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fellowshippers2005-11-18 01:28 am
pecos.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2005-11-18 01:28 am
How Fragile We Are - Part two
Thank you for your patience, my sisters and friends! My incredible and magnificent editor Gloria Mundi has now had a chance to put the shine on my tarnished musing, so I offer you the second part of the Caribbean Haunting Tale, which was started on Halloween. I anticipate one more part, which is in process right now, so please continue to bear with us!
If you read the previous temporary posting of part two on my journal please note there are about ten new pages here, at the end, so don't miss anything!
title: How Fragile We Are – Part Two
author: Pecos – PecosPhil@sprintmail.com
website: http://www.chimerafic.com
beta reader: Gloria Mundi
what is it?: RPS, speculative fiction
rating: NC-17 – angst, adult language, gay men,
violence, supernatural and horror elements
disclaimer: I don’t make the toys; I’m only
playing with them. No money made, nor
disrespect intended. This is FICTION
who’s in it?: Sean Bean, Orlando Bloom,
Billy Boyd, Dominic Monaghan, Viggo
Mortensen and Elijah Wood, mostly...
summary: Present day
Orlando plans a reunion for his friends
at a peculiar plantation in the Caribbean
feedback: yes, please! Even if just to say hello...
inspiration: “...perhaps this final act was meant,
to clench a lifetime’s argument, that
nothing comes from violence, and nothing
ever could. For all us born beneath an
angry star, lest we forget...” (Sting)
part one: http://www.livejournal.com/users/pecos/71435.html#cutid1
How Fragile We Are
A Caribbean Haunting Tale
by Pecos
Continued from Part One:
Orlando Bloom lay utterly still in the center of the big bed, staring past the ceiling, his mind going in a dozen directions at once. He felt very much alone. He missed Kate, he missed Sidi. He missed having something familiar around, even though he’d unpacked the usual crap he seemed to lug everywhere. No matter how much familiar junk he littered his life with, he always felt like a tourist in his own room, even in his own skin. He had no idea who Orlando Bloom even was anymore, and he was starting to suspect that he didn’t really like the guy anyhow.
That guy led such a shallow, wasted life, full of people he didn’t know. And they all wanted things from him, things that he didn’t think he should be sharing. How could you keep handing out bits of yourself and still expect there to be anything left when you were finally alone, in the dark, with the sound of the ocean and the night and the pressing silence of a house that was way, way too big and too empty? Even with his friends around him, he was alone.
“I am disappearing,” Orlando said softly. “I am fading away. Pretty soon there will be no one left at all.” No one answered his quiet plea for help.
But that didn’t mean that no one was listening.
The morning dawned bright and beautiful, just like it always should in the sunny Caribbean. They probably had a law about that somewhere, Elijah mused, rolling over to find that someone’s torn and tatty underwear had ended up draped over the bedside lamp in what had to be the ugliest new trend in interior design ever. And speaking of ugly…Dom was snoring like an asthmatic bulldog. Elijah jabbed him with an elbow as he squirmed out from beneath the covers.
“You determined to get yourself strangled?” Dom asked grumpily.
Elijah yanked the heavy curtains open and stood to admire the view. “It’s morning. See that thing in the sky? It’s called the sun. Get up!”
“’M on vacation, you fucking prat.” The Brit burrowed under his pillow, disappearing.
“Yeah, really? And here I figured you’d run away from the circus. Look at that horizon! You almost expect to see pirate ships sailing out there.”
Dom was having trouble getting comfortable again, and flopped around in the bed with dramatic gasps and sighs. Elijah’s foot crunched something on the floor as he started to turn around, and he bent to examine it. The tiny object turned out to be another bird bone, though how one could have gotten into their room through a closed window was a mystery. Must have been there yesterday, and they just hadn’t noticed it. What was the deal with dead birds around here?
“Bloody hell, now I’m wide awake,” Dom moaned, throwing back the covers. “It’s all bright in here. Why is it bright in here?”
“Blame the earth’s rotation, Copernicus.” Elijah set the little white bone on the windowsill and went to rummage through his open suitcase. He found his swim shorts and eased them up over the bruises on his hips. “Hey, thanks for going easy on me last night, you jerk. You’re lucky my mom isn’t around to see how you abuse me.”
“You’re the lucky one,” Dom said, stretching and scratching and doing everything he possibly could to look like a caveman. “Beach today, right?”
“Right! Get your disgusting underwear off the lamp, will ya? I don’t think the maid will want to touch them.”
“These aren’t mine,” Dom said flatly, flicking the offending garment onto the bed and smothering them with Elijah’s pillow. “And Orlando said that there won’t be a maid. We have to pick up after ourselves.”
“What kind of cheap joint is this?”
“A cheap joint that’s costing somebody an assload of money.”
“And that same somebody better be planning on going swimming with us today!”
“Let go find the others. Maybe we can have the pleasure of waking them up if the sun hasn’t found that side of the house yet.”
“After you, professor.”
Sean nudged open the door of Viggo’s room and carried in two steaming mugs of coffee, finding the occupant still in bed, arms tucked behind his head, staring upward with a puzzled expression on his face. “I braved the evil kitchen appliances,” Bean bragged. “At least enough to brew a pot. If there’s a cappuccino machine in there somebody else will have to tackle it.”
“Billy knows how to make cappuccino,” Viggo said dreamily, yawning. He sat up fully and took a cup as Sean eased down on the edge of the mattress.
“Sleep alright, my King?” Sean asked.
“Like a lamb, assuming that lambs sleep well. The sound of the ocean always lulls me. Say, Seanie, what do you make of that?”
