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fellowshippers2005-10-29 11:37 pm
saklani2.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2005-10-29 11:37 pm
NEW: Truth Is In the Depths (LOTRps:Viggo/Elijah) [NC-17]
Title: Truth is in the Depths
Author: Saklani (saklani@wildmail.com)
Codes: Viggo/Elijah, some Dom/Billy RPS
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own these men, or anything else I mention here. I am not looking to make money from this... God forbid. And I am NOT them nor is what I put down here real. Thank you.
Summary: A Halloween dare leads to a quest for the answer to a hundred-year old mystery.
Author's Notes: HAPPY HALLOWEEN! Its Halloween! I always try to write a Halloween ficcy! This one is going to get out of my hands and spin out beyond Halloween, but this part is very appropriate for the season! I hope you enjoy!
The house stood at the end of Tangled Vine Lane, its majestic witch’s hat and imposing size not dulled by the dilapidated state of its paint and wood. Visitors to the town of Cercla often wondered why nobody took up the owners on the forlorn for sale sign stuck in the remains of the lower rose gardens. After all, Mortensen mansion would make someone a lovely home with a bit of renovation.
Of course, whomever did purchase the two-hundred year old Victorian must deal with its reputation. For the residents of Cercla whispered amongst themselves about strange goings-on in the deserted house. Not the mischief of teenagers or the prowling or sinister persons, but the actions of someone long passed from corporeal existence.
On warm spring nights, a mellow tenor sometimes sang in Dutch and Spanish from the tangled gardens. Lights flickered behind the boarded windows, usually in the studio of the last owner. Worst of all, in the middle of summer, a man could often be heard sobbing and wailing from within the moldering walls. And inevitably, whenever someone showed interest in buying the property, they found upon inspection a heavy, unwelcoming atmosphere. Many of them complained about being watched by a menacing, unseen presence.
So, the mansion remained unsold and untouched, slowly disintegrating at the top of its hill.
**********
On a chilly Halloween night, a pair of teenagers strolled casually up narrow Tangled Vine Lane. Their breath billowed before them as they boldly approached the iron gate with the single letter M sculpted in the middle. They stopped a few feet away, both gazing up at the house.
“Don’t look so bad,” one said in a cheerful voice with a British accent. His hazel eyes sparkled excitedly in a slightly crooked face.
“That’s easy for you to say,” his blue-eyed companion said moodily. “You don’t have to spend the night inside.” He shifted uneasily, chewing on the nails of his right hand.
“That’s what you get for betting against Billy, Lij.”
“Fuck you, Dom. Its not like you’re any better.” A deep scowl marred his pretty mouth, as he watched his friend investigate the gate.
Dominic tugged on the chain and padlock wrapped around the iron rungs. “Damn. We’re going to have to find a way over the fence.”
A six foot wrought iron fence surrounded the entire property. Every two feet, a sharp point decorated the top of the fence. A complicated sculpture of vines weaved throughout the posts, lovely iron leaves branching off intermittently.
“There’s no fucking way,” Elijah griped. He shivered as a cold wind rustled the branches of nearby trees, shaking a few dead leaves to the ground.
Dominic just snickered and continued to follow the fence line up the hill.
The house loomed ever closer, the wood moaning in the steady wind. A random shutter banged against a wall over and over.
“Now all we need is a wolf howling in the distance or some bats flying around,” Dom said with intense satisfaction.
“Or maybe some stupid teenager who’s decided to spend the night in the haunted house,” Elijah grumbled. His insides, never keen on the idea, now began to tie themselves in elaborate knots. “This really isn’t a good idea.”
Dom stopped and turned back toward his friend, expression slightly impatient. “Look, you brought your discman and enough CDs to last a week. Not to mention enough junk food to kill a lesser man. Now, you lost a bet to Billy, and he dared you to spend the night here. The last thing you’re going to do is back out and prove you’re the little baby he thinks you are.”
Angry, Elijah kicked at a stone and then cursed at the pain in his toes. He continued up the house, however, now actively looking for a way to get into the property. Near the very top of the hill, right across from the house, he discovered a missing fence post. Without a word to Dom, he squeezed through, pulling his backpack behind him. “You can tell Billy that I’m not the fucking baby either of you think I am.”
“Hey, Lij,” Dom said placatingly, but his friend kept on walking until he disappeared around the side of the house.
