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frodos-bizarre-adventure · 3 years

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@gingerreggg ooo the lore deepens

Heads Up- Part 10 (Joseph x Bust! Caesar)

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With Joseph going to university every couple of days, and Suzi visiting often but still usually sleeping at her own home, there were days that Caesar was left home alone.

Joseph had invested in extra door locks to keep him safe, makeshift mini-elevators to help the bodiless bust get up and down the kitchen and living room tables, and put up canvasses and customized paint holders to encourage his fondness for painting to pass the time.

Caesar was a great painter-- especially for someone with no hands.

With much practice in holding a paintbrush in his mouth, something that Caesar found much easier as opposed to colored pencils that broke when pressed too hard, Joseph's artistic masterpieces had begun producing masterpieces of his own. Simple, abstract scribbles at first, but over time began to make art of the things he saw around the house. Still lifes of tables, furniture, windows, in his own crude, mouth-scribbly style.

Today was one such day. Joseph was away at the art school, working on projects of his own. And Suzi hadn't called for today, and probably wasn't coming for a while.

And so Caesar spent his time painting. But he was tired of the things within the confines of the apartment, and opted for a new medium.

Pulling the blinds of the window open with his teeth, Caesar exposed the view of the vacant lot behind Joseph's house. One that was somewhat still a wild region, overgrown with grasses, with a few sparse trees, and further into the horizon, the skyline of the big city with towering skyscrapers that seemed like mere toys from such a distance.

A smile crept across Caesar's face. This seemed like a perfect muse for another painting.

And as Joseph created art with a purpose, he wondered if this was his.

---------

Suzi looked over at the bag Joseph had given her.

She was in her own home, an apartment somewhat smaller than Joseph's. The post-graduate artist hadn't really done very much in the past year, and her house reflected it: it was quite a mess, with many boxes, items and inexplicable odds and ends cluttering every tabletop and shelf, a problem compounded by the artist's somewhat scatterbrained nature at times.

She sat on her couch, typing away at her laptop. She'd been very curious about the past few days about where exactly that design on the bag came from-- definitely a Mesoamerican influence, perhaps some sort of mystical trinket from long ago.

It had been the bag that Joseph had found in his attic, that had contained the lump of clay that had become Caesar. As Joseph had said before, it didn't seem like a particularly special material at first: yet now, given that it literally was alive, there certainly was something unique about it. Especially given that all other clay they attached to Caesar, in their failed attempts to give him a body, had invariably remained lifeless and cold.

And as she scrolled through pictures on her laptop, she happened upon something extraordinary.

A site cataloguing local folklore, with details that seemed oddly familiar.

Legends told in ancient Central America about sacred soils that could channel strange energies. One myth, in particular, caught her attention: a tale of a talented artist who, in her sheer devotion to detail in her work, managed to usher in spirits of inspiration to take new life into her work.

Idols that harbored the souls of the ancestors that led them to convene with their successors generations on.

Suzi scoffed. This seemed like strange superstitious magic, wasn't it?

Yet deep down, as much of a mature, rational woman as she was, a small part deep within her had always believed in magic, wished to believe. Perhaps it was the hopeful, wide-eyed child within her now enveloped in the shell of a responsible adult, that sometimes shone through when she was around people she was comfortable, like Joseph, and now, Caesar too.

Perhaps that was why she wasn't too surprised about Caesar when she first met the living sculpture in Joseph's apartment a couple of weeks earlier.

Because a bit of her had always believed in magic-- and Caesar's very existence served only to confirm it.

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Joseph strolled around the art gallery of the university, beholding in wonder at the vast, museum-like halls bearing the works of its many previous students.

Statues, sculptures, paintings and murals of all shapes and styles adorned the walls, platforms and shelves of nearly every corner of the building's interior. Everything was art, they said, and the masterpieces certainly reflected it.

And as much as Joseph was in awe of the beauty of the gallery, something made him uneasy, as he looked at them, especially the sculpted statues that resided in glass cases, carved in eternal repose with their lifeless eyes gazing blankly into empty space.

Would this have been Caesar's fate?

Joseph couldn't bear the thought of Caesar, his roommate, his friend and companion, spending the rest of his existence like this.

What kind of life would that be?

Joseph's disturbed thoughts were interrupted when he bumped into somebody, as he was too preoccupied with the art to look where he was going.

"Oh, I'm sorry, young man," said an old, throaty voice, with a prominent Italian accent. "You need to be careful around here too."

"Apologies, Mr. Zeppeli," Joseph said awkwardly, with an uncertain scratch of his head.

Mr. William Zeppeli was one of the oldest professors in the university, and had long taught the class on the subject of three-dimensional art. Instantly recognizable by his trademark moustache and top hat, Mr. Zeppeli had mentored Joseph in his first year in the university, and was quite familiar with him.

"I'm glad to see you've come so far, Mr. Joestar," Mr. Zeppeli said with a pat on Joseph's back. "I believe you would be graduating this year, are you not?"

Joseph smiled proudly. "I sure will be, sir!"

Mr. Zeppeli gave a warm chuckle. "That's the spirit!" he said. "So, the final project is due next month. What is your grand masterpiece?"

"A bust sculpture," Joseph said impulsively, before realizing he probably shouldn't have said it out loud.

A proud, yet solemn smile emerged on Mr. Zeppeli's weathered features. "Come with me," he told Joseph.

He led Joseph towards the hall of statues, where Joseph was amazed to see a vast array of clay figures, of people, objects and places, all impressively detailed even for him. Sculptures of birds in flight, each feather intricately carved in astonishing perfection. Miniature models of famous landmarks around the world, such as a replica of the Colosseum in Rome. Faces of people molded in clay, so expressive they seemed they almost could speak.

Something that, at this point, wouldn't have surprised Joseph anymore.

"He would have loved to meet you," Mr. Zeppeli said woefully. "I've seen some of the sculptures you've made before and they remind me of him so much."

"W-who?" Joseph asked, curious at the person Mr. Zeppeli had referred to.

"My grandson," replied the old teacher with a bittersweet note in his voice.

"He went to this school a decade ago, and was one of the best students this institution had ever known. All these, the figures you see before you, are his creations, and I...I am proud to call him my grandson," said Mr. Zeppeli, as he wiped away a tear.

