Story #76: The Poo-Poo Doll (Picture)

Story #76: The Poo-Poo Doll (This is a heavily remixed variation on 'Pin-Cushioned'! Approaching the basic premise from a very different outcome and different characters.) (Content Tags: Creepy antagonist, stalker behavior, karmic braindrain, mushbrained antagonist, messy diapers, dark storyline) Voodoo is powerful witchcraft. As much as it can be used as a force for good, it also can be used to commit immeasurable evil; for as much power it can hold over someone else, it can also recoil and do ten times the damage to the person who was foolhardy enough to cast it. Renard had been one such fool. He had been a boy in the throes of obsession with an 'E-Celebrity', with the desire to force the object of his infatuation to feel the same way back. He'd crafted a doll in his idol's image, and he'd been prepared to rewire the boy's mind itself, in the selfish desire to gain his favor. Pascal was the boy of his dreams. He was bookish and diligent, yet still athletic and funny. He had a channel on Twitch, which had moderate popularity, making him something of a local 'star'. Even with his 'fame', he still managed to seem so down-to-earth! Within only a year of him transferring to Renard's school, and Renard had already begun to daydream daily about what it'd be like if Pascal noticed him. Renard's notebooks were scrawled to hell with bad poetry, stalkerish notes, and half-decent doodles of Pascal. He had photos of the boy in his closet, and wrote fanfiction about him and the preteen idol. His fixation had long-passed 'cute infatuation' long ago and entered 'psychotic stalker' territory. For all the staring and following that Renard did, it never seemed like Pascal really even knew he existed. He was friends with the cool kids, while Renard was the quiet oddball in the class that nobody really paid attention to. Even the smallest gestures, like holding the door open out of politeness, Renard took as meaning something deep existed between them. But without any real declarations of affection being returned to him, Renard began to grow impatient. If Pascal wasn't going to make a move on his own, then Renard would just have to force his hand. He had the perfect way to do it too, or so he thought. During the progression of his insane obsession, Renard had begun to consider the occult as a means to an end. He'd already made an effigy of his idol, so the obvious choice sounded like it would be voo-doo. The only problem was that Renard was a rank amateur who was cutting corners and trying to dabble in forces that he couldn't hope to control. Without the proper knowledge and training in the spiritual art, Renard was little more than a small child who was playing with his father's loaded gun. When it came time to pull the trigger, it'd been he that was left taking the shot. Renard had the doll of Pascal in his hands. He'd begun to put needles in the doll's head, making it a pin-cushion, with the delusion that he could literally restructure Pascal's mind into loving him. For someone who knew what they were doing, that could very well be possible, but for Renard...? It'd backfired. Hard. Whatever ritual he'd done to bind Pascal to the doll, he'd failed at it. Without a proper target, his witchcraft rebounded at an increased power and made his brain into mush. He'd crapped his pants and pissed himself too, left a drooling, babbling moron by the mutilation of his mind at his own dark hand. That'd been a while ago. No cause had been found, considering the ephemeral and illogical way that magic worked; there was nothing scientific or medical that could be pointed to as the reason. Regardless, the social outcast had cast himself even further to the reaches, becoming 'Renard the Retard'. Their school was too small for him to be relegated away to the special ed class for the whole day, so he still spent about half his time in his old class, eating his own boogers and taking big steaming dumps in his padding. He was certainly more noticeable now, though not for good reasons. The mushbrain had also seemingly become obsessed with his own poop, gleefully announcing whenever it was pushed out into his diaper and giddily squishing it around under his rump. Much of his vocabulary had even devolved to revolving around the subject. While Renard had this new obsession, the old one had not withered with his regression. It was still strong as ever, possibly even more so now, but it'd been twisted to reflect his new mental state. He wanted Pascal more than ever, even if he couldn't communicate it, and he'd become bolder in trying to get the boy's attention, much to the idol's disgust. He lurked around Pascal whenever the opportunity was provided, but Pascal never wanted to stay in his presence for very long. Renard was undeterred by his crush's distance from him; the intellectual loss that he'd suffered had only strengthened his delusions, and had blunted any empathy or understanding that he might once have been capable of. He couldn't seem to see how his own market value had greatly diminished, or why Pascal might be disgusted by the pantsfiller. One day in class, the teacher had asked Pascal to assist Renard in his dumbed-down assignment. It'd been by random chance that Pascal would be picked, and he'd been unhappy to oblige, but Renard took it as a sign that Pascal was returning affection. Pascal had sighed, his classmates snickering at his poor luck, and he'd begrudgingly moved to the back of the classroom where Renard had been stuck. "...Alright, Renard. You, uh, you just need to color these the right color." He tried to explain, pointing at the paper and the crayons. "...You think you can do that?" Renard gave him what he thought was a sly look, "Nggg...No...Need helpies." He was playing dumb, ironically, considering how dumb he really was now. Pascal sighed again and apprehensively reached for a blue crayon. "Well, the sky is blue. So you just use the blue crayon to color it in, got it?" He waited for a response or a sign of recognition, but Renard was just staring at him with his mouth open