**********
When he reached the front door, the anger driving Elijah forward inconveniently vanished. A rush of nervous fear replaced it, especially when the shutter banged close by. A little shriek escaped Elijah, as he jumped in response.
“Fuck, the the fucking hell am I doing here?” he muttered, breathing hard.
A series of boards blocked the front door, though glimpses of the carved wood could be seen between the cracks. Elijah tugged experimentally at each board, but the nails held them firmly in place. His only reward for yanking was a sliver deep under the remains of his left thumbnail.
“Fucking hell!” Elijah stuck his thumb in his mouth and sucked at the splinter. The little piece of wood came out, along with the coppery tang of blood.
The shutter banged again, accompanied by a blast of even colder wind. In the distance, the Church of the Holy Waters’ bell tower began to ring the midnight hour.
Elijah took a deep breath and tried to slow his pounding heart. He gave up the front door as hopeless and moved toward the large windows, searching for a loose or missing board. Long after the last bell faded into the windy night, he located a window with rotting boards. With a little force, he yanked two loose and navigated the broken glass to climb inside.
The rough remains of a carpet rubbed against his fingers and under his shoes, as he pushed himself up. He fumbled through his pack until he found a flashlight. The bright beam reassured him, sparking his curiosity.
His light first shone on a low table, beautifully carved and stained. A thick layer of duct covered the surface, but it remained otherwise untouched. In fact, every piece of furniture appeared to be flawless beneath the dust.
Elijah explored the room thoroughly until his light fell on a painting over a small sofa. He stopped in his tracks, enchanted by the simple elegance of the scene. A lovely waterfall fell over large boulders and into a pool below. The spray of the water spread a thin mist around the area. but did not obscure the red blossoms on a lily bush growing nearby. Willows grew thick on the banks, along with maples and alders.
“Its Cascade Falls,” Elijah whispered, remembering going fishing there with his father when he was very small. A lump lodged himself deep within his throat, and he jerked the light away from the picture. The small room felt suddenly claustrophobic, and he moved toward the door.
Hinges squeaked as he opened the door into the hall. Elijah stepped out of the room and shone his light in both directions. Floorboards creaked beneath his feet along his path to the living room.
A stone fireplace dominated the left wall, its etched stone still elegant under layers of filth. An ancient rocking chair rested near the fireplace, along with a pair of matching sofas. A stairway nearby led up to the second floor, though the stairs looked unreliable. Against the right corner, a piano rested, its top still propped up and music scattered on the floor. On the walls, paintings of ever size hung, each the work of the same talented artist.
As Elijah approached the sofa, thinking of cleaning one off to sit on for the night, the largest canvas caught his attention. The painting depicted a young man wearing old-fashioned and expensive looking clothes. Two bright blue eyes gazed out from a pale face framed by long black hair. His expression hinted at mischievous in the slight upturn of his mouth and glint in his eyes. Unthinkingly, Elijah continued approaching until he stood directly underneath, staring up at the familiar countenance.
“Its me,” he whispered softly. “Oh fuck, its me.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Elijah yelped and lost the flashlight, which went out as it hit the floor and rolled away. His hands struck the stone fireplace, as he caught himself. Whirling around, he searched the room for the source of the voice.
Nothing stirred in the darkness.
“Who’s there?” he demanded with a courage he did not feel.
A silence answered him until he heard his heart pounding in his ears.
“Fuck Dom and Billy, I’m getting out of here,” he muttered. Moving quickly in the dark, he got his foot tangle on the leg of a low table and went crashing to the floor. His right cheek smacked against the table, even as both palms skinned on the rough floor.
“Are you all right?”
A man knelt beside him, his appearance instantaneous, like the flick of a light switch. Indeed, the figure cast his own soft luminescence. A pair of fog-colored eyes surveyed his face with concern out of a rugged, but kindly, countenance. The first word that sprang to Elijah’s mind was handsome.
Unfortunately, the second word that entered his head was dead, especially when he noticed that not only did this person manage to appear at will and cast his own light, but he could see right through him.
Elijah shrieked again, despite the flare of pain in his cheek. He tried to scramble away on his damaged hands, but only succeeded in banging into the table again.
“Hush,” the ghost said, his voice gentle and soothing, it though it seemed to come from a long distance away. “I won’t hurt you.”