The old professor gestured to a small sign next to the case displaying his grandson's masterpieces. "He was a jolly fellow, if not without a strange sense of humor. You two might have become friends."

Joseph looked closely at the sign. There was something very familiar.

And as its contents sank in, his heart nearly stopped.

"IN MEMORY OF ANTHONIO ZEPPELI (1983-2008), GONE BUT FOREVER REMEMBERED," said the caption.

But what captured his attention, and struck him to the very center of his being, was the picture of the late artist displayed on the sign.

He had no pink cheek marks, and he, of course, had a body.

But he was, unmistakably and otherwise identically, Caesar.

"Is--is this him?" gasped Joseph in disbelief.

"I guess you'd recognize that face," Mr. Zeppeli gave a faint laugh. "Remember that statue of Julius Caesar displayed here, several years ago? He based it off himself. That isn't even remotely close to what the real Julius Caesar looked like, he was a talented, if strange, boy who found it amusing to stick his own likeness onto his art."

Julius Caesar, Joseph thought. His reference.

He felt a strange sensation, as if his whole world was suddenly shattered, and was slowly piecing itself back together like a jigsaw puzzle, into a new reality that seemed way too fateful for his peace of mind.

"Uh...uh...I just suddenly remembered I have a class to go to," said a flustered Joseph, quickly conjuring up an alibi. "See you later, Mr. Zeppeli!" he said, and promptly dashed off in a hurry.

-------

"Jojo? You would not believe what I just found," Suzi said, as she entered Joseph's house later that evening.

"Well, you wouldn't believe what I found out today," Joseph replied, with a shell-shocked look on his face.

Suzi was taken aback. "Looks like you've seen some serious stuff," she gasped. "Y-you go first."

"Do you know a certain Anthonio Zeppeli?" Joseph asked her.

"As in...the student who died a while back?" she said. "I've...I've heard of him, he was talked about a couple of times by my friends one year ahead of your batch. And about...what happened to him."

Caesar, who at just the right moment, had been bouncing by, was intrigued. "Happened to who?" he asked, pausing in his tracks.

Suzi sat down on the sofa. "They say he was a student from a few batches prior. He was a talented sculptor who was great at working with clay, marble, concrete..."

"Yeah, I've seen his stuff," interjected Joseph.

"Well, the thing is, they told he had been commissioned to carve a mural into a hotel's front lobby, nearly ten years ago," she told. "He was perched up on a ladder, chipping away at the wall, when suddenly, he broke a support on a stone ornament, shaped like a cross--"

"--and he was so startled when it began to topple, that he stumbled right off his ladder, fell to his death...and then the stone cross fell and landed right on top of him."

Joseph winced. That sounded like a terrible way to go.

"Well, there's something you wouldn't believe," Joseph said, pulling out a yearbook he'd borrowed from the library. Look at his face."

Suzi leaned closer for a look, and gasped in shock.

"I'd never seen what he'd looked like, but...but..."

"Caesar. It's you."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Caesar exclaimed. "I can't see anything from down here!"

Suzi picked up the bust with some effort and rested him onto the tabletop. He hopped over to the book to check out what all the commotion was about--

--and was silent for an uncomfortably long time.

"See, this is what I was gonna tell you," Suzi said. "I'd been reading on the design on the bag that you found Caesar's clay in. There were legends in ancient Mesoamerica that artists who were talented enough would be able to usher in spirits of predescessors into idols of a special sacred clay to serve as inspiration," she said.

"And maybe, just maybe, Caesar is alive-- because he is Anthonio Zeppeli's soul."

"So am I a ghost?!" Caesar screamed in terrified confusion, hopping backwards a few bounces from sheer terror. "I'm a dead man in a clay head?!" he cried, disturbed by the revelation.

"More like a reincarnation," Suzi explained. "The legends told that they became spirit guides to their creators, that they held the wisdom and knowledge of the past, but remembered little of their past lives-- rather, they carried over some traits, but were their own, unique person."

"Did they have bodies?" Joseph asked right off the bat.

"Yes... you were just unlucky to not have enough clay," she added.

Caesar groaned in frustration.

"You know, I honestly wouldn't have believed some ancient mythology," Joseph said, "but given I've been living with a talking, walking sculpture--"

"Not exactly walking," Caesar corrected.

"...er, bouncing, sculpture for the last couple of weeks, I'd take any explanation at this point." he admitted.

"I think he chose you, Joseph," Suzi said with a smile.

Caesar looked at Anthonio's picture in the yearbook, and saw only himself. The same green eyes, blond hair, unmistakable face. He lacked the pink cheek patches, however, which Joseph admitted he'd tacked on to Caesar just for kicks. Anthonio had a body.

Could he really be Anthonio Zeppeli returned from the dead? Caesar pondered. If that was true, he remembered nothing of being Anthonio.

The idea of having once been a living human unsettled Caesar.

But at the same time, he couldn't help but feel oddly vindicated.

He'd wondered often recently why he even existed, as just another of Joseph's art. What use did he serve?

But now he wondered, upon hearing of Suzi's tale-- maybe this was his purpose.

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(Previous Chapter)

(Next Chapter)

#jjba #battle tendency #jojo's bizarre adventure #caejose #caesar x joseph #gingerregg #hands of life au #bust!caesar #sculptor!joseph

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unto-myself-together · 6 years

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Of Stories and Songs: A Haunted Mansion Fanfic Ch 3

Check under the cut

May need to go back and read the first couple of chapters, as I have heavily edited a lot since this new chapter.

Authornote: IMPORTAT!! Trigger warnings have CHANGED as of this chapter, chapter 3. See below.

More authornotes:

Once upon a time, I was a child going through the mansion for the first time.

Looking up at the stretching room, I thought it depicted circus people. The tightrope walker was the most obvious. But there also appeared to be a human cannonball (person ontop of dynamite), acrobats (three men ontop of each other), and, though the final portrait gave me a bit of trouble, I concluded that she was a knifethrower. And she didn’t throw around her human target like she ought to have (she hit him dead on, apparently).

