Imagine being locked in a small room. The walls, ceiling, and floor are Elmo’s face. He’s watching. Always. His gleeful stare penetrates your soul. His presence unrelenting. Small bits of food and water fall through a small opening in the back of his throat on one of the walls. You have no running water, nowhere to use the bathroom.

The days grow long. His voice is in your head now. Laughing. Every single line you’ve heard Elmo speak from your childhood is now the only thing you ever hear. His will over you is omnipotent. You cannot get out.

Long past the point of despair, you try and cover his image with your feces. It is futile. While obscured by your own excrement, Elmo’s presence is unrelenting. You mind has succumbed to his will. You are his now.

You get on your knees and stare up into his gaze. You’re broken soul is ready. You are his disciple now. A small door opens, light pours in. You look out and see a silhouette. Small in stature, with fuzzy undefined edges. Round head. It is unmistakeable.