“Wh- who- who?” Elijah squeaked eyes nearly double in size.
“My name is Viggo. I was the last owner of this house... a very long time ago.” He smiled at Elijah, though sorrow seemed to pervade his very presence. “And whom might you be?”
“I- I- I- Elijah.” He swallowed hard, groaning slightly at the pain in his cheek.
“Well, Elijah, do you have anything to put on your cheek and hands?”
“I... bandaid in my backpack. Antiseptic ointment.” He continued to stare at Viggo, noting the long, light brown hair, the tanned skin below his throat where a collar button hung open and the dimple in his chin.
“I don’t know what those are, but if they will help you-” Viggo made a ‘get-on-with-it’ gesture with a just visible hand.
Shaking with fear and never taking his eyes off his host, Elijah slid off his backpack. He routed through the front pocket until he found his first aid kit. The act of opening the antiseptic creme and applying to his palms calmed his nerves. By the time he pressed a cold pack to his cheek, he felt more curious about the ghost than afraid.
“How clever,” Viggo said, looking at the kit with bright interest, One ghostly hand lifted a bandaid, so he might examine it closer.
“You can touch things!” Elijah exclaimed.
Viggo laughed softly, surprising his guest even more. “When I want to.”
“I thought ghosts just passed through things.” Elijah adjusted the cold pack as his jaw ached again.
The smile vanished, along with all the warmth in the room, and Viggo stood up again. “You should leave now.” He walked through the table and vanished into the other room.
“Wait!” Elijah cried, scrambling to his feet. he proceeded more carefully through the dark this time, hauling his backpack with him. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” His searching hand found the door Viggo passed through, pulling it open with a groan.
He took a step forward into the room and paused. “Are you here?” His voice, though soft and tentative, bounded across the room.
“Why did you follow me? You do not belong here.” The words emerged from thin air.
“I- I don’t mean to be intrude...” Elijah stammered, taking another step inside. “I’m just-”
“Curious.” Viggo reappeared in the middle of the room, next to a large, unfinished canvas. He glared now at Elijah, dropping the temperature of the room to near freezing.
Elijah wrapped his arms around himself. “Please, don’t be angry.”
The coldness dissipated, along with the dark look on Viggo’s face. “Its not really fair of you to look so much like him. I could never stay angry at him, either. Never deny him... maybe that’s why he left me... I was too easy... too needy...” His eyes turned away vaguely toward the the distance, and a wave of sorrow permeated the room.
Unable to speak through his sudden sadness, Elijah studied the room instead. A set of old easels leaned against the wall to his right. Paint brushes lay strewn on a handsome scroll top desk, along with several palates of dried paint. Dust covered everything in a thick layer, as did large cobwebs.
The half-finished picture near Viggo caught Elijah’s eye. He stepped forward to better see the half created forest, a sea of ancient redwoods stretching toward a cloudless sky. The technique closely resembled the hand who painted Cataract Falls.
“Did you paint all the pictures in this house?” Elijah asked, noting the small VM initials in the lower right corner.
“Yes.” Viggo turned his gaze sadly to the unfinished forest.
“They’re beautiful.” Elijah dared to walk nearer to the ghost, carefully avoiding a large spider and a fallen chair.
“I wish I had finished this one. Is difficult, seeing this sit here half-done for a hundred years.” Viggo swept his hands through the trees.
“What happened?” Elijah asked and then regretted it instantly, when the room plunged to below freezing again.
Viggo turned toward him, face pale and terrible. His eyes sank back into black sockets. His skin shriveled and pieces sloughed off in places. The muscles of his arms shivered out of control, while his body mass shrank until as emaciated as a skeleton. “I died,” he rasped in an inhuman tone, “what did you think happened?”
A thin scream escaped Elijah at the sight of the corpse in front of him. He scrambled backward, falling over the chair and into a massive spider web. Wailing again, he flailed to escape the sticky mess. He succeeded only in smashing his hand against the wall. Tears of fear and pain dripped from his eyes, and he hiccuped a sob.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Viggo said, appearing by his side in restored form. “Please don’t cry.” he batted away the remains of the spider web, along with the angry inhabitant.
“I didn’t mean any harm.” He tried to get his tears under control, but a few strays still dribbled down his cheeks.
Viggo sat down beside him. “I know. Some of the people whop come here do, but most are just curious, like you.”