This theory was only strengthened when I saw Madame Leota, and all of the ghosts around that were dressed up (The opera lady. Julius Caesar). After all, didn’t circuses have costumes? And that so much explained the funny epitaphs on the graves at the end of the ride. Bea Witch? Dustin T. Dust? Such strange names, they HAVE to be stage names. And what sort of occupation gives you a stage name? Why, a circus of course! This was a mansion of circus people!

I’m older now, and I think I’ve pretty much rejected the idea that ALL of the ghosts were part of a circus. For one, I REALLY want Julius Caesar to actually be Julius Caesar and not someone dressed as him. And also I sort of had a conflicting view back then about the owner of the mansion that was incompatible with the idea that they ALL were part of a circus. Besides, a circus of 999 people in the 19th century seems a bit…unrealistic. So I digress; not every ghost here is from a circus. But there will be a circus, dang it.

The other strong impression of the mansion that stuck with me was the Ghost Host. The Ghost Host completely and utterly terrified me. Plenty of times I thought he was throwing thinly veiled threats in my direction, as in I legitimately thought he was going to kill me. Nevermind the idea that the ride was owned by Disney, I thought he was real and that Disney had hired a murderer or something here.

The emotions I wanted to evoke here, where he was concerned, is meant to be reflective of this. Existing barely on the fringes of your senses, it’s the anticipation that he’s going to do something terrible to you that makes it all the more terrifying.

Also in this chapter is both a reference to….a certain broken glass from the ballroom scene as well as a nod to a scene in the WDW version that was scrapped with the refurb.

As before, all artwork in this chapter was made by me.

The reference photo for the stretching room is: http://www.disneyphotoblography.com/2014/05/the-stretching-room.html

The reference photo for the hallway queue is: https://www.flickr.com/photos/cypress_phillies/5706355407/in/photostream

The poster is made up of several parts. Many of you will immediately recognize some of Rolly Crump’s designs for the original Museum of the Weird.

The lettering is based off of this Tokyo Disneyland Dumbo ad: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/7d/46/81/7d468119e6b2813b942afdf5c376a6e6.jpg

And the eye figure is taken from Memento Mori.

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Trigger warnings: ghosts, death concepts/discussions, murder, suicide, abuse, blood, lots of scary stuff (horror), implied sexual abuse, cursing (damn and hell), drug abuse, attempted rape (never completed; in a later chapter).

Brief mention of cannibalism in this chapter 3 (it’s never performed or attempted, just briefly mentioned in conversation).

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Table of Contents:

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 ,

Chapter 6 , Chapter 7

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Ch. 3: The Bleeding House

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“Kindly step all the way into the dead center of the next room please.”

For a while, the velvet voice lingered in the air. The cadence of each word seemed carefully chosen to reverberate in that very moment, in that very room, in just the perfect way.

And thus, both Karen and Mike were struck speechless.

For Karen, the abstract horror of a dark room holding a single, undiscernible figure didn’t go away, but there was music. She could hear music from the next room, clear and tempting like that of a party.

Come inside, it seemed to call.

It would have likely been enough to leave her wanting, dragging herself across the floor to join the strange figure, if not for Mike beside her.

Because Mike was less impressed.

“Forget that. C’mon, Karen.”

He tugged at her arm, and she was forced to snap back to reality as they both went back towards the door. The outside could still be seen; the storm brewing without reverence to the people within, with the thunder sounding every bit as powerful as the voice.

With a snap, the sounds outside deadened; the old oak doors had closed of their own accord just as the couple reached them.

The low rumble of the mysterious voice danced around the room, chuckling.

“There’s no turning back. . .now.”

Mike jostled the doors. “What the heck??”

Digging his shoulder right up against one of them, he shoved. And again. And again.

“Karen, come and push against it too.”

“It’s not going to open.” She said simply. She couldn’t identify how she knew that; she certainly didn’t want to know how she knew that.

“Sure it will; it’s not magic. We’ll get a running start and throw our weight on it together. On the count of three?”

Numbly, she nodded.

“One, two and—“

They hit the doors hard, could feel them give a little and bend in the middle as they should, before the doors seem to spring back and launch them across the room, sending them skidding across the floor.

Skidding for far, far longer than any physics should have allowed for.

For they had skidded right straight across the carpet….and all the way into the next room.

The dark room with the single man in the center.

The room that was calling for her.

“Three.” The voice mocked.

The light of the foyer, and their only escape, quickly grew dim as the sliding of a door shifted in the darkness.

But not long after the room grew dark did it grow exponentially bright again.

“So good of you both to join the great majority…”

They were trapped in an octagonal room.

Grotesque gargoyle statues, as watchful as prison wardens, surrounded them holding up candles.

And there were four prominent portraits depicting different people: A young woman with a parasol, an old woman with a rose, a stately bearded man, and a man in a bowler hat.

“Our tour begins here in this gallery where you see paintings of some of our guests as they appeared in their corruptible, mortal state.”

Karen looked all around the room, but there was nothing on the ground. No objects, no desks, no clutter, it was as if the room was only meant for the portraits.

“The man is gone.” She whispered to her boyfriend.

“What man?”

“The tall man….the tall man that was in the middle of this room just a few minutes ago. Didn’t you see him?”

“No….”

There was a pause in Mike’s voice.

“But….I can see that.”

She followed Michael’s gaze to the portraits on the wall, and instinctively grasped his hand tighter.

“Your cadaverous pallor betrays an aura of foreboding…”

The walls….

“…almost as though you sense a disquieting metamorphosis.”

The portraits…

They were…

“Is this haunted room actually stretching?”

“Yes,” She could hear Mike say, quietly under his breath.

“Or is it your imagination, hmm?”

The portraits all around them gave way to a more morbid sight. The young woman with the parasol, pretty and pink, was found to be perched perilously atop of a severed rope, inches away from an alligator’s open maw…

The man with the bowler hat was atop others dressed in a similar fashion, sinking into something that was labeled ‘quick sand’ on the side….

The stately man, with the ribbon-like symbol of his status hanging around his chest, was, in fact, shown to be in boxer shorts, and standing atop a lit barrel of dynamite…

And the old woman with the rose…had an equally grisly implication as she sat atop the grave of a man named George. If the bust was any indication, George had met his death when his head had met an axe….