“What?” He looked up from his cup to find Viggo staring upward again. Sean’s eyes followed and he discovered that the ceiling over Viggo’s bed was covered with writing of some sort – strange symbols and words and odd markings in a language that he didn’t recognize. It was smudged in places, and look like it had been done in charcoal. “Well, now, that’s different. Creepy graffiti. I don’t suppose you did it?”
“Not likely. Fourteen foot high ceiling.” Viggo took a sip and hummed his pleased appreciation of the morning brew. “Wasn’t there last night, at least not that I noticed.”
“I’d think you might notice something like that, yeah,” Sean said, nodding. “Any idea what it means?”
“None whatsoever. Nice placement though. Very artistic. Some of those words look kinda African. I like the stars there on the left, if those are stars.”
Sean took another sip and sighed. “Does this mean that now we run like hell away from this place? I mean, just some scribbles doesn’t seem all that ominous. It’s not like there’s a horse’s head in the bed. Besides, Orlando would lose his deposit.”
“Naw, I don’t think we have to flee. I’m rather enjoying it. If this is all a hoax someone is going to a lot of trouble. And if it’s not, hey, how often do you get to stay in a haunted house?”
Sean nodded. “I’ll follow your lead, my King, once again, and not so reluctantly. After all, you weren’t really hurt yesterday. It’s all a lot less scary in the light of morning.”
“We’ll see what happens today. At least the coffee’s good.”
“Aye, there is that.”
Dom and Elijah found Billy standing in the door of his bedroom, glaring up the hallway defiantly. “Completely fucking haunted, it is,” Billy said angrily.
“Not you too,” Dom said, shaking his head.
“I’m a Scott. I know from haunted. Fekkin’ ghosts! Could’a been a nice holiday, too. Bloody Orlando.”
Elijah laughed out loud and hugged Billy’s stiff form. “Come on, let’s see if the Elf is up.” He walked a couple of doors down and let himself into Orlando’s room, Billy and Dom following close behind – a little too close in Billy’s case. “Wakey wakey, Orli-poo!” he called cheerfully.
Three enormous, shaggy heads lifted at once from the mounded bed. The wolfhounds were lying at the foot of the bed and on either side of its presumed rightful occupant. The giant dogs stared at the intruders balefully, eyes narrowing, but not making a sound.
“Jesus and Mary...the hell hounds,” Dom whispered.
“Is it morning already?” Orlando asked groggily, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He casually reached out to scratch the nearest wolfhound behind the ears. The dog’s dark eyes sparkled with pleasure. “Good morning, boys, and Hobbits.”
“You’re...you’re surrounded,” Billy sputtered. “Are you...alright? Did they hurt you?”
At that the three gigantic dogs all rose and jumped off the bed, moving en masse and more quietly than seemed realistic. They streamed past the three men standing at the door and headed up the hallway. Dominic stared at Orlando for a moment, and then turned to look up the hall at the departing dogs. They were nowhere to be seen, even though the hall was long and no other doors were open.
“You slept with the hell hounds?” Elijah asked.
“Sure. Didn’t one of you let them in here? I was asleep when they jumped on the bed. Gave me a bit of a start at first, thinking that Sidi had put on weight, but they’re lovely blokes. Very sweet and gentle, those big breeds. Great with children.”
The Hobbits were rendered collectively speechless. Orlando crawled to the edge of the bed and stood up to stretch, resplendent in a pair of baggy plaid boxers, his body marked with creases from the sheets. “Is it swimming today, or riding? I think I might have booked horses from a guy in town.” He started looking for his clothes amongst the rampant clutter he’d created the night before. “You guys remember that there’s no maid service, right? I guess they have a hard time finding anyone to come out here on a regular basis.” He didn’t seem to find that ominous at all.
“Mental,” Billy murmured.
“Totally,” Elijah agreed.
“Swimming first,” Dom announced in a mock cheerful voice. “I smell coffee. The filthy men must be up.”
Sean and Viggo drove into town to see about the horses that Orlando seemed to have reserved, and to enquire about deep-sea fishing possibilities as well. They were well into the male-bonding part of the vacation. The Hobbits collectively expressed no interest in doing anything as strenuous as riding, and determined to search the shore for a nice bit of beach and then lie around like dead things washed up in a storm. Orlando waffled for while about what he wanted to do, and then loaded up a hamper with essential consumable provisions and went with the younger set.
The beach below the cliff top where the house perched was rocky and almost impossible to reach, but just around the head was a small cove with a bit of sand and some nice mature palm trees. The four Rings actors tried the water and declared it suitable, and then tucked into the drinks and snacks and fanned out for choice spots on the sand. Elijah stuck to the shade, due to his fair skin, and Orlando stretched out just above the high tide mark, not bothering with tanning lotion and bragging that he had soaked up more Caribbean sunshine that the rest of them put together.
“Yeah, movie star, you’ll look real dashing with a bit of skin cancer,” Elijah complained.
“Sour grapes,” Orlando retorted. “Heredity, mate. I come of hearty, sea-faring stock.”
“Aye, weel, I’d rather a bit o’ a soft day meself, ” Billy drawled, mocking his own accent, digging around in the hamper for some cheese to go with the crackers. “Och, Munster? What e'er happened to a bit o’ cheddar?”
“Clouds on the horizon, Bills,” Dom offered. “Maybe we can summon up a nice big storm to go with the haunted house.”
“It’s not haunted,” Orlando sighed. “You guys have overactive imaginations.”
“And you have an overly optimistic streak,” Dom shot back. “Just because you haven’t seen them doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you.”
“Pussies,” Orlando mumbled, rolling over.
Billy threw a handful of sand onto his exposed back. Orlando retaliated with a hank of wet seaweed. He missed Billy and hit Dom. Grapes composed the return salvo. That all ended rather badly, with everyone eventually retreating to the water again to rid themselves of various substances.