Afraid to anger the ghost any further, Elijah sat in silence and tried to get under control. Eventually, the feeling of intense scrutiny from the Viggo caused him to look up. He caught and held Viggo’s eyes.
Elijah felt like he was falling through a whirlpool. he could see into and through the blue-gray orbs. The colors swirled and coalesced simultaneously. If time could be seen, this must be what it looked like- endless and powerful.
“Oh,” Elijah gasped when Viggo suddenly broke the contact.
“You do look very much like him. Perhaps you are a relation... the ancestor of of one of the children he left me to have.” Bitterness soaked his words and dripped like venom into the air.
“The man in the portrait over the fireplace?” Elijah asked in his softest voice.
“Yes.” Viggo stood abruptly and walked around the room, walking through several pieces of furniture in his path. “You don’t know how often I’ve thought of him in the hundred years I’ve been stuck here. Thousands of days and nights without the rest or sleep, thinking of what I lost and wondering... always wondering.” He stopped in front of Elijah and glared down at him. “And now, you break in here, looking like him, reminding me of him... making me long for him even more.” He stepped forward menacingly, hands outstretched.
Pushing himself up the wall, Elijah fumbled for the door. He got it part way open before strong hands clasped his shoulders and shoved him into the hard wood.
“Why are you here!? Why are you tormenting me!?”
“I’m sorry! I didn’t believe the house was really haunted! I lost a dare to stay the night here! I was just planning to curl up and listen to music until morning. Please, just let me go! I’ll leave now! I’ll never come back! Just don’t hurt me please! I didn’t mean any harm! Please!” he burst into terrified sobs, unable to stop shaking.
“Hurt you?” Viggo let go instantly and stepped back. “Oh God... I’m so sorry. So sorry, Jordan.” He blinked out of view, his words echoing after him.
TBC
Author: Saklani (saklani@wildmail.com)
Codes: Viggo/Elijah, some Dom/Billy RPS
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own these men, or anything else I mention here. I am not looking to make money from this... God forbid. And I am NOT them nor is what I put down here real. Thank you.
Summary: A Halloween dare leads to a quest for the answer to a hundred-year old mystery.
Author's Notes: HAPPY HALLOWEEN! Its Halloween! I always try to write a Halloween ficcy! This one is going to get out of my hands and spin out beyond Halloween, but this part is very appropriate for the season! I hope you enjoy!
The house stood at the end of Tangled Vine Lane, its majestic witch’s hat and imposing size not dulled by the dilapidated state of its paint and wood. Visitors to the town of Cercla often wondered why nobody took up the owners on the forlorn for sale sign stuck in the remains of the lower rose gardens. After all, Mortensen mansion would make someone a lovely home with a bit of renovation.
Of course, whomever did purchase the two-hundred year old Victorian must deal with its reputation. For the residents of Cercla whispered amongst themselves about strange goings-on in the deserted house. Not the mischief of teenagers or the prowling or sinister persons, but the actions of someone long passed from corporeal existence.
On warm spring nights, a mellow tenor sometimes sang in Dutch and Spanish from the tangled gardens. Lights flickered behind the boarded windows, usually in the studio of the last owner. Worst of all, in the middle of summer, a man could often be heard sobbing and wailing from within the moldering walls. And inevitably, whenever someone showed interest in buying the property, they found upon inspection a heavy, unwelcoming atmosphere. Many of them complained about being watched by a menacing, unseen presence.
So, the mansion remained unsold and untouched, slowly disintegrating at the top of its hill.
**********
On a chilly Halloween night, a pair of teenagers strolled casually up narrow Tangled Vine Lane. Their breath billowed before them as they boldly approached the iron gate with the single letter M sculpted in the middle. They stopped a few feet away, both gazing up at the house.
“Don’t look so bad,” one said in a cheerful voice with a British accent. His hazel eyes sparkled excitedly in a slightly crooked face.
“That’s easy for you to say,” his blue-eyed companion said moodily. “You don’t have to spend the night inside.” He shifted uneasily, chewing on the nails of his right hand.
“That’s what you get for betting against Billy, Lij.”
“Fuck you, Dom. Its not like you’re any better.” A deep scowl marred his pretty mouth, as he watched his friend investigate the gate.