She caught a glance up at the ceiling…And for a brief moment, a very brief moment, it drastically looked different. Instead of walls and gargoyle scones, there was a giant tent. Instead of portraits, there were long poles that formed a tightrope walk. And instead of a ceiling…There was a figure. Seemingly that same, undiscernible figure, suspended upside-down. Watching them.

And all very quickly, while the scene faded back from tents and tightropes to the room and portraits once again, the strongest image of a poster came to mind.

MUSEUM OF THE WEIRD CIRCUS AND SIDESHOW

COME SEE THE UNBELIEVABLE!!

A strange looking plant….A man that looked like he was melting…And an eye, all seeing and all watching…

She jerked from her reverie, immediately proceeded to bury her face in Michael’s shoulder, her arms shaking. These were the figures that graced the portrait, referencing what were probably different terrifying acts of the show.

“Hey, it’s alright. I’m here…”

Her boyfriend’s voice gave no indication that the same vision had been violently thrusted upon him, and she wondered about that. Why was she the only one seeing all these strange and terrifying things?

“And consider this dismaying observation:”

Was it a result of this place?

“This chamber has no windows and no doors, which offers you this chilling challenge:”

It was a mistake to come here. A very terrible mistake…

“To find a way out!”

The alarming presence of the voice lingering right in-between them caused the couple to diverge from each other.

Which, for all she knew, had been their ‘Host’’s intentions, as his maniacal laughter filled the room.

“Of course…there's always my way.”

The room went dark again. She could hear lightning from outside cracking the sky open, illuminating a mysterious space that somehow managed to exist beyond the ceiling.

And there he was.

The figure.

And just as before, his features were too far away, too masked by darkness to see clearly.

But he was watching.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to frighten you prematurely. The real chills come later.”

Karen could hear wood sliding on wood, and quite suddenly their ‘room with no windows or doors’ had a door. ….And the way out appeared to look much different from the way they came in.

“Now, as they say, ‘look alive,’ and we’ll continue our little tour. And let’s all stay together, please.”

She felt resigned to go along with it, but Mike held her back.

“We aren’t interested in any stupid tour you’ve got here, so you can just shove it. No way are we going any further than this.”

Contemplative silence.

“…Well. This is most certainly a first. But I would be happy to accommodate your request.”

The door began to close on them.

“After all, it isn’t every day that I meet a mortal willing to spend time here, in this very room. With me. For the rest of their suddenly short lives.”

“Wha-? Hang on a second.” Mike began to briskly walk towards the closing door.

“And I look forward to the inevitable starvation of whomever ends up eating the other…”

“WHOA HANG ON A SECOND.”

Michael wedged himself between the closing door and the far wall, effectively halting it but probably earning a few bruises in the process. Karen rushed forward to help leverage the door off his chest, but it was too heavy to move.

“What’s this? Have I…revitalized a spark of curiosity in you? Had a sudden change of your still beating heart?”

“Yes.” Karen quickly said.

“Are you quite sure?”

“Yes, yes!! Now please just open the door!!”

“How wonderful to hear…”

To their relief, the door was slowly opened again, and both of them found themselves in a very long, very dark corridor.

Two busts stared at them front and center. Windows lined the left side of the hallway and portraits were at the right side on the wall. Judging by the outline of dust, it appeared that there used to be five portraits; the middle one was missing. With every lightning flash, the painted oils seemed to…flicker…in a most peculiar way.

She eyed Mike. “Are you okay? Your chest…”

“It’s fine. I’ve had worse. Football, remember? Are you okay?”

Their hands found one another again, and she felt him give hers a squeeze.

“I’m not the one who almost got crushed by a door.”

“No, but you’ve been acting a little funny ever since we came across this dump. Is ther-“

“Shall we begin the tour? Many of our residents are simply dying to meet you..hm hm hmm.”

Mike glared at air from the interruption. “No we don’t want any tour! I mean...What gives? This place was abandoned-IS abandoned. Are you trying to tell me that’s not true anymore and you and a bunch of other people live here now?!”

“Of course not…”

A breeze of mysterious origins engulfed them; it set her nerves on edge.

“Living requires a certain degree of mortality, and I must regrettably inform you that I left mine hanging when I decided to go on a more spiritual journey oh so many years ago.”

“Caw! The coward’s way! He took the coward’s way out! Caw!!”

There was something very wrong with this house. As if stretching rooms and disembodied voices weren’t bad enough, she had been quite certain that she had seen no signs of live before when she had looked up and down the hallway.

Yet here was a raven, suddenly sitting pretty on the bust of the angry looking man as if it had been there the whole time.

“Please mind the raven. An old nag of a soul has gotten ahold of the poor bird’s body. He’s the sort of fellow who would kill to better himself. And he might just consider bettering himself…with you.”

It definitely was possessed by something because a most curious feeling came over her. She could hear someone….calling.

And calling…

An-

A room.

A beautiful room.

It was a most elegant room, with all of the trimmings and airs of respectability, including a four poster master bed in the center. The faint sounds of giggling behind the curtained bed stifled the sudden wave of nausea and unease that Karen felt in inspecting the nearby décor.

What just happened?

This was not the hallway; Michael was nowhere in sight. Nor could she hear the raven cawing or the Ghost Host booming over her.

Yet…she was not alone. There was a little boy beside her. Dressed nicely in some old-timey beige pants and a button down off-white shirt, he couldn’t have been more than five.

And he was shaking almost as bad as she was.

“H-hey…” She whispered to him.

He didn’t seem to have heard her. He pressed on towards the four poster bed, hesitance in every step, before reaching out to gently rustle the curtains.

“Mother…?”

The giggling stopped. The curtains parted. There was a young man that came from it, a teenager more like it, well-to-do with a suit a-skewed. The woman beside him…she had to be a teenager too from how young she looked…and she was dressed…

…In that same strange green dress that Karen had seen on Nell…

The young woman went to speak, but the young man interrupted.

“What do you want, brat?”

The child nervously looked from him to the young woman, unable to answer.

“Well? Cat got your tongue?”

“I….I-I want mother…”

“Well your mother is busy with me, so come on. Off with you! Off! Off! Off!”

The man clapped his hands, coming towards the boy; with every clap there was a large stride.

And with every step, there was a loud clap.

Closer and closer.

You know what’s coming.

Closer and closer.

Breathing heavy. The world was suddenly bathed in fear.