It was some time in the early afternoon that Viggo and Sean came riding up the beach on a couple of fairly nice horses. Sean had an English style saddle on and Viggo was bareback. Viggo had been riding in the surf, and horse and rider were well and truly soaked. Sean looked every inch the gentleman – and Viggo looked stereotypically like a gypsy. Orlando immediately begged a turn and Viggo slid off to offer him a leg up on the rangy bay.
“She’s got a hard mouth, but if she starts getting crazy just ride her into deeper water. Can’t swim worth shit, so she’ll either behave or drown you both.”
Orlando laughed at this direction, and immediately took off down the sand at a gallop, whooping like a madman. Sean had dismounted and was pilfering the hamper for drinks, disappointed to find that there was absolutely nothing left but a jar of truffles, and those had apparently been included solely for entertainment value. “Only came this far because we was parched,” Sean groused.
“Can I ride your horse, Bean?” Dom asked, looking after Orlando wistfully. He was clearly having fun, dodging in and out of the surf.
“I doubt it,” Sean said seriously. “This is not a beginner’s mount.”
“I’ve ridden horses before,” Dom complained.
“Stick horses and Weta phony ponies,” Viggo corrected.
“And Bill the Pony,” Billy added. “Was it the full-sized one, or the dwarf horse, Sblomie?”
“Aww, fuck off, the lot of you!”
“Don’t let your horse shit here, Sean,” Elijah instructed prissily. “I don’t want it to stink up the joint.”
Viggo shook a finger at Sean’s gelding. “Don’t shit. No shitting. The Hobbits have requested it.”
“I’m going to ride up to the house and get some beers,” Sean decided, swinging back up into the saddle.
“And sandwiches,” Dom called.
“Pickles,” Elijah added. “And ice cream!”
“Hooters’ chicken wings?” Billy requested hopefully, before chasing Dom into the ocean again.
Viggo was watching Orlando riding the mare into deep water, shaking his head, when he heard a commotion from the hillside above. There were shouts and curses, and then an equine squeal of fear, and suddenly Sean’s horse was plunging back down the dunes without him. Viggo tried to catch the horse, but he pelted down the beach at a full run, probably heading for his barn back near town.
Everyone ran up the hill, terrified at what they might find. Sean emerged from the grassy dunes intact, red in the face, and muttering darkly. “I’m all right,” he called to the rescue party. “Just got thrown off. All sand here, fortunately.”
“What happened?” Viggo said, beating the others to the obvious question.
“Horse spooked. Took one look at the house and it was like he came unhinged. You’d think they were slaughtering horses for glue and dog food up there.”
“Or something worse,” Dom speculated.
Some minutes later Orlando rode up on the mare, leading the gelding, but the horse was still rolling his eyes, snorting in fear, unwilling to even consider going inland, toward the mansion. Sean decided that he’d had enough riding for the day, so Viggo and Orlando took the horses back to their stable, riding in the dunes as far as they could down the beach, trying to dry off.
When the two actors arrived back from town they parked behind the mansion and walked around the grounds for a little while. All that time riding together and they had only talked about mutual friends, politics, and superficial things. Orlando was itching to get some advice from his respected mentor, and Viggo was ready and willing to assist, assuming that Orli would find a way to open up. You could lead an Elf to Mordor, but you couldn’t make him pick up the Ring.
“This foundation is huge,” Viggo said, kicking at the stonework peeking out of turfs of windswept grass. “Might have been a distillery for the sugar.”
“Making rum, likely,” Orlando observed. “Ovens for heating, you can almost still smell the burning rushes. I wonder how the rum would compare to what they make around here today.”
“Well, it was bound to be pretty good. They made it for centuries. I’ll bet your pal Jack Sparrow would have an opinion.”
“That’s Captain Sparrow to you, landlubber,” Orlando said with a grin. The smile faded slowly and he continued walking across the uneven ground. “Johnny’s great, you know. They’re really his movies…I think maybe I’m meant to stay behind someone with more screen value, wave a sword around and look cute.”
“Meant by whom?” Viggo asked. “Since when do you care what the critics say?”
“Me? I’ve always bloody cared! You’re the iconoclast, mate. You’re also the perfect leading man, despite your contrary claims. Even if I could avoid all the snide crap and catty comments, my mum cuts out the articles and reads them to me over the phone. It’s like she’s talking about someone I don’t even know, even in the interviews. I wonder, ‘who is this prat, and how he got to be so full of shite?’”
“You really think you’re full of shit, Bloom?”
“Only when I stop being cute and open my mouth. And that’s pretty much what they pay the trick pony to do.”
“I think you come off very self-effacing and sweet. You’re not a natural liar. Your honesty offends the vultures.”
Orlando stopped walking and turned around, staring openly into Viggo’s face. “You’re taking the piss, aren’t you?”
“Only a tiny bit.” Viggo grinned, suddenly jumping closer and folding Orlando into a tight embrace. The younger man winced, but Viggo wouldn’t let go. “You’re too sensitive for this acting business, baby. It really isn’t brain surgery.”
“Good thing that. Can you imagine the havoc I could wreck with a sword that’s actually sharp?”
“Heaven forbid! And speaking of ‘Heaven’, you are leading man material. You just need a movie that suits your soul. The casting agents have all the creativity of a Danielle Steel plot. You should be playing a homicidal, glue-sniffing, laundromat accountant.”
“With a limp, and a pet alligator!”
“Who does his soul-searching in the local bowling alley. Think of the angst you could plumb when the big shoe rental scene escalates into a full-on killing spree snit! Billy and Dom could write it up in a thrice!”
