Michael wouldn't hear of it.

He had been told over and over again that he couldn't make his new buisness idea work, because who had ever made a successful buisness by selling shampoo made out of hot sauce?

It made absolutely no sense. To anybody except Michael.

He had the formula, fresh off the inernet, and he definitely knew what he was doing. He had even gone the extra mile to make sure that the peppers he used were the 'good kind,' shipping them all the way from a pepper farm in Brazil.

He knew when the idea first popped into his head that this was going to be a real winner. And, finally, after months of preparation and hours in his dark basement by himself, it had been complete.

His aterpiece, the shampoo that was almost guarenteed to leave your hair smelling fresh, the heart and soul of his entire enterprise, was soon to be bottled in shiny glass jars that he had lovingly picked out with his own two hands at the downtown Walmart.

He was psyched.

He called up his best friend, Ron, the day before he was going to be heading out for his first ever day of selling, nervous anticipation flooding through his sytem, knowing that Ron would be feeling the same way he was.

When he heard the voice on the other end, however, he could tell that Ron wasn't as exctied as Michael was about the whole idea, which Michael found to be pretty alarming, since Ron usually supported everything he did, no matter how stupid it really was.

"Bro," he heard his closest advisor sigh. "Look, I know you want to do this, and I'm happy for you. Really, I am. But, like, going door-to-door? That's some shady stuff, man."

"Look, it's the only way to sell it. Every actual store turned me down, and I got rejected by Shark Tank. It's the only way, dude."

"Brah, maybe there's like, a reason you got shut down. Like, you know, it sucks or something."

Michael began to feel a sense of betrayel creep up into his throat, but then realized that this was probably how Thomas Edison's friends had reacted when he told all about his idea, and that it's better to just let them laugh now, and then beg him to let them join in the future, when he could turn them all down with one big "HA."

"Listen," Michael pointed his finger as if making a point, though nobody was actually standing there, "this is my legacy we're talking about. I've got to do this man, I've got to. And if you dont believe me, then fine, but when I make my first million, don't come crying back to me."

-

Michael took the porch steps two at a time. This house just looked like it.

Their yard was cut sharp and short, the birds were nested in the trees, the house had a fresh coat of paint and the whole thing just gave him a warm fuzzy feeling inside.

He heard Ron's voice in the back of his mind, but he chose not to listen. This was way too important for any of Ron's rationality; if there was even any credibility to it at all. Ron lived alone in an apartment with five cats.

Just as Michael was about to start questioning the entire friendship, he noticed that he was at the front of the house, and he had to get himself ready.

He slicked his short hair back and practiced his big, toothy "I'm about to make money off of you suckers" salesman smile in the reflection of the glass door. He then gave himself a pat on the back an rang the doorbell.

He waited for a second, but he didn't hear any footsteps, and he didn't hear the door click either.

"I know they're in there." Michael placed the box gently onto the porch as he went to check the windows in the front. The curtains were drawn and the latch was flipped shut, Michael soon realized as he started to pry them open. He wouldn't be able to open it.

He would just have to do it the old-fashioned way.

He strode over to his box and picked the jars out gingerly, making sure they didn't cling together. Just as he was about to kick the glass, a woman with the biggest, blondest hair that Michael had ever seen flung the door open. She glared her piercing blue eyes down at the box, then back up at Michael, her knuckles turning white.

What a weirdo, Michael thought. But, the shampoo wasn't going to sell itself, so he persisted.

"Why, yes, hello, my name is Michael Jispor, and I am selling homemade shampoo, made with the finest hot peppers in the entire world. I was wondering if you, lovely Miss, would..."

"Yes, yes, it's all true!" The woman suddenly cried, jarring Michael and making him stumble backwards onto the sidewalk.

"Wait, what?

"I took them! It was all me! I buried my son's dolls in the backyard! Why me, why me?"

Michael didn't quite know what to say to that. "Well..."

"I couldn't take it! I just couldn't take it anymore! They were always just sitting there, sitting, sitting, sitting, and staring at me! Everywhere I went, their eyes gazed at me! Every day!"

The woman was in complete hysterics now, her eyes wild and her arms flailing.

Michael had read on the internet that salesmen always keep their cool in every situation, no matter how crazy it is. So, like a true entrepreneur, he pressed on.

"I'm sorry to hear that, m'am. Back to the shamp-"

"And every night, the clock would go tick, tick, tick, just like their footsteps behind me, all the time!"

"Oh God, please let go of my leg, Miss. I see you're upset, but-"

"Oh my God! I can hear it again! The voices! The footsteps! The eyes!"

"Wait, what kind of sounds do eyes- m'am, please put down the shovel. Lady, get out of the street! Oh, no." Michael placed placed the box back on the stoop and started chasing after her, waving his ars frantically.

"Wait, m;am, stop! Please don't hit that man with- OK, calm down, hold on-"

Then, he felt somebody clamp down on his shoulders. "Wait a minute, son."

Michael screeched to a stop and whirled around, now face-to-face with a Morgan Freeman look-alike.

"What the-"

"Don't chase her Michael. Don't do anything. That woman has been living in that house for over 20 years. She's insane, crazy, and we've tried to get her to leave, but we can't. That's just rude. And now, thanks to you, the neighborhood is free! Free at last!"

"Wait, we can't just ler her run loose like that that! She could hurt somebody!"

"Somebody will catch her. Somebody will always catch her. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but they will. And it won't be us. You have freed this neighborhood young chap, and we are forever grateful."

And then, he just turned around and walked down the street, disappearing from view.

 -

Michael blinked as he sat up quickly. HIs blanket was now on the floor in a sweaty heap, the jars of shampoo still ready and waiting by the door just like he had them last night. As he glared at them, he thought to himself, "Maybe Ron with the five cats is right after all."