No, please.

Taking uncomfortable steps back. This isn’t how it was supposed to be.

Please. Don’t let him get me.

Backing away, hands suddenly on her shoulders.

The desire to run.

This isn’t right.

She isn’t supposed to be here.

She’s not he-

“Karen!”

She jolted, as if from a nightmare, shaking with a cold sweat.

The hallway was back.

And Michael…Michael was the one holding her, comforting hands rubbing at her shoulders in what was obviously an attempt to calm her down.

“Mike…?”

“Are you…are you okay?? You scared me for a second.”

“What…” She shuddered, looking all around the hallway while attempting to even out her breathing. The raven sitting on the bust seemed to watch her with its beady eyes. “…What happened?”

“I dunno. You were acting all weird, like you were in a daze. I tried talking to you, but you didn’t even seem to notice...”

“Oh.” She said in a small voice. All the strength seemed to be sapped out of her; the strength to explain herself included.

As if she even could explain what that was.

“Voyeurist!” The raven suddenly screamed. “Peeper! Spectator! Caw Caw! Recollections are not yours to oogle at! Privacy snatcher! Filthy psychic! Psychic! Psychic! Thief! Thief!”

A flash of feathers, and the bird lunged for her face. She shrieked and made an effort to fend herself, but she was too worn down already that she felt forced to bury in Michael’s chest. She could feel Mike’s arm swatting at it in her stead, the reassurance of her boyfriend’s heartbeat calming her down as she heard the bird retreating away.

“Birdbrain.” Mike grumbled at it.

“Filth! Filth! Filth!” The bird spat back at him in a continuous chant.

“Enough.”

There was silence in the hall. Karen peeked out from the safety of Michael’s hug to see the bird cowering under the echo of the voice above them.

“My… My…. My…”

The voice of the Ghost Host, still booming and deep, but there was another layer to it this time.

It was laced…with utter delight.

So much delight that she had to shudder again.

“What a fascinating development. My dear feathered acquaintance… I may have to ask you to refrain yourself this time around. Lives have a certain value, after all. And your soul, Raven, is rather worthless to me in comparison… Off with you now…Or off with your head.”

The raven visibly cringed, its mumbling incoherent as it hopped up and flew away.

“Now…Where was I?”

“You were telling us all about how you’re supposed to be a dead guy.” Michael said, unamused.

“Ah yes….It was a New Year’s resolution of mine; giving up all bodily desires. I could abandon all those trivial concerns that the common people thought about. Trivial concerns such as money…work…”

Frigid cold fingers suddenly tightened around her neck.

“...breathing…”

She shrieked and struggled, but the hands very quickly let her go without any resistance. Looking behind her, there was nothing there. Not the freezing cold fingers, nor the source of the strangely hot breath that had spoken against her ears.

She huddled up closer to Mike, burying her face into his chest. He held her close, doing his best to glower at someone he couldn’t even see.

“Whatever you did, that wasn’t funny!”

“Why, I’ve hardly done much of anything….Yet.”

“That does it.” Mike whispered quickly to her. “We’re getting out of here.”

He released her and went to grab ahold of the first piece of furniture in sight; a slightly scorched ornate chair that had a green velvet cushion. Inexplicably, it also had a piece of parchment attached to the front of it: the word “Sold” written on it.

“Mike…” She just barely steadied herself, the shakiness starting to subside. She had the distinct feeling that she wasn’t going to like the results of what her boyfriend was about to do.

“First, trespassing. Now, vandalism… The moral character of your soul is greatly…questionable. I admire that. All you require is to lose that mortal shell of yours, and you’d fit in quite well among us.”

Mike took the time to glare in irritation at the ceiling as he positioned the chair.

Half a swing, half a throw, and the chair was hurtled at one of the windows lining the hall. The disgusting crunching sound it made suggesting that he’d gotten right through.

There is no point. Even as the doubt was spinning in the back of her mind, she still forced herself closer to the window.

A crack in the glass.

No. That wasn’t a crack. That was a spider’s web.

…Wasn’t it?

Michael was staring at it too.

….The cracks were moving.

They were spilling out.

…..

The spiders.

It was a crack in the glass. A crack in the shape of a spider’s web. And tiny, black spiders were all spilling out of the cracks in droves. There were so many of them; beady black bodies with a tiny spot of red on their backs, glistening like blood.

They dripped down to the floor, scattering as they went. The majority of their stock were still lingering around the cracks, but as that group filtered out…

…There were no cracks….

Not anymore.

She looked back at Michael. He was staring at it incredulously, his face pale. He didn’t do well around insects or spiders.

Still a little shaky she took the chair away from him and, though she thought it still hopeless, made a good effort to throw the chair against the window again.

Another smack.

Another crack.

Another spider’s web.

And yet another spilling of spiders.

Scores of them, much akin to the disturbance of a well populated ant hill. And they couldn’t have been coming from anywhere except from within the walls and windows themselves.

The house was bleeding.

The house was bleeding spiders.

She stuck one of the legs of the chair straight into the crack, trying to push through and actually break the glass entirely. But this only seemed to anger the spiders.

A whole drove of them gathered to march up the chair leg. They did not stop or pause in their single minded attempt to get to her, proving beyond a doubt that these were no ordinary spiders. Ordinary spiders were never this coordinated.

They started to hiss at her as they just reached her fingertips, and she felt forced to drop the chair lest they actually touch her.

The spiders scattered back to the cracks in the building; once she had stopped meddling in the window crack, they had immediately ceased their interest in her.

A quick look up confirmed that the crack she had made was gone. Just like before.

“Thought that you were the first hapless mortals to try that?”

Karen met eyes with Michael. He looked just as defeated as she had been all along.

“Trespassing mortals ought not to avoid their punishments.”

“We aren’t trespassers!” She said.

“Is that so? The Master, I’m sure, would be very interested to hear that. And that is not to speak of his outrage that he will, no doubt, express when he finds out we have three mortal residents now.”

“What she means is that we were just dropping by!” Mike said. “We just wanted to get out of the rain!”

“Trespasser or no trespasser. Where death is concerned, the only semantics you should concern yourself with is that you are mortals. Very foolish mortals, considering that you both do not see fit to do as I say. Which begs the question… ....just how long do you believe you’ll remain a mortal…hmm?”