Orlando was already laughing. “Or how about this – a guy who rents a haunted house in the Caribbean, and manages to disenfranchise all of his only true friends?”
Viggo held him tighter, stroking a hand hesitantly over the mass of wind-tossed curls. “Is that what you think? We’re your only mates? Our ungodly bunch of losers? Is that why it matters so much?”
Orlando pulled away and started walking again, moving around the ruins of once strong and useful buildings. When he finally spoke his voice was hard to hear over the rising wind. The storm out at sea was moving in. “I had a friend from school who would call up my mum, wanting to stay in touch. Saw him the last time I was in London, and he was laughing about all these adventures the two of us had back in the days…and I didn’t remember a single one of them. Found out later that he had a website, selling stuff that he claimed I had signed, and collecting money for a charity that I’d never heard of. I had to have my solicitors contact him. Guess who the arsehole is when he tells the story – which he does regularly, and at great length.”
Viggo sighed. “I can beat that. My ex-wife is a school librarian now. Talk about contradicting yourself – she runs an anti-drug program, complains about rap music’s objectification of women, and wants Henry to join her church.”
“Exene…in a church?”
“Seriously. People change, Orli. That guy would have been an ass whether he knew you or not. It just made it easier for him to bilk unsuspecting little girls. You don’t really take it all seriously, do you?”
“I try not to. I just…it’s getting harder and harder to tell right from wrong. People will smile right to my face and then do the most dishonest, wretched things.”
Viggo caught his hand, pulling him close again for another hug. “Does this help, Elf? Does it help if I tell you that I’ll only ever speak the truth?”
“More than you’ll likely know. Thanks, Viggo. Smelly Man.”
“Prissy movie star. Get over yourself.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll try.”
“Good. Let’s go inside. There’s a storm coming.”
“Figures. There’s always got to be a storm at the haunted house.”
“Did Danielle Steel write this?”
Viggo was happily stirring a pot of soup when Sean found him in the kitchen late that afternoon. “I thought Orli was doing the cooking tonight,” Sean said, getting a bottle of water out of the cooler.
“He’s really tired, so he just did the salad. I’m doing soup and grilling lobster. Billy doesn’t like lobster, so I might marinate a chicken breast for him.”
“You lot know each other just too well,” Sean snorted. “No more signs of runaway cookers? No ghosties?”
“Not yet,” Viggo said with a smile, chopping leaks with a huge cleaver. “But I think I know where one hangs out.”
Sean’s brow went up. “You what?”
“Go down those stairs,” Viggo instructed, pointing to a door in the side wall. “It leads to a cellar.”
“What, and fetch you some amontillado while I’m down there?”
Viggo laughed. “No, thanks…but go ahead! It’s pretty harmless. Kinda dark, but you’d expect as much if there’s a ghost hanging around.”
Shrugging, Sean opened the heavy door and found a rustic wooden stairway that led downwards. There was a light of some sort at the bottom, and enough spilled in from the top that he could see where to put his feet. “If something down here kills me I’m coming back to get you too,” he warned Viggo, and then moved cautiously downward. Eight steps down, then a small closed landing with a 180° turn to the right. When Sean’s feet hit the landing he found that the air on his face was intensely cold, and all the hairs on his arms and neck stood up sharply. He caught a faint whiff of flowers. Unsure what to do, Sean continued down the stairs, and by the time he reached the bottom the air was warm again.
He was standing in a large cellar, which must have run under the whole kitchen as it was originally laid out. Many heavy support beams intruded into the space and shelving lined several walls, creating nooks and crannies. A couple of simple bulbs hung from ancient wiring, barely illuminating the area. The walls were bricked crudely, and in some places you could see that the cellar had actually been carved into the native rock of the ridge where the house sat. The air was still and damp and cool, but nothing like that chill spot on the stairs.
Taking a few hesitant steps, Sean poked around a little bit. He found a massive oak door which closed off a small room cut directly into the rock. Heavy, hand-wrought metal hooks in the roof beams indicated that this had been used for meat storage some time before refrigeration had come to the island. A faintly sickening smell of rotten meat and smoke still clung to the ancient wood and stone. Bean paused by a shelf to pick up a jar of something pickled, noting that it had been down there so long that it was all but impossible to guess what the food had originally been. He put the jar gently back down and decided he’d seen enough.
Clumping back up the steps, Sean hurried over the haunted landing, but when he hit the top and burst through the door he found that he was now on a different floor, one above the kitchen, to judge by the view out the windows. The late afternoon was being crowded out by the arrival of a storm brewing out to sea, the waves coming in white-capped on the rocks below the cliffs. Strangely enough, the house and grounds looked somehow different, like it was later in the day than it should be.
“What the…?” Bean mumbled. He looked around once, noticing that the furniture up here had been mostly covered with sheets, and then he turned and clumped back down the steps again, counting as he went. Nine down, a turn to the right, then ten steps, and he was back in the cellar again. “Bloody hell!” Sean growled. “Viggo!” he yelled up the stairway.
“It’s okay, Sean,” Viggo called. “Just come up again.”
Muttering darkly about fun houses, Sean climbed up the stairs slowly. At eight steps he found the landing with the cold spot, and the scent of flowers once again tickled his nose. Sean moved doggedly upwards through the phenomenon, and at the top he found the kitchen door standing open. Viggo was leaning against the cutting block with a spoon in one hand and a grin on his face. “You too, huh?” Mortensen asked, pleased. “How cool is that?”
“Not cool. Not cool at all,” Sean complained. “You don’t screw around with physics and all.”
Viggo laughed.
