Plunge into the surreal twilight world of Ginger's derelict WitherWorm Villa. Will unthinkable happenings in a crumbling house, an abandoned village, disorienting encounters with mythological beings, and a stunning discovery add up to earning an angel crown for the impressionable youngster? …mwahaha!

This is the story that started it all: When Ginger of Witherworm Villa on Brambleberry Lane needs a writing retreat, she leaves her parents' villa during school break and visits a derelict villa with the same name ~ but quickly discovers she is not alone in the house on the hill. Ages 8 ~ Adult

 Carolyn J. Tody

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

GHASTLY DEUX

 

 

 

Part One ~ Photo Finish for the Ghouls

“Return to us, Gin… ger!”

These words come from nowhere. Am I only imagining them? Even at twilight, with darkness descending and the path barely illuminated, I am aware of a need to keep walking. This is my last chance.

It is already too late to continue my journey by the time my thoughts turn to the rising moon. I sigh, turn back, and pick my way through rocks and ruts to retrace my steps. Bare treetops brush the sky with an eerie glow of distant candlelight. My pace quickens. Jagged bands of moonlight fall across my path, cascading the patchwork field into plunging patterns of darkness.

Frightened by what lies hidden in those shadows, I sprint across a yard blanketed with long-dead leaves and onto a deserted path. Overgrown vines strangle the ground here. Suddenly I twist to avoid stumbling over badly rotting pumpkins. Then I fall. Swollen weed pods poke through my thin nightgown.

“Ghastly old vines!” I curse, brushing debris from a badly scratched knee.

The front steps of a ramshackle house loom before me, and I race upward without noticing their precarious sag into the hillside.  Risking a backward glance, I observe Witherworm Village sprawled far below. Buses line the sidewalks. Everyone is leaving town for a weekend at the riverfront. Even as I watch, the last person boards. That bus departs. One last streetlight flickers, plunging the creepy hillside into mortal blackness. I am alone.

Terrified, gasping for breath and half mad, I fling myself into a spider web spun across a gaping door hanging from a single hinge.

From this vantage point I can see the moon. A shadow crosses its face. First one silhouette moves against this satellite of Earth, then another. I shiver in my slippers, knowing evil watches me from its hiding place. Where can I shelter? What choices do I have? Surely, I will find no safety in the deserted village. I sweep aside the broken door to the derelict mansion and enter.

After propping the broken door shut and erecting a barricade, I run upstairs. Chilly air follows me. For the next hour I maintain my vigil near a cracked bedroom window. Its rusty hardware rattles, but I am so tired that I finally fall asleep despite the noise.

***

It is close to midnight when I awake. Raising the window carefully so I don’t lose the cracked glass, a strange scene confronts my gaze. Sleep-tousled hair falls in my face. I figure this is the least disturbing of my problems right now.

Moonlight shining much higher in the sky reveals a beastly sight! In the village below, Witherworm Mall is really hopping. I mean, ghastly ghouls are walking abroad masquerading. Night creatures are crawling out from every tomb in the cemetery next door.

Reaching for a dusty blanket I shiver inside it, still looking out the window and wondering what to do next. My keen senses tell me something evil is near. Then a cold hand with jagged, dirty fingernails grasps my own and pulls me toward the windowsill. I resist, hoping this is merely my imagination playing another trick. But no, my hand is turning numb from struggling. The dirty fingers keep yanking at me. They are pulling me outside the second floor window. I want to cry for help, but my mouth freezes.

“Out of time!” my mind screams. Is the end near? Are demons closing in to seal my doom? My sanity is in jeopardy. I’m paralyzed with terror but unable to call out. I am going over the edge…”

A sudden realization helps me recover my senses. Unlike whoever is out there, I am mortal. Madly, I fight to stay alive. Then in a moment of epiphany I notice that the dirty, bloody hand does not look real. Then what is my attacker? Is it a cold-blooded soul, a fiery fiend, or the shell of some enigmatic corpse? Aha, oho! I decide it is a lesser evil. This is a masked phantom in disguise.