“Is that a threat? Are you threatening us now?”

“Oh. My apologies. Some clarification is in order. I’m not threatening you now. I’ve been threatening you. It appears that I’ve been grossly derelict in making such intentions obvious.

Allow me to remedy that.”

A loud CRACK.

Her boyfriend falling beside her.

And the goosebumps prickled again.

“MICHAEL!” She screamed, reaching to grab him.

A large hole had appeared in the floor beneath them, and both of his legs had already fallen through. She scrambled for his shirt, then his shoulders, finally his arms as all other options slipped from her fingertips.

“Is this direct approach more to your liking? Do we have a better understanding of each other? Are my motives now...hmm hmm … transparent?”

“Mike! Mike, grab my other hand!”

“I…I can’t! It’s stuck!” Half his torso was already beneath the boards, including half of one of his arms.

She put a foot on either side of him and tried to use the leverage to pull harder, but it was to no avail.

“As they always say: If you love someone, let them go. If it was meant to be, maybe they won’t die.”

Michael cried out in pain as he was yanked deeper into the hole. She was pulled down off her feet.

The floor was now at his neck, his head and his one arm the only parts of him visible now.

“Karen….K-Karen it’s no use. Something’s got my legs really good. And I don’t think this hole is big enough for me to climb out anymore.”

He was right. The spiders had already been vigorously repairing the damaged floorboards. She wondered, with an acute sense of dread, whether they would stop once they’d reached Michael’s flesh.

“I would have to agree with him. I recommend letting go, or else Mr. Michael here may be forced to give you a hand. ….And likely not in the way that you’d prefer…”

As if reading her mind, the Ghost Host answered her yet unspoken question. His visible limb was destined to be severed.

“No…” She said. “No no no no no no!”

She tore at the boards with her free hand, which was no small feat as it was getting harder to keep Michael up. It was an attempt to knock away the spiders, to knock away the wood, to make the gap bigger, but it didn’t look like it was working.

“No no no NO!”

It didn’t look like she made a dent.

Tears were stinging her eyes.

Spider bites were stinging her hand.

“No no!”

“Hey.”

“No I won’t!!”

“Karen. Karen hey!”

She and Michael caught eyes.

“Hey. It’ll be okay.” She could tell Mike was trying to give her a reassuring smile, but it obviously laced with a lot of pain.

“Please don’t leave me. Please…”

“I won’t. I’ll find you, okay? We’ll find each other eventually. I won’t leave without you, I promise.”

“But..”

“The spiders are already nibbling at my neck, Karen. I’m sorry. You gotta let go…”

“...I…I promise too. I won’t leave you here. I’ll…I’ll find a way to get down to you. I…I love you.”

He gave her a weary smile. “I love you too.”

She held his gaze until the very last moment.

As his fingers slipped through hers.

As his neck disappeared.

And then his smile.

And then his eyes.

And when there was nothing left, she grabbed the chair and began to ram it into the floor.

Again.

And Again.

The spiders didn’t stand for it, of course. They were smart enough to relentlessly pursue her.

Up the chair. Attacking her hands.

It was only after several minutes of banging the furniture on the floor, failing to leave any dent with spiderbites all over her hands and wrists and forearms, that she finally gave up.

Slumped on the floor. The spiders leaving her side so that when she curled up unto herself, she was all alone.

Well. Almost all alone.

“My, My….What a touching scene that was…”

#fanfiction #haunted mansion fanfiction #haunted mansion fanfic #the haunted mansion fanfiction #of stories and songs #the haunted mansion #the haunted mansion fanfic #my fanfiction

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onceuponabedtime · 3 years

Text

5 songs for troubled times

1. “Revolution” - The Beatles

You say you want a revolution Well, you know We all want to change the world You tell me that it's evolution Well, you know We all want to change the world

But when you talk about destruction Don't you know that you can count me out

Don't you know it's gonna be All right? Don't you know it's gonna be (all right) Don't you know it's gonna be (all right)

You say you got a real solution Well, you know We'd all love to see the plan You ask me for a contribution Well, you know We're all doing what we can

But if you want money for people with minds that hate All I can tell you is brother you have to wait

Don't you know it's gonna be (all right) Don't you know it's gonna be (all right) Don't you know it's gonna be (all right)

You say you'll change the constitution Well, you know We'd all love to change your head You tell me it's the institution Well, you know You better free your mind instead

But if you go carrying pictures of Chairman Mao You ain't going to make it with anyone anyhow

Don't you know it's gonna be (all right) Don't you know it's gonna be (all right) Don't you know it's gonna be (all right)

2. “Free Radicals” - The Flaming Lips

You think you're so radical I think you ought to stop Say what? But you're going international They're gonna call the cops Oh no no You're turning into A poor man's Donald Trump I know those circumstances make you wanna jump Oh no

You think you're radical But you're not so radical In fact you're fanatical Fanatical You think you're radical But you're not so radical In fact you're fanatical, fanatical

I'll tell you right now (right now), you ought to change your mind (yes) All of your friends are (uh huh) standin' in a line They're getting tired of your attitude fast, oh (You better lose it, you better lose it) Without all your bodyguards, how long would you last? (Not long, not long)

You think you're radical But you're not so radical In fact you're fanatical Fanatical And you think you're radical But you're not so radical In fact you're fanatical Fanatical And you think you're radical But you're not so radical In fact you're fanatical Fanatical