Elijah, Dom and Billy went together to find Orlando and tell him that dinner was ready. It just seemed somehow prudent to move in a pack as wind whistled around the house and shook the windows, compounding the oppressive atmosphere. Lights were turned on as they moved through the rooms and halls. They heard Orlando talking loudly from one of the salons – presumably on the telephone – and by mutual agreement the three paused in the hallway to listen in. It was just habit, looking for something to tease him about later.
“No, I don’t need that, Alec, I just…well, I’m so just disappointed! I mean he waited until I left town to do this shit, and he knew I was going to find out! What was he thinking? How could he expect that it would all just blow over and he wouldn’t get into trouble? He’s not that stupid, he had to expect consequences!”
“Uh oh,” Billy whispered. “Someone’s gotten on the Elf’s bad side.”
Orlando was clearly exasperated. “He did? He what…oh, you have got to be kidding me! That’s just…that’s….”
“Agent?” Elijah wondered aloud.
“Boyfriend?” Dom questioned.
Orlando was muttering about trust, and the three Hobbit actors leaned closer to the open doorway, curious and fascinated despite themselves.
“He is? Right now? Put him on the phone! Yes, I mean it, put him on right this minute, thanks. I’ll fix his little attitude problem, or I’ll come home and fix it for him the hard way!”
“Oi, he’s gone all butch,” Billy mumbled.
They could tell that Orlando was pacing with his agitation. He huffed for a moment and then spoke even louder to be heard over a gust of wind that rattled the windows. “There you are, you mangy bastard! Don’t you start whining! Don’t you dare whine at me! Alec has told me every single thing you’ve done since I left, and it’s not going to continue! Do you hear me? Do you?”
“Mangy?” Elijah mouthed.
“And the new sofa too! How do you fucking eat a sofa? You really leave me no option, you’ve brought this on yourself….”
“Did he say ‘eat a sofa’?” Dom whispered.
“BAD DOG, SIDI! Bad, bad dog! Are you listening to me? Bad boy!”
The Hobbits collapsed in a heap, giggling, trying not to make too much noise or explode with mirth.
“Shame on you! That was a very expensive couch, and Kate had it made specially! And the crapping on her new carpet? Bad, bad dog! You know better than that! Don’t you whine at me! I’m not the one who’s been running out into traffic!”
Orlando continued to berate his dog for some time, while the three actors in the hall mimed spanking each other with rolled-up papers and shaking fingers sternly.
“Do we have an understanding, now? Are you going to behave for Alec? Because you know that the nice lady at kennel would just love to get her hands on you, and the first thing that’ll happen is a bath and your toenails clipped! Sidi, are you still listening?” He must have heard some sound on the other end of the call, despite a rise in sounds from the house, inside and out. “All right then, I’m going to trust you to make this right and start behaving. You know that daddy loves you, and I want you to be safe. So you be a good boy and mind your Uncle Alec. I’ll be home in a few more days.”
“Daddy!” Dom panted, tears in his eyes, finding it hard to breathe from beneath the pile.
“You be good from now on out, and I’ll bring you a special treat. Maybe even a new toy. Will you be a good boy? Will you, Sidi?”
“Arf!” Billy gasped, weak with laughter.
“All right, put Alec back on the phone. Alec, you be sure to call me if he rips up one more tree. He’s going to try to be better. Yeah. I’ll be at this number. Not sure if there’s a machine, but if someone’s here we’ll pick it up eventually. Call if you need to. Thanks. Bye! Bye, Sidi Boy. Behave, you little black monster!” The sound of footsteps, then Orlando leaned around the doorframe to gaze placidly down at the mound or Hobbits, all of whom were too weak with restrained laughter to move more than feebly. “I assume you lads are done listening in, as I am quite done entertaining you.”
“Dinner’s ready,” Elijah managed, before subsiding into riotous giggles.
“Good, I’m famished.” He stepped over them primly, but he was smiling.
“Pass the salad please, daddy,” Dom asked nicely at the dinning room table.
Orlando smirked to himself as he leaned around a candleholder to pass the big wooden bowl. The lit candles weren’t really necessary to add atmosphere – the storm was doing a fine job of that. Viggo bustled in with a tureen, then returned to the kitchen to plate up the lobster tails.
“Anyone up for a late night swim?” Billy asked.
“Sure, if you’re suicidal,” Sean commented, standing to serve the soup, passing bowls around.
“Anybody actually see any ghosts yet?” Elijah wanted to know.
“Maybe,” Billy said.
“Nothing to see,” Sean inserted authoritatively. “That’s the point. Though I think my horse saw something it didn’t like much.”
“Still got sand in your ears?” Dom asked. “No concussion?”
“I’ve been thrown off better mounts than that,” Sean bragged, though no one knew why.
“There’s the hell hounds,” Elijah offered.
“Those are just normal dogs,” Orlando said quickly. “They’re lovely lads. Came to visit me on the veranda earlier, and then again, upstairs, when I was changing.”
Dom frowned. “Really? Where do they come from? How are they getting in and out of the house? And who’s feeding them? Did the landlord tell you that the house comes with wolfhounds?”
“No, but…” Orlando was glaring at his soupspoon, which was bent back on itself, almost double. “This is probably very expensive cutlery, guys.”
“You think we did that?” Elijah snorted, picking up his knife, which had a curled tip. He tired his best to straighten it, but the metal didn’t budge. “Couldn’t if I tried.”
“You’re the blacksmith,” Billy pointed out. He gestured at the rest of the silverware at the table. Every single piece seemed deformed in some way. “It didn’t look strange when I set the table not thirty minutes ago. How long would it take to do all of this?”
“It’s a very poor joke,” Orlando said darkly.
Dom was sniffing the soup, and he made a disgusted face. “Ugh, Viggo. Is this hot borscht? It smells…odd. Sorta metallic.”