Dominic tugged on the chain and padlock wrapped around the iron rungs. “Damn. We’re going to have to find a way over the fence.”
A six foot wrought iron fence surrounded the entire property. Every two feet, a sharp point decorated the top of the fence. A complicated sculpture of vines weaved throughout the posts, lovely iron leaves branching off intermittently.
“There’s no fucking way,” Elijah griped. He shivered as a cold wind rustled the branches of nearby trees, shaking a few dead leaves to the ground.
Dominic just snickered and continued to follow the fence line up the hill.
The house loomed ever closer, the wood moaning in the steady wind. A random shutter banged against a wall over and over.
“Now all we need is a wolf howling in the distance or some bats flying around,” Dom said with intense satisfaction.
“Or maybe some stupid teenager who’s decided to spend the night in the haunted house,” Elijah grumbled. His insides, never keen on the idea, now began to tie themselves in elaborate knots. “This really isn’t a good idea.”
Dom stopped and turned back toward his friend, expression slightly impatient. “Look, you brought your discman and enough CDs to last a week. Not to mention enough junk food to kill a lesser man. Now, you lost a bet to Billy, and he dared you to spend the night here. The last thing you’re going to do is back out and prove you’re the little baby he thinks you are.”
Angry, Elijah kicked at a stone and then cursed at the pain in his toes. He continued up the house, however, now actively looking for a way to get into the property. Near the very top of the hill, right across from the house, he discovered a missing fence post. Without a word to Dom, he squeezed through, pulling his backpack behind him. “You can tell Billy that I’m not the fucking baby either of you think I am.”
“Hey, Lij,” Dom said placatingly, but his friend kept on walking until he disappeared around the side of the house.
**********
When he reached the front door, the anger driving Elijah forward inconveniently vanished. A rush of nervous fear replaced it, especially when the shutter banged close by. A little shriek escaped Elijah, as he jumped in response.
“Fuck, the the fucking hell am I doing here?” he muttered, breathing hard.
A series of boards blocked the front door, though glimpses of the carved wood could be seen between the cracks. Elijah tugged experimentally at each board, but the nails held them firmly in place. His only reward for yanking was a sliver deep under the remains of his left thumbnail.
“Fucking hell!” Elijah stuck his thumb in his mouth and sucked at the splinter. The little piece of wood came out, along with the coppery tang of blood.
The shutter banged again, accompanied by a blast of even colder wind. In the distance, the Church of the Holy Waters’ bell tower began to ring the midnight hour.
Elijah took a deep breath and tried to slow his pounding heart. He gave up the front door as hopeless and moved toward the large windows, searching for a loose or missing board. Long after the last bell faded into the windy night, he located a window with rotting boards. With a little force, he yanked two loose and navigated the broken glass to climb inside.
The rough remains of a carpet rubbed against his fingers and under his shoes, as he pushed himself up. He fumbled through his pack until he found a flashlight. The bright beam reassured him, sparking his curiosity.
His light first shone on a low table, beautifully carved and stained. A thick layer of duct covered the surface, but it remained otherwise untouched. In fact, every piece of furniture appeared to be flawless beneath the dust.
Elijah explored the room thoroughly until his light fell on a painting over a small sofa. He stopped in his tracks, enchanted by the simple elegance of the scene. A lovely waterfall fell over large boulders and into a pool below. The spray of the water spread a thin mist around the area. but did not obscure the red blossoms on a lily bush growing nearby. Willows grew thick on the banks, along with maples and alders.
“Its Cascade Falls,” Elijah whispered, remembering going fishing there with his father when he was very small. A lump lodged himself deep within his throat, and he jerked the light away from the picture. The small room felt suddenly claustrophobic, and he moved toward the door.
Hinges squeaked as he opened the door into the hall. Elijah stepped out of the room and shone his light in both directions. Floorboards creaked beneath his feet along his path to the living room.
A stone fireplace dominated the left wall, its etched stone still elegant under layers of filth. An ancient rocking chair rested near the fireplace, along with a pair of matching sofas. A stairway nearby led up to the second floor, though the stairs looked unreliable. Against the right corner, a piano rested, its top still propped up and music scattered on the floor. On the walls, paintings of ever size hung, each the work of the same talented artist.