3. “April 26, 1992″ - Sublime

(I don't know if you can, but can you get an order for Ons, that's O-N-S, Junior Market, the address is 1934 East Anaheim, all the windows are busted out And it's like a free-for-all in here And uh the owner should at least come down here, see if he can secure his business, if he wants to) April 26th, 1992 There was a riot on the streets Tell me where were you? You were sittin' home watchin' your TV While I was participating in some anarchy First spot we hit it was my liquor store I finally got all that alcohol I can't afford With red lights flashin', time to retire And then we turned that liquor store into a structure fire Next stop we hit, it was the music shop, It only took one brick to make that window drop Finally we got our own P.A. Where do you think I got this guitar that you're hearing today? (Call fire, respond Mobil station Alamitos & Anahiem It's uhh flamin' up good 10-4 Alamitos & Anaheim) Homicide, never doin' no time When we returned to the pad to unload everything It dawned on me that I need new home furnishings So once again we filled the van until it was full Since that day my livin' room's been much more comfortable 'Cause everybody in the hood has had it up to here It's getting harder, and harder, and harder each and every year Some kids went in a store with their mother I saw her when she came out she was gettin' some Pampers They said it was for the black man They said it was for the Mexican, and not for the white man But if you look at the streets, it wasn't about Rodney King It's this fucked-up situation and these fucked-up police It's about comin' up and stayin' on top And screamin' 1-8-7 on a motherfuckin' cop It's ain't in the paper, it's on the wall National guard Smoke from all around (Units, units be advised there is an attempt 211 to arrest now at 938 Temple 938 temple, 30 subjects with bags, trying to get inside the CB's house) (As long as I'm alive, I'mma live illegal) Let it burn, wanna let it burn Wanna let it burn, wanna wanna let it burn (I'm feelin' sad and blue) Riots on the streets of Miami Oh, riots on the streets of Chicago Oh, on the streets of Long Beach Mmm, and San Francisco (Boise, Idaho) Riots on the streets of Kansas City (Salt Lake, Hunnington Beach, CA) Tuscaloosa, Alabama (Arcada, Clarkston, Michigan) Cleveland, Ohio Fountain Valley (Texas, Barstow) Bear Mountain, Victorville Eugene, Oregon, Eureka, California (Let it burn, let it burn) Hesperia (Oh, ya let it burn, won't'cha won't'cha let it burn) Santa Barbara, Cuyamca, Nevada, (Let it burn) Phoenix, Arizona San Diego, Lakeland Florida (Let it burn)

3. “My Own Version of You” - Bob Dylan

All through the summer, into January I've been visiting morgues and monasteries Looking for the necessary body parts Limbs and livers and brains and hearts I'll bring someone to life, it's what I wanna do I wanna create my own version of you

Well, it must be the winter of my discontent I wish you'd've taken me with you wherever you went They talk all night and they talk all day Not for a minute do I believe anything they say I'm gon' bring someone to life, someone I've never seen You know what I mean, you know exactly what I mean

I'll take the Scarface Pacino and The Godfather Brando Mix it up in a tank and get a robot commando If I do it upright and put the head on straight I'll be saved by the creature that I create I'll get blood from a cactus, gunpowder from ice I don't gamble with cards and I don't shoot no dice Can you look at my face with your sightless eyes? Can you cross your heart and hope to die? I'll bring someone to life, someone for real Someone who feels the way that I feel

I study Sanskrit and Arabic to improve my mind I wanna do things for the benefit of all mankind I say to the willow tree, "Don't weep for me" I'm saying, "To hell to all things that I used to be" Well, I get into trouble, then I hit the wall No place to turn, no place at all I'll pick a number between a-one and two And I ask myself, "What would Julius Caesar do?" I will bring someone to life in more ways than one Don't matter how long it takes It'll be done when it's done

I'm gonna make you play the piano like Leon Russell Like Liberace, like St. John the Apostle I'll play every number that I can play I'll see you, maybe, on Judgment Day After midnight, if you still wanna meet I'll be at the Black Horse Tavern on Armageddon Street Two doors down, not that far a walk I'll hear your footsteps, you won't have to knock I'll bring someone to life, balance the scales I'm not gonna get involved in any insignificant details

You can bring it to St. Peter You can bring it to Jerome You can bring it all the way over Bring it all the way home Bring it to the corner where the children play You can bring it to me on a silver tray I'll bring someone to life, spare no expense Do it with decency and common sense

Can you tell me what it means, to be or not to be? You won't get away with fooling me Can you help me walk that moonlight mile? Can you give me the blessings of your smile? I'll bring someone to life, use all of my powers Do it in the dark, in the wee, small hours

I can see the history of the whole human race It's all right there, it's carved into your face Should I break it all down? Should I fall on my knees? Is there light at the end of the tunnel? Can you tell me, please? Stand over there by the cypress tree Where the Trojan women and children were sold into slavery Long before the first Crusade Way back before England or America were made Step right into the burning hell Where some of the best-known enemies of mankind dwell Mr. Freud with his dreams, Mr. Marx with his ax See the raw hide lash rip the skin from their backs Got the right spirit, you can feel it, you can hear it You've got what they call "the immortal spirit" You can feel it all night, you can feel it in the morn' It creeps in your body the day you were born One strike of lightning is all that I need And a blast of electricity that runs at top speed Shimmy your ribs, I'll stick in the knife Gonna jumpstart my creation to life I wanna bring someone to life, turn back the years Do it with laughter, and do it with tears

4. “Don’t Crash the Ambulance” - Mark Knopfler

Don't often open up this floor Since I handed in my gun What all these keys are for Now my tour of duty's done You got to know the switches Now you got your turn Watch and learn, junior Watch and learn Now you will get your trouble spots Here's one from down voodoo way Bragged he had me by the you-know-what's Very funny, you don't say The big enchilada Stealing elections Had to go down there Trash collection Got his cojones on my desk in there Made into a souvenir Set of cufflinks, nice pair The rest of him's someplace up here Sometimes you got to Put a shoulder to the door Not so fast, junior Listen to your pa Here, son I'm handing over to you Don't crash the ambulance Whatever you do What we have here's a dung hole place Thought it was fly shit on the map Fat bastard, ugly face And the personal crap You can't move the barriers You can't mess with oil and gas Had to go down there Stick a couple aircraft carriers in his ass Fancy dress medals chest It's all in here for all the gigs Gas mask bullet-proof vest All the usual rigs There'll be things they missed They didn't mention You've even got a whistle in there For attracting attention Well, I think you're gonna be okay, son You've had the tour, I guess These two buttons by the way This one I hope you never press Some holy fool, just watch Who's not like you or me That one's the whole shooting match Right there It's the whole shitaree We don't forget who put us here, jack That's page one We talk soft but carry a big stick And pack the biggest gun We don't like accidents Major or minor You don't want yourself an incident Don't ever invade china here, son I'm handing over to you Don't crash the ambulance Here, son I'm handing over to you Don't crash the ambulance Whatever you do

0 notes

infinitehours · 5 years

Text

Chapter 3

More authornotes:

Once upon a time, I was a child going through the mansion for the first time.