Viggo was just coming back in with the lobster. He took a quick glance at Dom’s bowl and suddenly knocked his spoon from his hand. “That is not the potato leek soup I made, Dominic!”
“I don’t suppose it’s tomato,” Billy questioned cautiously.
Sean was leaning over the bowl, frowning. He shook his head. “I suspect this is blood.” Dom’s eyes grew large, and then he bolted from the table. He made it to the hall bathroom before vomiting. Elijah went after him.
Viggo picked the platter of lobster tails back up and said “I’ll be eating one of these in the kitchen, if anyone wants to join me.”
“I’ll be upstairs, packing,” Billy announced.
Everyone abandoned the dining room. The bowls of blood cooled and coagulated.
Despite Billy’s claims that he was leaving, no one did. They finished their supper in the kitchen, where the atmosphere seemed somehow more conducive to living – even living well. Sean raided the wine cellar and pulled out anything that struck his fancy. The lobster was delicious.
“So, still think that it’s not haunted?” Elijah questioned Orlando casually. He made a face and helped himself to more rice.
Dom took up the discussion. “If it’s not, then someone is really, really putting some effort into making us think it is. There’s not a television crew hiding in a secret room here somewhere, is there?”
“I think we’re alone here,” Sean offered. “Oh, except for the ghost on the stairs….”
This led to the Hobbits exploring the cellar steps, creeping down in a tight and noisy pack. They found nothing unusual on the landing, and the cellar only held their interest for a short while. Elijah claimed that he felt ‘something weird’, but Billy pointed out that it was likely just Dom’s hand on his ass, and there was nothing weird about that – just queer.
When they came up again the entire group moved to one of the big reception rooms, where books and games had been collected and displayed. Dominic and Billy sat down with an antique backgammon game. Elijah perused the old record album collection, making obscure comments to himself in a radio announcer’s voice. Sean and Orlando took up billiards cues and proceeded to spend their time arguing about the rules of the game and Viggo sat down near the windows to watch the storm while writing in a tattered journal.
Billy had won one game, Elijah professed a lifetime attraction to Billie Holliday, Sean had soundly beaten Orlando (though the result was being contested), and Viggo paused to roll joints. Mortensen’s fingers handled the rolling papers with amazing dexterity, producing seven perfect little works of art, which were enthusiastically received all around. “Two for me,” Viggo pointed out when Elijah started to pick up more than one. “I’m the only one who bothered to bring grass.”
“I’m scared to take it through customs,” Elijah complained, lighting up.
“Amateur,” Mortensen teased him.
“Teach me how to smuggle, Viggo, please!” Elijah begged endearingly.
Orlando snorted, leaning back from where he was situated on the arm of Sean’s chair. Sean had his own arm around the younger man, and was watching him unwind slowly in the convivial atmosphere. “Don’t be spreading your tricksy ways and wickedness, Ranger,” Sean teased. He took a long draw on his own joint, and let his fingers tickle Orli’s ribs under the hem of his shirt. Orlando giggled uninhibitedly.
A faint clacking noise across the room echoed in the momentary silence, and all eyes turned toward the billiards table. The red ball was rolling across the surface on its own, powered by a strike that none of them had made. The ball hit the bumper with a clunk, and loudly dropped into a pocket.
“Okay,” Dom said softly. “Is that what ghosts do?” The sound of footsteps raced across the floor and out the door, accompanied by a faint burst of giggling.
“Everyone heard that, right?” Billy whispered.
“Oh, yeah,” Elijah said, his eyes comically big.
"We're being haunted by a Hobbit," Sean mused. Sean mused. “Did you hear how tiny those steps were?”
“I don’t think she’s a Hobbit,” Viggo said slowly, putting his joint in the ashtray and picking up his journal. “Uh, did you guys watch me write this?” Several agreed. “Okay, well…it’s in French. I don’t speak French well, and I write it not at all. Orli?”
The young man took the book gingerly, professing that he was long out of practice and that his dyslexia always made reading hard, yet he quickly scanned the scribbled lines and then spoke:
“Papa says Gunnar a bad man. Papa says Gunnar do a bad thing. But it not true! He doesn’t listen to me, no one listen to me! Papa so sad and alone now. I miss Papa and Cook and all of the others. I want to be able to play with the dark kids. No one play with me. No one talk to me now. I’m all alone.”
“You wrote that?” Dom questioned, squinting at Viggo through a cloud of smoke.
“I don’t think so. But maybe I did. I thought I was writing about the storm.”
Orlando shivered, handing the journal back quickly. “It’s really bad French. Kinda, I don’t know, archaic looking.” Something crashed loudly somewhere in the house, and everyone winced.
“We’re being scared by a child ghost?” Sean asked aloud.
“Maybe,” Viggo mused. “And maybe she’s not alone any more.”
Everyone headed upstairs late, while the storm raged and exhausted itself against the rocks. Orlando lingered in Sean’s bedroom as long as he could while the older man was getting ready for bed, and then he dismissed himself with the usual British pleasantries. He stopped by Viggo’s room and poked his head through the door. “Goodnight, Viggo. Thanks for everything today.”
“No problem, Elf Prince,” he said, looking up from the art book he’d brought to bed with him. Viggo smiled at Orlando for a long moment, then asked, “You want to sleep with me tonight?”
“No, thanks. Kind of you to offer, though.” He smiled self-consciously. “I’ve often wondered what would have happened if you’d accepted my offers in New Zealand.”
Viggo’s crooked grin widened. “I would have amazed you with my love-making skills, baby. But I wasn’t offering my body to you tonight – just a place to sleep. If I was able to resist you in that blond wig I should have no problem now that you’re so much older, issues-plagued and kinda mangy-looking.”
