld an awful sight.
For my opponent from her room, began to rise.
And suddenly to my surprise…

She had a rash!
She had a monster rash.
The monster rash! It was from a one night smash.
She had a rash! She caught it in a flash!
She had a rash! She had a monster rash!

Thankfully the music cuts off and Marf’s song appears to end.

That was just for you, Jenny. The best part about it is no matter what time of the year it is, it always applies to you. And before you even get started lemme just say, shut the fuck up Jenny. Nobody gives a fuck about whatever homeless jizz covered dribble comes splashing out of your filthy mouth. Take that aids infested cock holster and staple it shut before you get us all puking our guts out. You’re somehow even worse than clown porn…

Shout out to Bobby Bourbs for introducing me to that shit. I may not be in BoB but I’ll always have my precious memories!

Marf stops to smile and wave at whoever the fuck actually follows these things.

It’s been a hot minute since I’ve dealt with you, Myst. Hell that can be said for both of you slippery cock slappers but Atara can wait her damn turn. What are you hoping to prove here anyway, Jenny? You bobbled the Television title briefly right before getting your fancy new haircut. Annnnd that’s about it. Seriously, nobody gives a fuck about whatever you’re doing lately. Your new ‘do makes you look like a teenage boy on a good day. Only use you have now is to try and bait Corey into coming back. Okay okay, easy Jenny, you impetuous young boy!

Go ahead and put everyone to sleep with your predictable “no really I’m crazy tee hee” narrative. Grab yourself a jet black wig to hide that dented cueball of yours. Do what you gotta do to convince the foolish lambs and neck ties of the wrestling world you might actually win this match. You see, I don’t give even the slightest of fucks what you say. I just care about what you do. Inside that ring. Or in this case, some bullshit haunted house. Run your little spooky chick act, none of it matters. When I get my hands on you, the act ends.

Marf cocks his head for a moment and grimaces, like he can already see the misguided girl looking at him in fear.

That is the unfortunate difference between us, Jenny. You’re just an act. A colourful number strutted out to grab ratings. Especially that male demographic that live in Mommy’s basement and hide behind message boards. And who couldn’t possibly fathom just how rotten your pussy smells in person. But me, I’m choosing violence all day long. Whether I’m being paid by XWF or just having my own phone. For me, there is no act. The violence, it has no end. And that’s why I’ll push your face with my boot into the dirt until I hear a crunch. Straight up, I don’t like you and I’m going to fuck your shit up. Worse than your time with the pimps…if that’s even over.

Marf takes a moment to crack his knuckles before continuing.

Speaking of folks I dislike, what’s good Atara? Now you know a thing or two about the violence I produce. Even if your self righteous ass won’t admit it. If I actually gave a shit about what you have to say I’d actually be curious to hear whatever insults and sexual innuendo you have in store for me. But realistically, you’re fucking annoying. All the perfectionist thoughts bouncing around in that empty, shit encrusted dick helmet of a head. Like you and your sisters are real life goddesses and not just thirst trap setting bitches that believe their own hype.

Oh, my bad, I brought up your fam. Better cuss me out in Greek to really get me back. Oh no, whatever will I do if I don’t know what you’re saying? Wanna hint? I’ll be doing the same damn thing whether I understand your bullshit or not. And that’s stomping your jaw to the ground. But since we’re in a haunted house, a fuckin’ Xtreme one too…whatever the fuck that means…I’ll take my time with you. Maybe rip out one tooth at a time and send you home to Jamesypoo with a mouthful of gums. Shit, he might just send me a thank you card and a CD. Hopefully it’s nothing Greek…

For a moment, Marf nearly falls into an existential crisis from this thought but thankfully our hero catches himself and powers on through.

Christ are we done yet? You two bimbos make me want to take a shower just talking about ya. And that’s not code for any subtle sexual shit, it simply means you both make me feel gross. Jenny because she’s actual walking filth. But even more with Atara, because you try to pretend you’re not disgusting. You talk a big game and act like you’re perfect in everything. But you’re not. Each day brings you a step further away from your so-called perfection.

With ole James’ living seed sucking the milk outta ya, your time is running out. Before you know it Atara, your tits will be droopier than a leaky bag of milk from Costco. The Goddess of Sag doesn’t doubt all that impressive. For your sake, I hope this haunted place they stick us doesn’t have too many sharp objects. I’m feeling artsy, might just carve some years off ya with different shards of glass. Send you back to wherever you hide when the going gets tough round these parts. Maybe this time give you a longer vacation.

Marf stops all the smiles and grand gestures to stare directly into the camera. In that creepy way he always does.

I put you on the shelf a long time ago, Atara. You can downplay it or act like it never happened. But you and I both know, another inch and your neck injury would have been a career ending broken neck that night. No more superficial promos. No more Greek bullshit. No more opa. No more titles and accolades. No more fucking Atty. I got a taste for it way back when. Now these fuckheads throw me into an Xtreme rules match with you. Inside a god damn haunted house. I can do whatever the hell I want with no repercussions.

So at Saturday Savage, when I choose violence…it’s going to be a fuckin’ Greek tragedy…

A quick slash across his throat with his thumb and we are fading to black. Thank fuck he didn’t sing that entire promo…