and drooling. Seeing that he might need a demonstration, he began to color the sky for him. "Now the grass is green, right? Can you show me the green color?" Renard picked up the right crayon, but instead of using it to color, he stuck it up his nose. "Hehe, green like boogies!" "Ugh...N-no, that's not what you're supposed to do." Pascal muttered, cringing at the sight and glancing back toward their teacher. "Mrs. Alderman, how am I supposed to help him, if he can't even figure out a crayon?" The woman brushed off his concern and merely said that Pascal should retrieve the crayon and try again to help Renard. The boy groaned and begrudgingly pulled the green crayon from Renard's nostril, like it was the sword in the stone. He again tried to hand it to Renard, while pointing at the paper in front of him. After a moment of vacant staring, Pascal got fed up and took a hold of the dummy's hand, forcing him to start coloring the grass with his help. "See? You don't stick it up your nose, you color with it." Renard gave an empty nod, just happy to have his idol holding his hand, even if for the purpose of a demonstration. Pascal didn't notice the other boy's glee, instead just wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible. "Alright, now get brown for the trees.." A smile cracked on the idiot's face and he grabbed a hold of the brown crayon. Instead of using it to color the bark of the trees though, he swiftly stuffed it down the back of his diaper and giggled. "Brown! Like poopies!" "Mrs. Alderman...!" Pascal whined, thinking there was no way he'd be expected to retrieve that one too. He'd be wrong though, the crotchety woman rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. "Just reach in and grab it, young man. Its just a diaper!" More snickering began to erupt around the room and feeling like he had no other choice, Pascal walked around Renard and tugged back the waistband of his diaper, using his other hand to rescue the wayward wax. He looked repulsed, but also relieved that Renard wasn't in need of changing. Renard on the other hand was happy as a clam. Not only had Pascal held his hand, but he'd now touched his diaper too! The moron almost was considering pulling the same trick when it came to coloring the sun yellow, but the bell rung before he had a chance. "Finally..." Pascal muttered, abruptly standing back up, so that he could leave the class. Renard stopped him, grabbing a hold of Pascal's wrist and giving him a drooly grin. "Me *like* you! Me make you a pReSeNt!" Pascal wasn't given any time to ask what it was, before Renard squeezed one eye shut and let loose a wet gurgling in the back of his pants. The loud squishing sound of a massive turd dropping was next to reverberate within his diaper, and Renard hung his tongue out in bliss from the release. Pascal was frozen in disgust, not that Renard could realize it. In the depths of his derpy delusions, the dummy really thought that Pascal was stunned in admiration for how big of a load that Renard had squeezed out into his jumbo-sized diapers. He gave Pascal a coy look, like the sudden bout of pantspooping was some suave form of flirtation. "Nghh...Renard make you poo-poo diapee! You smell Renard poo-poo!" Pascal finally broke away from Renard's grip, looking totally mortified and full of revulsion. "Ugh! You're disgusting! Don't touch me again, you brainless freak! I don't want anything to do with a gross retard like you!" The outburst had done two things. The first was a trip to the principal's office for Pascal, for his rude and intolerant language toward his 'special' classmate. The second was that Renard had begun to remember, hazily, that he still needed to control the boy into loving him back. Pascal's punishment was for him to learn a greater tolerance for those who were different from him, since the principal had not at all believed that Renard was somehow an instigator in all this. The way that Pascal would be learning this tolerance? He was basically being *ordered* to be Renard's friend for the week. He would have to help the boy in class, sit with him at lunch, play with him at recess, and even 'tutor' him at his own house! Pascal couldn't believe the sheer absurdity of it all; as far as he was concerned, *he* was the victim here! Meanwhile, once Renard had returned home for the day, he had begun to consider how he'd pull his crush over the line into loving him. Before his misfire, Renard had simply wanted to modify his mind into artificial admiration. Now, however, he had realized that he'd need to make Pascal more like how Renard himself was. The dimwit fantasized about what it'd be like to huff the dirty diaper of his obsession, and to get the same seat-sniffing reciprocated. In his twisted thoughts, rendered as infantile and scatological as they now were, Renard could think of no greater end result. In his shattered memories, he could remember the voodoo doll. He could remember the transformative power that it'd represented. That was the old him though, it was something out of reach for him, he would need an alternative that was suited for his new mental state. In his room, staring at the crayon scrawl that he'd done of him and Pascal, both diapered and blissfully stupid, the dummy began to rip a big fart in his tardpants. Renard lifted his bottom off the ground and grunted, allowing a hot steamer to pile its way in to the bottom of his diaper. As it coiled and formed a large bulge in the garment, Renard rubbed the warm lump and became thoughtful. He loved his poopy diapers almost as much as he loved Pascal! And then it hit him. He glanced back at the dirty diaper on his bottom, and then over at his stuffed diaper pail, and then finally down back to the drawing he'd made. A voodoo doll may be too much for him to manage now, in his intellectually challenged state, but if he were to use a resource that was more his speed...Such as the myriad filthy diapers he made, specifically while thinking of Pascal, there would surely be enough psychic residue channeled to make a new effigy. "Gotta make poo-poo doll!"