“Who’s mangy-looking?” Orlando laughed, hurrying into the room to kiss Viggo’s cheek, and then retiring to his own bed. He cracked a window open to the smell of rain and tucked himself up against the dark.
He was sound asleep an hour later when the spectral dogs materialized in his room and took up their posts, intending to guard him. But even the ghost dog pack were no match for Gunnar, when the monster came to claim his victim.
Rolling over the top of Dominic’s sweaty back, Elijah reached for the lube on the little nightstand, muttering dirty comments and veiled threats of sexual violence. Dom wasn’t worried in the least. He squirmed into the damp sheets happily, trying to accommodate his own erection while making room for his partner’s. The storm raged outside, and the barely-opened window caused the lacy curtains to rustle and shift in the inconsistent breezes.
A dark presence moved into the room through a wall at the foot of the Hobbit’s bed. The sound of heavy chains dragging across the wood was lost in the complaints of the wind and rain, as well as the noise of panting and laughter from the bed.
“Does Evie reach you here?” Elijah asked, thrusting deeply.
“God,” Dom moaned, pushing back with all his strength.
Stacks of CD cases were tipped by an invisible foot, and several jewel boxes were crushed under an unseen weight. A swirling mist of smoke could be seen, if either of them were looking.
“God…God…yeah!”
The heavy footsteps continued to the closed door, and through it. The scent of smoke lingered only for a moment.
“Harder…ugh! Yeah…God, Elijah…Elijah, did you leave a ciggie burning?”
“Shut up, bitch!”
“Yeah…yeah….”
Sean was brushing his teeth and thinking about those odd looks Orlando had been giving him. The kid had clearly wanted to say something, and yet he’d fled the moment that Sean had started to ask him if he’d like to stay a while and chat some more.
There were times when it really seemed like Orlando fancied him, despite their considerable differences and a history of untouched opportunities. It was common knowledge amongst the Fellowship that Orli was bisexual, and Sean had been known to dabble as well. But the two of them had never connected on that level. You had to wonder why that was. It wasn’t like either of them had any objections to a good-looking man making offers. After all, offers were not the same thing as any kind of commitment, thank God. He shuddered at the very though of commitment.
An old-fashioned claw-foot tub stood on the tiles behind Sean. There was a metal track above it supporting a plain, but expensive, beige shower curtain. The curtain rustled as an unusual form of energy moved through the wall and into the bathroom. Something started to materialize, just an impression of a shape – a very large, man-like shape – which dwarfed the Brit standing at the sink.
“I could offer you some comfort, lad,” Sean said to his reflection, imagining saying the words to Orlando. ‘Yeah, right,’ Sean thought. Pity he was such a damn coward. He would never be able to say that sentence aloud to the person who most needed to hear it. He snorted and went back to brushing his teeth, feeling guilty and weak.
The edge of the shower curtain caught on the tip of a claw, which was slowly raised behind Sean’s exposed back. The curtain shifted, rings sliding quietly along the metal rail. Other claws could be seen then, outlined against the straining material. Sean bent to spit out toothpaste. His nose caught a whiff of smoke, and he stood quickly. He just saw the motion of the curtain falling back into place out of the corner of his eye, and he started to turn when the blow struck.
Bean was slammed back into the sink, and then into the wall beside it, his head hitting the plaster hard enough to crack it. His eyes rolled up into his skull and he went down hard onto the cold tile floor. Smoke swirled up around the lights, and the old mirror reflected a horrifying image. This was no Weta trick. This was a large, dark-skinned man who had, though hundreds of years, harbored the deepest of grudges and a hatred so pure and hot that it burned his very soul to a crisp, like the flesh that had long ago deserted the spirit.
Sean’s unconscious body was dragged a couple of feet, and then abruptly left in a heap. Blood swelled up from a row of claw marks on his shoulder. The smoke swirled lazily against the wall, and the presence was gone.
Viggo was just reaching to turn out the light when he heard a mighty thump from somewhere across the hall. He frowned, distracted, and then started to get out of bed to investigate. It was at that moment that he heard urgent, unintelligible whispering, and a draft of icy air caressed his face. A soft scent of summer flowers directed his gaze upward, and Viggo again noticed the markings on the ceiling over his bed. There was a creaking noise outside his door, and he suddenly understood what the words and symbols meant. He cautiously lifted his foot back onto the bed
The floorboards groaned under a great weight, and the smoke monster materialized inside Viggo’s room. Tiny red eyes glowed in a face devoid of any human comprehension. The massive back was hunched, and long arms reached nearly to the ground, curled fingers tipped with claws suitable only for destruction. The thing’s skin was burned red and black and peeling, like it had been set on fire, and curls of smoke still rose from its incinerated flesh. It turned its flat, expressionless face towards him and the mighty jaw cracked open. Tendrils of smoke poured from the gaping jaw, and then it growled.
Viggo curled up in a ball, fascinated and terrified to the core. The thing seemed to be trying to speak, to articulate some demand for justice. It made a lurching motion, as if it intended to reach for him, but when it leaned closer to the bed it suddenly drew back with a howl of rage. The clawed hands came up and its gaze seemed to rise to the writing on the ceiling. Anger surged off the creature, and it tried again to reach him. Viggo was on the verge of fleeing to his balcony, despite the storm and the considerable drop to the ground, but the horrifying monster suddenly disincorporated, dissolving into a mass of dark and roiling smoke. The smoke dissipated, and Viggo felt his own body go limp with restrained terror.
Billy was rubbing sand from between his toes when he heard the fight. It was obviously the pack of Hell Hounds, and they were barking and growling and yipping in anger. Boyd jumped up and looked frantically for a weapon of some sort. It sounded like the dogs were in Orlando’s room. Even in the few moments that he hesitated Billy heard the dog fight escalate, with at least one animal shrieking in pain and a horrible crashing noise seeming to indicate an untimely demise.