Also in this chapter is both a reference to….a certain broken glass from the ballroom scene as well as a nod to a scene in the WDW version that was scrapped with the refurb.

As before, all artwork in this chapter was made by me.

The reference photo for the stretching room is: http://www.disneyphotoblography.com/2014/05/the-stretching-room.html

The reference photo for the hallway queue is: https://www.flickr.com/photos/cypress_phillies/5706355407/in/photostream

The poster is made up of several parts. Many of you will immediately recognize some of Rolly Crump’s designs for the original Museum of the Weird.

The lettering is based off of this Tokyo Disneyland Dumbo ad: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/7d/46/81/7d468119e6b2813b942afdf5c376a6e6.jpg

And the eye figure is taken from Memento Mori.

(poster has been deleted for now. May upload at another time)

~~~~~~

Brief mention of cannibalism in this chapter 3 (it’s never performed or attempted, just briefly mentioned in conversation).

~~~~

Table of Contents Link

~~~~

Ch. 3: The Bleeding House

~~~~~

“Kindly step all the way into the dead center of the next room please.”

For a while, the velvet voice lingered in the air. The cadence of each word seemed carefully chosen to reverberate in that very moment, in that very room, in just the perfect way.

And thus, both Karen and Mike were struck speechless.

Come inside, it seemed to call.

It would have likely been enough to leave her wanting, dragging herself across the floor to join the strange figure, if not for Mike beside her.

Because Mike was less impressed.

“Forget that. C’mon, Karen.”

With a snap, the sounds outside deadened; the old oak doors had closed of their own accord just as the couple reached them.

The low rumble of the mysterious voice danced around the room, chuckling.

“There’s no turning back. . .now.”

Mike jostled the doors. “What the heck??”

Digging his shoulder right up against one of them, he shoved. And again. And again.

“Karen, come and push against it too.”

“It’s not going to open.” She said simply. She couldn’t identify how she knew that; she certainly didn’t want to know how she knew that.

“Sure it will; it’s not magic. We’ll get a running start and throw our weight on it together. On the count of three?”

Numbly, she nodded.

“One, two and—“

Skidding for far, far longer than any physics should have allowed for.

For they had skidded right straight across the carpet….and all the way into the next room.

The dark room with the single man in the center.

The room that was calling for her.

“Three.” The voice mocked.

The light of the foyer, and their only escape, quickly grew dim as the sliding of a door shifted in the darkness.

But not long after the room grew dark did it grow exponentially bright again.

“So good of you both to join the great majority…”

They were trapped in an octagonal room.

Grotesque gargoyle statues, as watchful as prison wardens, surrounded them holding up candles.

And there were four prominent portraits depicting different people: A young woman with a parasol, an old woman with a rose, a stately bearded man, and a man in a bowler hat.

“Our tour begins here in this gallery where you see paintings of some of our guests as they appeared in their corruptible, mortal state.”

Karen looked all around the room, but there was nothing on the ground. No objects, no desks, no clutter, it was as if the room was only meant for the portraits.

“The man is gone.” She whispered to her boyfriend.

“What man?”

“The tall man….the tall man that was in the middle of this room just a few minutes ago. Didn’t you see him?”

“No….”

There was a pause in Mike’s voice.

“But….I can see that.”

She followed Michael��s gaze to the portraits on the wall, and instinctively grasped his hand tighter.

“Your cadaverous pallor betrays an aura of foreboding…”

The walls….

“…almost as though you sense a disquieting metamorphosis.”

The portraits…

They were…

“Is this haunted room actually stretching?”

“Yes,” She could hear Mike say, quietly under his breath.

“Or is it your imagination, hmm?”

The man with the bowler hat was atop others dressed in a similar fashion, sinking into something that was labeled ‘quick sand’ on the side….

The stately man, with the ribbon-like symbol of his status hanging around his chest, was, in fact, shown to be in boxer shorts, and standing atop a lit barrel of dynamite…

And all very quickly, while the scene faded back from tents and tightropes to the room and portraits once again, the strongest image of a poster came to mind.

MUSEUM OF THE WEIRD CIRCUS AND SIDESHOW

COME SEE THE UNBELIEVABLE!!

A strange looking plant….A man that looked like he was melting…And an eye, all seeing and all watching…

“Hey, it’s alright. I’m here…”

“And consider this dismaying observation:”

Was it a result of this place?

“This chamber has no windows and no doors, which offers you this chilling challenge:”

It was a mistake to come here. A very terrible mistake…

“To find a way out!”

The alarming presence of the voice lingering right in-between them caused the couple to diverge from each other.

Which, for all she knew, had been their ‘Host’’s intentions, as his maniacal laughter filled the room.

“Of course…there's always my way.”

The room went dark again. She could hear lightning from outside cracking the sky open, illuminating a mysterious space that somehow managed to exist beyond the ceiling.

And there he was.

The figure.

And just as before, his features were too far away, too masked by darkness to see clearly.

But he was watching.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to frighten you prematurely. The real chills come later.”

Karen could hear wood sliding on wood, and quite suddenly their ‘room with no windows or doors’ had a door. ….And the way out appeared to look much different from the way they came in.

“Now, as they say, ‘look alive,’ and we’ll continue our little tour. And let’s all stay together, please.”

She felt resigned to go along with it, but Mike held her back.

“We aren’t interested in any stupid tour you’ve got here, so you can just shove it. No way are we going any further than this.”

Contemplative silence.

“…Well. This is most certainly a first. But I would be happy to accommodate your request.”

The door began to close on them.

“After all, it isn’t every day that I meet a mortal willing to spend time here, in this very room. With me. For the rest of their suddenly short lives.”

“Wha-? Hang on a second.” Mike began to briskly walk towards the closing door.

“And I look forward to the inevitable starvation of whomever ends up eating the other…”

“WHOA HANG ON A SECOND.”

“What’s this? Have I…revitalized a spark of curiosity in you? Had a sudden change of your still beating heart?”

“Yes.” Karen quickly said.

“Are you quite sure?”

“Yes, yes!! Now please just open the door!!”

“How wonderful to hear…”

To their relief, the door was slowly opened again, and both of them found themselves in a very long, very dark corridor.