Disclaimer: Iceman and the other X-Men are property of Marvel comics. I own nothing and am getting no money for this piece of crap either. Trading Spaces is an annoying show on TLC that my sister loves to watch. As far as I am aware, Mystic Powers Inc. doesn’t exist, if it does…well, call me p-sychic and get me a job there. I have never actually used a voodoo doll before, and have little idea on how to make one.

That Voodoo Madness by Jesse

"Mail’s here!"

The sound of thundering footsteps filled the air as Bobby Drake came scrambling into the kitchen, breathless. "Any *pant* thing *gasp* for *pant* me!"

Scott looked up from the mail at Bobby. "I’m not sure, I haven’t gone through it yet. Let me see," he slowly started flipping through the vast amounts of mail. "Bill, bill, bill, a letter for Hank," Bobby began fidgeting, "You May Already Have Won…bill, another letter for Hank…"

"How come he has so much mail?" Bobby scowled.

"Well, maybe if you wrote to some—"

"AH! There! There!" Bobby interrupted, jumping up and down and pointing to a medium-sized brown parcel on the table, "That package! Who’s that for?"

"Let me see…Rob—"

"MINE!" Bobby shouted, snatching the package away from Scott, clutching it close to his chest. "I’ll take that Publisher’s Clearinghouse too, yoink!" With that the young X-Man dashed out of the room.

Scott gazed stoically after him, then returned to his task, "Bill, bill . . ."

***

Bobby burst into his room, flinging the door closed behind him. Tossing the Publisher’s Clearinghouse letter onto a pile of other junk mail he had collected, he held the parcel in his outstretched arms, beaming. Finally, he thought to himself, I thought it’d never get here.

Ripping open the box, Bobby carefully removed the contents, grinning from ear to ear.

"It may have taken you 6 to 8 weeks to get here, but it was all worth it. You are perfect," he said out loud to the small, plastic-bag-encased, human shaped doll, "With this doll, I can finally bring my plans to fruition, WUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA . . . Now, where’s the manual for this thingy . . ."

Digging through the box, Bobby found his desired object: the set of instructions that came with his very own voodoo doll. "Let’s see here… ‘Thank you for shopping with Mystic Powers Inc.’ You’re welcome. ‘To receive the full benefit of our product, please adhere to the following instructions . . .’"

***

Peering around the corner, a silent black figure tiptoed its way across the hall. Destination: Scott and Jean’s bedroom.

"Robert!"

The figure in black froze, as the big blue creature approached it.

"There you are," Hank said, "I have been looking for you. I thought we were going to watch Star—what are you wearing?"

Silence fell as Bobby slowly turned to face his friend. Hank stared at Bobby, who was wearing the black sweater his mother had made him several years ago, with a black pair of sweatpants. On his feet were what appeared to be black socks, Bobby’s left big toe was sticking out. And on his head was a piece of black nylon, the origin of which Hank could only speculate. Quite frankly, he did not want to know where Bobby got them.

Minutes passed as the two friends stared at each other in the hall in silence. Suddenly Bobby pointed and shouted, "Warren’s into the Twinkie stash!"

As Hank turned to look behind him, desperate to save his beloved snack food snack, Bobby quickly ran back to his room.

With no snack thieves in sight, Hank turned back to his friend, only to face an empty hallway. I always fall for that one, he sighed to himself. He remained still for a moment in the empty hall, contemplating what he had just witnessed. Well, he thought, I guess the movie marathon is off tonight. Shrugging, he left for his lab.

***

Later that night:

"Jean," Scott called to his wife, "what happened to my pajamas?"

He held up his brown pajama shirt for his wife to inspect. It was in perfectly fine condition, except for the large rectangular hole in the middle of the back.

"Hmm, looks like they’ve worn out, dear," Jean mused.

"That quickly? They aren’t that old."

"Well, you do wear them an awful lot."

"But they were fine yesterday."

"The washing machine can to strange things to clothing, dear."

"Make a hole THAT big, THAT quickly?"

"It’s possible…"

"Right in the middle, in a perfectly rectangular pattern?"

"…" Jean was silent for a moment, "Why don’t you wear the P.J.’s I bought you for Christmas?"

Scott grimaced at the thought of wearing those pajamas and muttered something under his breath about a girly pattern and large buttons.

"What was that?"

Scott quickly looked up, "Hmm, oh, nothing, nothing. I just wanted to save them for a special occasion." He then gave his wife his best fake smile and put on the pajamas. They were light blue, with a pattern that looked suspiciously like flowers. They also had huge round buttons that dug into his chest if he slept on his stomach. With a final doubting glance at his wife, he got into bed.

Jean smiled and got into bed, too. I never liked those brown pajamas, she thought happily to herself.