Inspiration flashes through my mind like ancient light bulbs popping on a vintage camera. I rip the front of my nightshirt and secure it to the window handle with my free hand, flaunting my rosy navel like some kind of third eye with which I hope to distract the monster. Then I yank my captured hand away, slam the casement down with all my strength. Glass shards fly everywhere. Bloody fluids from that sinister smashed hand should be gushing down the wall by now. But I am too afraid to look.

Instead, I run to the closet and turn the lock, cringing into a little ball. With any luck at all, the ghastly villa will not lean too far away from the top of the hill and collapse with me still inside. A knothole in the door allows me to look outside. Nothing is visible out there.  Suddenly the closet feels like a safer place than the bedroom for catching a few winks.

Falling half in and out of a troublesome nap on a hard closet floor is good for something. It reveals formerly well-kept secrets of mine, like how impulsive and spoiled I am. This comes from being a very impatient creature. And when I make up my mind about something, that’s it. I am impulsive, impatient, bull headed and spoiled. There’s never a need to make any fuss, because things almost always go my way. I get what I want. Until now, that is. Who’d ever guess, right? I came to this ghost-infested old dwelling to spend my school break writing. True, I no longer want to stay here. But I will, during the daylight.  Last evening I gave up trying to convince myself to handle the dark, and my attempted escape to Brambleberry Lane led me right back here again.

Problem is, this old Villa is free. Poppa’s uncle Dan bequeathed it to his brother when he died last year. A short time afterward, uncle Dan’s brother also died here. That alone should be enough to scare me off. People thought I was grieving when I let out this funny little wail at the reading of the will leaving the villa to me. No, I was flipping out. Because I know trouble lay ahead in a strange little village named ‘Witherworm.’ On the other hand, the decrepit old mansion is just what I need to devote full time to my creativity after classes, so I'm staying in the villa during school vacation. All I have to do is write…fast… with an open mind.

Or so I think.

My throat tightens and I wake. Soon, I can barely breathe. It is time to come out of the closet and investigate what carnage decorates my windowsill. Surely the bloody, blighted hand still lies there. In fact, there is an old Polaroid camera in the closet. This will document whatever I find to show our housekeeper. Will I ever return home?

Brandishing the camera like a shield against any evil lurking outside, I snap a picture. It develops right in front of my eyes. Someone in the photo background resembles Raven, uncle Dan’s ghastly groundskeeper. He is gleefully waving goodbye to me wearing a glove with dirty fingertips.

Behind him the mall is also visible. My eyes open wide in surprise. Storekeepers are offering midnight treats to masked children haunting their shops. But how can this be, when Witherworm Village emptied for the weekend a few hours earlier?

I am absolutely positive this is not the same picture I took!

Part Deux ~ If You Can’t Lick ‘Em…

My new camera has to have evil powers. I am convinced it takes pictures on its own regardless of what is there, and I don’t appreciate it a single bit. I toss it back in the closet. Turn the knob. Walk away. Smile.

Then I peek outside. Even though I am frightened I am also full of questions, because I’ve never stayed up this late before. Where do ghouls go when they rise from the graveyard at midnight? What does one do about a grisly hand caught in a window jam oozing monster blood down the outside of a house?

 “Eeeuwww!” What about pumpkin guts strewn across the yard? There are so many I can bake a pie if I only know how.

No answers are coming to me, so I catch a few more winks inside the closet. At night it is the warmest place in Witherworm Villa because there were no windows.

Something wakes me. I leap from my blanket and listen at the door. There it is again, a noise downstairs. I mean, WAY down in the cellar. If you're ever alone in the house and hear a noise downstairs, DON'T investigate!! Save it for your horror script. Or call the police.

It is around 3am when the first noise wakes me. I jump back under the dusty duvet and wait for my fate. Safely under wraps, I wrack my brain for possible safety maneuvers. Halloween is near. Will a demon devour me with its fiery dragon breath, or is this just a bunch of pesky fox squirrels? My crash helmet isn’t handy, but anyway it is rabid animals that make the most sense to me.

If it is an intruder, I'll be half tempted to point the slime toward a few things..."Take this broken door so I can replace it." Or, “Take the instamatic, I want a new digital that takes the photograph I want, not a camera with a mind of its own.” But they'll probably leave after realizing there's nothing valuable for them to take. Or if they don't I’ll sneak outside, puncture their getaway tires, and call police.

