Ella's Point of View
When we woke up the next morning (well, more like afternoon because who the hell sleeps during Kevin Hours), the living room looked like an apocalypse had rolled through.
Empty chip bags. Soda cans. A lone sock hanging from the lamp like a tragic war banner.
Kalix groaned and sat up. "Are we alive?"
I flopped off the couch onto the floor like a crime scene victim. "Barely. I feel like I got hit by a dump truck full of sugar and regret."
Kieran stumbled in from the kitchen looking like a raccoon that had seen some sh*t. "Guys... the stove is on."
We blinked.
"WHO THE FUCK TURNED ON THE STOVE?" I shrieked.
Kalix's eyes widened. "IT WASN'T ME. KEVIN'S COOKING. OH MY GOD."
We ran into the kitchen.
The stove was on low. A frying pan was gently sizzling with… an egg. One singular egg.
And beside the stove? A sticky note:
"Breakfast. You're welcome. — K"
Kieran just stared. "I'm losing my fucking mind."
Kalix clutched his chest. "KEVIN IS A PROVIDER."
I was crying with laughter at this point. "Our demon is better at adulting than us."
"Next thing you know he'll be doing our taxes," Kieran muttered.
Then the toaster popped.
Two perfectly golden slices of bread.
Another sticky note:
"Toast. Accept my carbs. — K"
We were losing it. Like, full-on slap-the-floor hysterics.
Kalix dramatically dropped to one knee. "Kevin... I pledge my allegiance. May your snacks always be crispy and your toast forever golden."
"Bro, don't marry the demon," I wheezed.
Then the lights flickered again.
"KEVIN APPROVES," Kalix whispered.
Cue another loud THUMP from upstairs.
"Okay, we gotta check," I said, instantly regretting my own mouth.
Kieran grabbed a rolling pin like he was about to go full Home Alone. "If I see that flamingo again I'm committing arson."
Kalix whispered, "Don't anger Kevin. He made us toast."
We crept upstairs again, looking like Scooby-Doo rejects.
The attic door? Wide open.
The flamingo? Wearing a chef's hat.
I'm not making this up. A tiny paper chef hat. On the damn flamingo.
Kalix gasped. "Kevin is branching into the culinary arts."
Kieran looked like he wanted to set the whole house on fire. "I'm fucking done. I'm so fucking done."
I started laughing so hard I wheezed. "Bro... he's opening a ghost kitchen."
Kalix got real serious. "We should make him an Instagram. Demon Chef Kevin. Michelin Star Hauntings."
"NO," Kieran shouted.
Then the attic light turned on. No one touched it.
Another sticky note floated down.
"Dinner menu coming soon. — K"
We screamed. AGAIN. Naturally.
Kalix was now fully converted. "I'm making him a LinkedIn. 'Demon Entrepreneur. Specialist in inconvenience and brunch.'"
I collapsed onto the floor. "We need help. We need therapy. And more chips."
Kieran sighed, looking into the void. "We're being haunted... by Gordon Ramsay's chaotic evil cousin."
And that's how our day started: haunted, caffeinated, and waiting for a demon to post his next menu.