As Elijah approached the sofa, thinking of cleaning one off to sit on for the night, the largest canvas caught his attention. The painting depicted a young man wearing old-fashioned and expensive looking clothes. Two bright blue eyes gazed out from a pale face framed by long black hair. His expression hinted at mischievous in the slight upturn of his mouth and glint in his eyes. Unthinkingly, Elijah continued approaching until he stood directly underneath, staring up at the familiar countenance.
“Its me,” he whispered softly. “Oh fuck, its me.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Elijah yelped and lost the flashlight, which went out as it hit the floor and rolled away. His hands struck the stone fireplace, as he caught himself. Whirling around, he searched the room for the source of the voice.
Nothing stirred in the darkness.
“Who’s there?” he demanded with a courage he did not feel.
A silence answered him until he heard his heart pounding in his ears.
“Fuck Dom and Billy, I’m getting out of here,” he muttered. Moving quickly in the dark, he got his foot tangle on the leg of a low table and went crashing to the floor. His right cheek smacked against the table, even as both palms skinned on the rough floor.
“Are you all right?”
A man knelt beside him, his appearance instantaneous, like the flick of a light switch. Indeed, the figure cast his own soft luminescence. A pair of fog-colored eyes surveyed his face with concern out of a rugged, but kindly, countenance. The first word that sprang to Elijah’s mind was handsome.
Unfortunately, the second word that entered his head was dead, especially when he noticed that not only did this person manage to appear at will and cast his own light, but he could see right through him.
Elijah shrieked again, despite the flare of pain in his cheek. He tried to scramble away on his damaged hands, but only succeeded in banging into the table again.
“Hush,” the ghost said, his voice gentle and soothing, it though it seemed to come from a long distance away. “I won’t hurt you.”
“Wh- who- who?” Elijah squeaked eyes nearly double in size.
“My name is Viggo. I was the last owner of this house... a very long time ago.” He smiled at Elijah, though sorrow seemed to pervade his very presence. “And whom might you be?”
“I- I- I- Elijah.” He swallowed hard, groaning slightly at the pain in his cheek.
“Well, Elijah, do you have anything to put on your cheek and hands?”
“I... bandaid in my backpack. Antiseptic ointment.” He continued to stare at Viggo, noting the long, light brown hair, the tanned skin below his throat where a collar button hung open and the dimple in his chin.
“I don’t know what those are, but if they will help you-” Viggo made a ‘get-on-with-it’ gesture with a just visible hand.
Shaking with fear and never taking his eyes off his host, Elijah slid off his backpack. He routed through the front pocket until he found his first aid kit. The act of opening the antiseptic creme and applying to his palms calmed his nerves. By the time he pressed a cold pack to his cheek, he felt more curious about the ghost than afraid.
“How clever,” Viggo said, looking at the kit with bright interest, One ghostly hand lifted a bandaid, so he might examine it closer.
“You can touch things!” Elijah exclaimed.
Viggo laughed softly, surprising his guest even more. “When I want to.”
“I thought ghosts just passed through things.” Elijah adjusted the cold pack as his jaw ached again.
The smile vanished, along with all the warmth in the room, and Viggo stood up again. “You should leave now.” He walked through the table and vanished into the other room.
“Wait!” Elijah cried, scrambling to his feet. he proceeded more carefully through the dark this time, hauling his backpack with him. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” His searching hand found the door Viggo passed through, pulling it open with a groan.
He took a step forward into the room and paused. “Are you here?” His voice, though soft and tentative, bounded across the room.
“Why did you follow me? You do not belong here.” The words emerged from thin air.
“I- I don’t mean to be intrude...” Elijah stammered, taking another step inside. “I’m just-”
“Curious.” Viggo reappeared in the middle of the room, next to a large, unfinished canvas. He glared now at Elijah, dropping the temperature of the room to near freezing.
Elijah wrapped his arms around himself. “Please, don’t be angry.”
The coldness dissipated, along with the dark look on Viggo’s face. “Its not really fair of you to look so much like him. I could never stay angry at him, either. Never deny him... maybe that’s why he left me... I was too easy... too needy...” His eyes turned away vaguely toward the the distance, and a wave of sorrow permeated the room.
Unable to speak through his sudden sadness, Elijah studied the room instead. A set of old easels leaned against the wall to his right. Paint brushes lay strewn on a handsome scroll top desk, along with several palates of dried paint. Dust covered everything in a thick layer, as did large cobwebs.