Police? There are no police left in Witherworm Village. I am on my own with nothing but the villa between myself and creatures of the night.

Now, if I have my wits about me, I will stay out of sight. Instead, I fly downstairs with a flashlight poised for defense. My nerves betray me in mid-flight when I realize there is an eerie glow lighting the lower reaches of the stairway. Green mist bearing the suspicious smell of moldy Gouda leaks out from under the pantry door and snakes its way upward.

When I hear the first yowl, my quaking legs betray me. I collapse, paralyzed with fright but afraid to call out. Then the stairs begin to quake. So I crawl back upstairs hand over fist, shoot out the basement door, and take up residence under the kitchen cupboard.

Later, much later when it is quiet again, I creep out with my shirt soaking from the leaky faucet and try the cellar door. No use. It is fastened tight and the mist is still rising.

After checking all window locks, I retrieve the camera and walk to the outer wall of the living room, where a narrow slot allows me to see the yard without being observed myself.

A cloud must be obscuring the moon, because it is now blacker outside than the darkest night. I must squint to see. The mist rising from the cellar doesn’t help, either.

Flashes of silver shine through the trees at the base of the hill. Gradually, they grow brighter and closer. Crunching sounds explode up the path toward the house.

Soon the long wooden fence surrounding my place is ablaze with silver light. A sign appears that I don’t remember from my earlier explorations: “Danger! Leave now ~ this means YOU!”

I jump back from the window fighting my sudden powerful urge to run away, to exit through the back and never return. My suitcases are in the coat closet, so I don’t just want to take off. Besides, if I run, Witherworm Villa will haunt me forever. The ramshackle old building might even fall down around me as I escape. Despite goosebumps and a dry mouth, I gulp back my fear. This night is one I will see through.

Footsteps thunder closer. I toss a dark lampshade over my head and poke out two holes.

Emerging from the darkness is a monster covered in silver fur, snapping its white jaws like a timber wolf. Its arms and legs flail madly. I think it resembles an Alaskan king crab with a bloated belly hiding in a thick Tortoise shell. Whatever. There is no time to think. I see no way to defend myself against such a sheer demonic force. Soon, the frail door bulges under its weight. At any second it is going to pop off its single hinge, exposing my hiding place and allowing other night inhabitants to enter my sanctuary. So I do the only thing I can... I open the door and let the creature inside. Then I hit it with my secret weapon: my camera flash

The wolf crab creature rebounds in dazzling light and falls backward in the tall grass, where he glares at me as if in a daze. He probably wonders how such a bright light can come from a black lampshade.

After I relock the ramshackle door, I pile every piece of wood I can find against it for the little extra insurance it provides. Terrible crashing noises erupt outside. I peek cautiously out the window-slit. More creatures pour from the sides of the hill to converge just below my window. My stars, but I am happy to be inside out of the way! Whatever is happening, I don’t want to be any part of it. It is so dark there is no way to tell what dank, dark creatures are out there. So I take another picture without using the flash. Placing it in my pocket for safekeeping, I leave to search for the fallen flashlight.

The light is still eluding me when the clatter outside finally ceases. By then, luminescent green mist from the basement doorway is filling the room with so much light I no longer need my light. I use the lampshade to shield my eyes against its glow and venture another peek outside.

Uh oh! There will be no pies tomorrow after all! Jack-o’-lanterns line the fence as neatly as you please. I wonder if those are different pumpkins, or if someone has been reassembling smashed bodies the way our nursery friend Humpty Dumpty expects the King’s Men to make repairs.

Imagine my surprise when a gaggle of vines arrives driving an old garden tractor and carts off the remaining debris! The whole scene is too surreal for my primitive brain. I slump to the floor and sit there for a moment trying to wrap my mind around the idea of hosting monsters every night. Mwahaha! Maybe I’ll go crazy before then. It astounds me to remember that I am an aspiring writer! And here, staring me right in the face, is the best story I am likely to find in a very long time.

