Chapter Text
Summer is three and she’d been minding her own business, being quiet and making over Rapunzel Barbie with markers. But Barbie’s three-tone eyeshadow is gonna have to wait because there’s a weird smell coming from her little brother’s room, and it’s too stinky to pretend she doesn’t smell it. Morty probably just pooped in his pants again, because he’s such a baby, but that’s got nothing to do with her. Her job is just to check on her little brother if it seems like there’s something wrong, and then tell mom or dad about it, and then get a snack because she’s such a good big sister. She drops her markers without putting the caps back on to look into the nursery, and then she freezes.
It’s the weird man again. He’s got Morty in his arms, cradling him and whispering to him, smiling down at him with a soft expression full of love.
“You’re gonna be my little Morty, Morty. You’re gonna be the best Morty ever.” The man lifts Morty up and puts kisses all over his tummy. Morty giggles and coos, delighted. “We’re gonna go on all types of adventures.”
Summer should probably be scared of seeing a weird guy in the house like this, but she’s seen him before, and she knows by now that he’s only ever here for Morty. He’ll tickle Morty and rock him and read to him, and then he’ll go away.
“You’re gonna be my little buddy, aren’t you? Yeah, you are. You’re my little Morty. My special little guy.”
Summer doesn’t think he’ll notice her, since he’s too busy kissing Morty all over, up from his pudgy little legs to his pudgy little stomach to his pudgy little cheeks. Morty’s eyes drift close under all the kisses after he wears himself out giggling, and the man curls the baby against his chest. Summer watches him rub his chin over Morty’s fuzzy baby hair, like her mom does to her dad sometimes. The weird smell gets stronger, more stinky, and Summer can’t help squirming where she stands, wrinkling her nose.
That’s how he spots her. The man takes his eyes off of Morty, and Summer is pinned, suddenly, under his penetrating gaze.
He looks angry.
The man’s hard face softens quickly, though. He smiles at her, winks, and holds up one finger to his lips in a sign to be quiet.
Now that he’s looking at her with her baby brother in his arms, she feels the scaredy cats running up her spine, as Grandma Joyce likes to say.
Summer screams for her parents.
The man snarls something harsh under his breath. He puts Morty back in the crib fast and fumbles for something in his coat, but interrupts himself, forgets whatever he was looking for in favor of tucking Morty’s yellow fleece blanket around his little shoulders. Then he goes back into the coat. He pulls something out that glows green. It jumps in his hand and makes a “swhoom,” noise. A big green circle appears for a moment, and then the nursery is suddenly empty of anything unusual at all.
“Mommy! Daddy!” she cries again. Morty wakes up from her yelling, starts crying too. Summer regrets it immediately, but she can’t help her tears.
So much for her getting a snack for being a good big sister.
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The kids grow from babies to children. Morty turns nine and Summer turns twelve. She likes to sneak into Morty’s room at night right before bed and tell him stories about how their house is possessed by a demon, and how she’s seen the demon a ton of times herself. The demon can appear and disappear at any moment in a green flash, she says, and he wears a long white coat. He’s always there to stare at Morty.
Summer tells Morty that she thought he was a person before all the staring started, but him just watching Morty from closets and doorways without moving or making any sound is how she figured out he’s a demon instead of a man. The two of them have an understanding, Summer boasts: Over the years, they’ve forged an unspoken agreement to pretend they don’t see each other when he comes to see Morty. She says she has no idea how Morty hasn’t noticed him before.
“Wh-Wh-What does he want with me?”
“How should I know? To take you to Hell or something?” Summer shrugs.
“I don’t want to go to Hell!”
“Um, nobody wants to go to Hell? But maybe he’s not going to do anything. It’s been, what, seven years since you were born? And he hasn’t dragged you away yet. So like, don’t worry about it.”
“I’m nine! Not seven!” Morty declares. “I know you know how old I am, Summer!” But Summer is already on her way back to her own room.
Morty wants to believe she’s just making up a story to scare him, but his confidence is shaken by a foggy memory of something kind of like that. There’s a vague, fuzzy figure in the back of his mind, like remembering a dream hours after waking up: No details, just a cloudy impression.
He tells himself it’s all just Summer being a jerk and putting ideas in his head. Morty curls into his blanket and tries to ignore a looming acknowledgment that he’s seen the demon before, too.