It was in the living room.
Of course it was. That's what he got for celebrating when it vanished from the kitchen, Kipper supposed, and now it was hanging from a corner along with some cobwebs and accrued dust.
After a careful moment of panicking, Kipper made the executive decision to ignore it and pretend it wasn't there. Maybe that could make it go away, he thought, though he could've sworn it was bigger than a few minutes ago.
Ten minutes later, armed with a steaming platter of half-microwaved slop and a saucy romance novel about sexy Venusian maids, he hunkered down in his overstuffed leather chair and did his best to avoid staring at the creeping mass above him.
Something hit the top of his head. It was wet and greasy and mostly, not good. His attention turned to the ceiling.
An eye surfaced out of the muck and blinked slowly at him. He didn't blink back, even when a droplet of something smacked him right between the eyes. He mostly just gawked.
The mounting sense of dread suddenly turned into a full-on sense of dread. Slowly, and without taking his eyes off the thing, Kipper snatched his book and unidentified TV tray matter and moved to the other side of the room.
The eye rolled around a bit as another surfaced. And another. Kipper resisted the urge to wet his pants and forced himself to sit down again.
"If it isn't there, it can't hurt me," he choked, ignoring the fact that it was slowly rolling around the ceiling, leaving a shimmery green trail behind it as it moved. More and more eyes slowly rolled out of the goop and watched him with some sort of childlike fascination.
"Well," Kipper said to no one in particular, "I'm tired and going to go to bed."
The thing blinked slowly at him and wobbled sadly.
"G-goodnight," he blurted abruptly, and he darted towards the stairs.