***

Bobby sat happily in his room putting the final touches on a small doll. It had a small, carefully stitched brown shirt, red marker eyes, and a small tuft of brown hair, which Bobby had collected from Scott’s brush, glued onto the head. There had been quite a bit of hair in that brush. Bobby suspected that Scott was starting to go bald.

"There, all done" Bobby held up his creation, beaming with joy. He had gotten the piece of beloved clothing and hair, and had done the necessary chant while putting the pieces together. His Scott Summers voodoo doll was ready for action.

***

Scott Summers was having a wonderful dream. Not only was he on Trading Spaces, but he was the most popular designer. And he was wearing his brown pajamas.

"Wow, Scott! I love the room!" the ever-so-perky Paige breathed. The room was all different shades of brown. There was one couch (brown) and one coffee table in front of it (also brown). On the wall hung a painting of a duck. The frame was brown.

"Thanks Paige, I really put a lot of thought into this room," he said proudly, "and I did it all under budget."

"Wow."

The homeowners came in and gushed over the room. Jean came running in and wrapped her arms around him, "Oh, honey, I’m so lucky to be your wife. I don’t know what ever possessed me to buy such ugly pajamas. If only I had your keen eye for design."

Scott smiled down at her, "That’s all right my love, I have enough for both of us."

"Oh, Scott!"

Then they all broke out into song.

***

Suddenly Scott jerked awake. He felt funny. There was a strange tingling sensation in his legs. He felt the sudden urge to Riverdance.

Ripping off his pajama shirt, Scott leapt to the floor, he feet frantically moving up and down, one hand on his hip, the other arm pointing straight out in the air. He danced out of the room and into the hall.

***

Jean Grey Summers was having a wonderful dream. She was on Trading Spaces. Scott was there, and he was wearing the pajamas she bought for him. Then her world began shaking…

And she woke up to a shaking bed, out of which her husband had just jumped. He was dancing out of the room.

Jean blinked. She rubbed her eyes. Then she sighed, got out of bed, grabbed her robe, and followed her husband.

***

Scott was still frantically dancing as Jean entered the hallway.

"Scott," she called out to him, but he didn’t respond. So she tried again louder, "Scott!"

"Not now woman! I am one with the dance!" he cried and skipped his way downstairs.

She was about to follow him again; this time set on using her telekinesis to put stop to his dancing. It was amusing, she had to admit, to see him dancing like that; but she drew the line at being talked back to. Jean had Scott whipped just the way she liked him, and she wasn’t about to let this nonsense undo all the work she had done.

As she stepped onto the stairs she heard a faint snickering from down the hall. "Bobby," she hissed.

***

Bobby Drake was having the time of his life. He had heard Scott thumping across the floor and peeked outside his room to see Scott prance down the hall. It was better than he had hoped.

"Bobby!"

Bobby turned around suddenly as his door burst open, an angry silhouette in the doorway. "Jean," he gulped.

"What do you think you are doing, Bobby?" she demanded, crossing her arms and giving Bobby her best annoyed-wife look.

"Heh, well, you see…"

A loud crash was heard downstairs as Cyclops collided with the Beast.

"Oh my stars and garters; Scott?"

"I AM THE DANCE!"

Jean and Bobby paused and looked toward the stairs. Bobby began shaking, the laughter building up in him until it burst out and he dropped the doll. Jean grabbed it and put it in her pocket.

"Hey, *laugh* that’s mi--" Jean shot him a look and he immediately shut up. When she left the room, Bobby fell on the floor in hysterics.

***

Scott awoke on the floor of the kitchen. He felt tired and sore.

"Wha…how’d I get here?" he asked groggily.

Hank, picking himself up from the floor, looked at his friend in confusion. "You were da—"

"Sleepwalking," Jean finished as she stepped into the room and went to her husband.

"Sleepwalking?" Scott was confused.

"But—"

Jean glared at Hank and he shut up. "Yes dear, sleepwalking. Come on, let’s go upstairs." She murmured as she lead him back to their room.

Hank looked at the mess on the floor. He had come for a snack. Now his precious food was all over the floor. Shrugging, he picked up what was salvageable and headed back to his lab.

***

Back in their room, Jean and Scott got back into bed.

"I still can’t believe I was sleepwalking," Scott yawned.

"It must be stress," Jean soothed.

"Yeah, must be," Scott fell back asleep.

Glancing at her sleeping husband, Jean rolled out of bed and took the little red-eyed doll out from the pocket of her robe. This will come in handy; she grinned wickedly to herself. Wrapping the doll in a handkerchief, she placed it in her drawer, crawled back into bed, and fell into a contented sleep.

The End