This is what the kids love. Kris Straub Candle Cove homage with some Punisher Pumice DNA mixed in for good measure. Thanks for waiting for this one! Support Paranatural on Patreon and/or Ko-fi! Thank you, thank you! Thanks for reading!

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[Transcript]

        Zoey shrugged and ate another glob of oatmeal.

        “I dunno. Stuff. I’m just waiting for the sneak peek of—OH!”

        The TV had crackled as if clearing its throat. As far as Max could tell, it had gone dark; for a second, he’d thought Zoey might have sat on the remote. But then there was a drumroll, and a spotlight darting back and forth across purple curtains like a frightened fairy searching for a fire exit. When at last the curtains parted, the name of the show that Zoey had been waiting for burst forth in less of a title crawl than an aggressive title scuttle:

        “Little Witch Tuffet’s PUPPET THEATER!”

        The announcer’s tone matched the collage of colorful fonts on display. Their voice sounded like a cut-and-paste creation, an acapella group taking turns dictating the same uncannily cheerful blackmail letter.

        “TONIGHT at JUST AFTER DARK O’CLOCK: a BRAND new EPISODE! When Captain Creepypasta CORNERS Muffet at Candy Cove, our HEROINE’S mild-mannered alter ego is too TEMPTED by treats to EAT her curds and whey!”

        “Aha ha,” giggled Zoey. “Muffet what are you doooing!”

        “Curds and whey ARE a treat,” PJ grumbled indignantly, though he, too, seemed enraptured by the drama.

        On the TV, a little ragdoll girl crept through a rock-candy cave, staring at her own funhouse reflection in its crystals of pure sugar.

        “I can’t give in!” she squeaked, blinking her big button eyes and wiping away a strand of blue-yarn drool. “But... but sweets are a food group, too, a-aren’t they? What’s there to be afraid of?”

        The commercial cut to another clip with a spark of subliminal static.

        “Meathead, you meathead!” a cartoonishly Italian Captain Creepypasta shouted at his minion, a dumpy-looking dog that had a bone stuck through its brain. “I serve you the meddling witch on a silver platter, and what do you do?!”

        “...I EAT THE MEATBALL CANNON’S AMMO INSTEAD,” moped Meathead, burping sadly.

        “You eat the Meatball Cannon’s ammo instead! Mamma mia! I ought to grind you up to replenish my supply, eh?! Then you might do something USEFUL for the first time in your life!”

        “...NOT IF YOU’RE THE ONE WHO’S AIMING,” Meathead mumbled in retort.

        A wrathful Captain Creepypasta hurled a flurry of kitchen supplies at his henchman, but missed again and again while Meathead sat completely still. Zoey and PJ laughed and clapped their hands. Lefty, who was perched on PJ’s head, seemed less enthused about the show—he hadn’t clapped at all, and he was balled into a fist. Lefty was, it would seem, a persnickety cinephile; he’d never given ANYTHING two thumbs up before.

        “Will Muffet wise up in TIME to transform INTO Tuffet and defeat the EVIL Captain? Or will his pizza cutter SLICE HER UP while she’s STUCK stuffed and POWERLESS?”

        “Oh nooo!” squealed Zoey.

        “Either thing could happen!” PJ gasped with credulous sincerity.

        “Find out TONIGHT... on Little Witch Tuffet’s PUPPET THEATER!”

        The title scuttled back on-screen, followed by a higher-budget sequence of the heroine consuming curds and whey to fuel her transformation sequence. Max’s eye roll ended on the fine print in the corner: “Sponsored by the Cheese Byproduct Outreach Council. ‘One Man’s Byproduct is Another Man’s Chance to Buy Product’™”

        As Muffet held her spoon aloft, a cluster of spiders descended from the rafters of the stage where she was standing, stitched her a colorful cloak and a pointy hat, and lifted her into the air on their silk string like a marionette.

        “I’m Tuffet, the brave little witch! You bad guys better watch out, or else I’ll put a spider spell on you!”

        Zoey and PJ cheered in unison.

“With liquid cheese courage,
No threat can discourage
A brave witch from saving the dayyy!”

        Max groaned. The only thing he loathed more than a jingle with a cop-out rhyme scheme was a TV show marketed to a slightly younger demographic than his own.

        “Shred Eagle Extreme was so much better,” he grumbled. “They don’t make ‘em like they used to.”

        “Oh, they surely do, Max! This one is JUST like Itsy Bitsy & Sockpuppy’s Fun Puppet Playtime!” PJ chirped. “Except the dog is a bad guy in this one, and I don’t have to watch through a window across the street! Oh, happy day! Reruns and reboots! How lovely that history repeats itself!”

        “You know who else likes comforting formula?” Max asked, chuckling adolescently. “Babies, that’s who.”

        “Huh?” Zoey looked back at him, finally freed from the commercial’s concerningly hypnotic hold on her. “Little Witch Tuffet isn’t for babies. And Shred Eagle did the same tricks every week!”

        “That’s literally false because they literally had a wheel to spin to pick what trick to do—”

        “Show about spinning its wheels.”

        “Don’t CAPTION my argument, Zoey. Your show is literally about how it’s good to eat milk.” Max karate chopped the air with his good hand. “For babies.”

        Zoey held up her photo album like a cross to a demon, flipping to a page where baby Max was drinking from a bottle.

        “This is you,” jeered Zoey.

        “Sooo true.”

        “This is you right now. This is what you look and sound and smell like right now.”

        “Oh yeah? Oh yeah?”

        Max started flipping through the pages of the album looking for an embarrassing picture of his sister. Before he got to the gap where his mom was missing, though, a twinge, like touching a hot stove, changed his trajectory. He opted for a more sophomoric choice instead, and simply dunked the album from her hands.

        “HEY!” Zoey yelled as it bounced shut on the couch. She swung her spoon at Max like Little Witch Tuffet casting a spell, but her acrobatic brother nimbly dodged its magic oatmeal missile. He ducked the spoon, too, when she threw that next.

        “Wow, nice aim! Captain Creepypasta would be proud—”

        “NO HE WOULDN’T!” Zoey gasped. “I’M HIS ENEMY!” She tugged on her hair in frustration. “THAT JUST MAKES YOU MEATHEAD, YOU BIG JERK!”

        Max stuck his tongue out at his sister as he vanished down the stairs.

        “What a lovely family!” said PJ. “What a happy, happy morning.”

        Lefty seemed to take this in, then affectionately ruffled PJ’s hair.