Taking the darkened stairs three at a time, I sail up through the gathering mist to the huge linen closet I’m fashioning into a fairly decent study. In the luminous glow that fills the closet, I document those midnight happenings until I create the first story I've authored since my arrival. My lit teacher will love me this year!

By now, the world is silent again and I am getting sleepy. Using colored pencils I find on my improvised desk, I draw a sign in vivid shades of the rainbow. Before it is finished I fall exhausted into the dusty duvet once more and lay snoring on the closet floor.

Next morning, I take my sign downstairs and prop it against the toaster while I make breakfast. It doesn’t take long to locate the photographs I’ve taken. I prop them against a cup and read old pamphlets. According to these brochures, the derelict mansion once housed a powerful land baron. He built Witherworm Village to accommodate staff members and workers at his automotive factory until he died. Then the company folded and the house was deserted for ages until my uncle took charge.

Until now, I believe all ghost stories to be untrue. But if last night portrays the real nightlife in this vicinity, it changes everything about the way I perceive ghouls and creatures of the night. I am not anxious to spend another night in the house. But daylight is also empowering. New stories are waiting to be told. I am beginning to enjoy certain parts of my little adventure.

So after breakfast, I hang my sign outside and step back to admire my handiwork. The old house remains dark and uninviting even in the daylight, but it also looks different somehow. Curtains flutter in the upper windows, shutters dangle precariously, and the yard holds no sign of invasion from the previous night.

Don’t get me wrong…I am still scared stiff. But since I can’t leave until the creatures are ready to let me go, there isn't much I can do about the situation. At least I know where to hide in a closet. And they don’t hurt me. In fact, they seem to be asking for help. I am also beginning to wonder if Uncle Dan found a way to declare the house off limits to monsters.

I saunter across the porch and look at the ground under my window-slit lookout. Fresh footprints dent the soil here and there in too many places to ignore. Several scratches also mar the wooden siding. Last night, when I was gazing curiously out the window at them, they were peeking in at me. Is that creepy? You bet. This is simply amazing. A certain level of intelligence is required to look in without being caught. There must be some pretty audacious spirits watching over me.

At lunchtime, I gather every pumpkin shards I could find. Many have fallen under leaves. With flour, butter and a little luck, I can still make a tasty little tart. Then my heart skips a beat. I hear a mewling sound. Inside a hollow pumpkin I find a tiny creature half buried by leaves and scoop out a wolf pup no larger than my palm! No claws exist on the tiny paws it reaches out to me. Cuddling the newborn, I feel along its backbone until I find the beginnings of a thin shell.

So that is what happened last night! The wolf was not attacking me. She was seeking sanctuary to birth her litter. She placed blind trust in me, a female of a different species. Am I really such a meanie? Why did I scare her away? Raising a pup alone is going to be a huge responsibility. But then again, so is becoming a ghostwriter. I think I am growing up somewhat because I’m deciding to embrace both roles.

When the pup is warm and I stash him safely inside one of my worn out tennis shoes, I ventilate the villa to drain away the last of the mist. Then I let him sleep while I hunt for rubber gloves and canned milk.

Upon reaching the kitchen, I spot the forgotten photos propped against my teacup. What was it I photographed last night? Oh, yes... one very surprised wolf and a yard littered with pumpkins. Excitedly, I examine the pictures. Now what is this I se? These can’t possibly be the same photos from last night. If so, why are the pup and I walking together through a maze of tangled pumpkin vines? Why, I implore you... why?

I know. That camera has evil powers!

Later in the afternoon, I hear a chopper drop my biweekly supply rations into the back yard. At least I will have enough food to stay until school resumes.

Flicking dust from the new sign, I brush a coat of lacquer across the board so it will dry before nightfall. Twelve colorful words are highlighted in wet varnish: “Ginger Daphne Hayes, Demon Photographer. If you can’t lick ‘em, join ‘em!”

Find more from Carolyn J. Tody at https://www.facebook.com/Carolyn.Tody.Author

 

 

Impressum

Texte: Reproduction rights reserved beyond passages used for publicity. Copyright © CactusFiction
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 03.11.2011

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Widmung:
To the kiddos who invited me to enjoy their Halloween celebration.