The half-finished picture near Viggo caught Elijah’s eye. He stepped forward to better see the half created forest, a sea of ancient redwoods stretching toward a cloudless sky. The technique closely resembled the hand who painted Cataract Falls.
“Did you paint all the pictures in this house?” Elijah asked, noting the small VM initials in the lower right corner.
“Yes.” Viggo turned his gaze sadly to the unfinished forest.
“They’re beautiful.” Elijah dared to walk nearer to the ghost, carefully avoiding a large spider and a fallen chair.
“I wish I had finished this one. Is difficult, seeing this sit here half-done for a hundred years.” Viggo swept his hands through the trees.
“What happened?” Elijah asked and then regretted it instantly, when the room plunged to below freezing again.
Viggo turned toward him, face pale and terrible. His eyes sank back into black sockets. His skin shriveled and pieces sloughed off in places. The muscles of his arms shivered out of control, while his body mass shrank until as emaciated as a skeleton. “I died,” he rasped in an inhuman tone, “what did you think happened?”
A thin scream escaped Elijah at the sight of the corpse in front of him. He scrambled backward, falling over the chair and into a massive spider web. Wailing again, he flailed to escape the sticky mess. He succeeded only in smashing his hand against the wall. Tears of fear and pain dripped from his eyes, and he hiccuped a sob.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Viggo said, appearing by his side in restored form. “Please don’t cry.” he batted away the remains of the spider web, along with the angry inhabitant.
“I didn’t mean any harm.” He tried to get his tears under control, but a few strays still dribbled down his cheeks.
Viggo sat down beside him. “I know. Some of the people whop come here do, but most are just curious, like you.”
Afraid to anger the ghost any further, Elijah sat in silence and tried to get under control. Eventually, the feeling of intense scrutiny from the Viggo caused him to look up. He caught and held Viggo’s eyes.
Elijah felt like he was falling through a whirlpool. he could see into and through the blue-gray orbs. The colors swirled and coalesced simultaneously. If time could be seen, this must be what it looked like- endless and powerful.
“Oh,” Elijah gasped when Viggo suddenly broke the contact.
“You do look very much like him. Perhaps you are a relation... the ancestor of of one of the children he left me to have.” Bitterness soaked his words and dripped like venom into the air.
“The man in the portrait over the fireplace?” Elijah asked in his softest voice.
“Yes.” Viggo stood abruptly and walked around the room, walking through several pieces of furniture in his path. “You don’t know how often I’ve thought of him in the hundred years I’ve been stuck here. Thousands of days and nights without the rest or sleep, thinking of what I lost and wondering... always wondering.” He stopped in front of Elijah and glared down at him. “And now, you break in here, looking like him, reminding me of him... making me long for him even more.” He stepped forward menacingly, hands outstretched.
Pushing himself up the wall, Elijah fumbled for the door. He got it part way open before strong hands clasped his shoulders and shoved him into the hard wood.
“Why are you here!? Why are you tormenting me!?”
“I’m sorry! I didn’t believe the house was really haunted! I lost a dare to stay the night here! I was just planning to curl up and listen to music until morning. Please, just let me go! I’ll leave now! I’ll never come back! Just don’t hurt me please! I didn’t mean any harm! Please!” he burst into terrified sobs, unable to stop shaking.
“Hurt you?” Viggo let go instantly and stepped back. “Oh God... I’m so sorry. So sorry, Jordan.” He blinked out of view, his words echoing after him.
TBC
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Thanks for the FB! Yes, there is more to this story... a lot of more. Per usual with me!
Saklani
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HEE HEE HEE
There will be more, hopefully in not too long!
Thanks for the FB!
Saklani
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Sorry whenever I see or read horror stories Eddie Murphy's routine runs through my head.
This is excellent. This Viggo is just creepy enough to keep you guessing about his ghostly intentions.
Thanks,,,, more please,,
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Yes, Elijah is being a silly little white boy. And Viggo is a bit creepy, though also sad. I guess being dead makes you a bit touchy. I shall post more soon, hopefully!
Saklani
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Anotehr first time FBer for me. *hugs you* Thank you!
I love V/E... the dynamic between them fascinates me. Of course, having one of them be a ghost is a rather drastic change, but I think it will onyl make it more interesting!
Thank you for your FB! I hope to post more soon!
Saklani