He grabbed a heavy bottle of single malt he’d liberated from the house supplies and ran for the door, shouting that he was coming. He wrenched the door open and plunged across the hall, throwing open Orlando’s door and running inside – right into his own bedroom! Billy skidded on the smooth wooden floor and turned, shocked. He was looking through the hall door into his room, and yet he was standing in his room. He could still hear the dogs fighting, though with less vigor now, and more yelps of pain. Orlando was shouting too, and there was no hiding the terror in his friend’s voice.
“I’m coming, Orli!” Billy shouted, running back into the hall. He wrenched open another door; it was his bedroom again. He cursed effusively. Every door he tried led back to his own simple room, his clothes and personal items strewn around. Billy screamed in anger, and the dogs fought and cried and fell silent, one by one.
His head thumped against a doorframe as he struggled, the smooth wooden floor sliding by beneath his back. Orlando frantically tried to reach for the doorknob, but all he could grip was the frame. He dug his fingers in even as the monster dragged him another meter down the hall. His arms and back stretched painfully, and the grip on his calves tightened. The claws had already broken the skin, and he had the impression that the creature wasn’t at all worried about being gentle. His knuckles popped, and the wood of the doorframe creaked ominously.
The smoke ghost growled and tugged, turning to look at him angrily. Orlando felt his strength start to fail him in the light of those burning red eyes, the hideous charred flesh and grinning teeth that held no trace of a smile. Those teeth had already torn out the throat of one of the wolfhounds. The monster jerked hard on his legs, and the wood splintered beneath his hands, showering Orlando’s face with shards. He was dragged to the head of the stairs.
Somehow, Orlando knew that to be taken down those stairs would mean that he’d lost the fight, and he renewed his struggles valiantly, kicking and scratching and screaming. His hand still held a bit of the doorframe, and he jammed it into the ghost’s all-too-solid leg, gouging hunks of putrid flesh from the bone. He actually got loose for a moment, and scrambled to get away one hands and knees. He didn’t even make it across the hall before the ghost had him, dragging him backwards and into a clench, arms wrapped around Orlando’s chest. The monster squeezed, crushing the air from his lungs. Orlando fought for his life, biting and clawing, his shard of wood lost into the monster’s side.
Shrieking in rage, the ghost bore down even harder. Orlando’s ribs creaked, and a disgusting hand slapped over his face, wrenching his head back against the ghost’s massive chest and cutting off any chance he had of getting more air. It proceeded to try crushing the life out of the now weakly flailing actor. The wooden floors at the monster’s feet were now smoking, the wood charring to black. Wallpapers near the landing curled up, as if trying to escape the heat and rage radiating off of the creature. The reek of burning flesh would have made him gag if he’d had the air for it.
Orlando blacked out. He never had a chance to see what happened as the old wood of the stairs caught fire.
Elijah and Dominic had been trying for several minutes to get the door of their bedroom open. It was jammed shut tighter than any lock could account for. “Orlando!” Elijah screamed. He’d heard his friend’s cries for help as he had been dragged past, but there was nothing they could do to rescue him. Dominic was using a lamp to try breaking through the door, but nothing inside the mansion had been made cheaply or flimsy. The door was solid oak. The lamp disintegrated long before the wood gave way. “Orlando!” Elijah yelled again.
“We have to get out!” Dom said darkly, backing up.
“Something’s got him!” Elijah panted, turning his terror-stricken face toward his sometimes-lover. But Dominic wasn’t referring to Orlando’s plight any more. He was staring at the top of the door, where tendrils of smoke were now feeling their way into the room. It only took a moment to sink in, and then Elijah ran to the window and slammed it shut, cutting off the draft that was bringing the smoke in.
“Can we jump out?” Dom asked.
“Not good.” Elijah had already decided that would be their final escape route only. The ground was a good twenty feet down, and on this side of the mansion it was rocks, dead trees and stumps in what had likely been a garden at some time. The walls were slick with rain and whipped by the storm’s fierce winds. He didn’t fancy their chances of surviving the fall unscathed. Of course, anything would beat being burned up. They could now hear a growing conflagration outside their room. The fire was spreading very quickly.
Dom was staring at that gap at the top of the door, hefting the metal bar that was the only thing left from the lamp he’d beaten to pieces. “Baby, if I lift you up, you think you can get this wedged in near those hinges?”
The lights in their room went out. The smoke was coming in thick and heavy when they finally wrenched the door out its frame, and the dull red flicker of flames rushed it to meet them along a torrent of heated air. Dom grabbed Elijah’s hand and then turned up the hall, running away from the roaring fire at the head of the main staircase. A hunched figure appeared in the smoke, and Dom skidded to a stop just before falling over Bean’s body. Billy was dragging him away from the fire.
“Help me!” Billy gasped, bent over, hugging Bean’s head and shoulders to his chest as he pulled.
“What happened?” Elijah begged, grabbing an arm. Dominic took Sean’s other one, and the man’s limp body started moving much more quickly up the corridor.
“Couldn’t get out,” Billy panted. “Finally thought to open a door and back through it, and I found myself in Bean’s room. He was collapsed on the floor in the loo. I think he’s hit his head – it’s bleeding. Hurry! The fire’s spreading across the ceilings!”
“There’s no exit up here!” Dom said, reaching out to guide himself with a hand on the wall. None of them could see more than a few feet in the roiling smoke. They were all coughing constantly now, choking on the fumes.
“Some of the rooms have balconies,” Elijah panted. “If we can just….”
“Viggo!” Billy shouted, then coughed so hard that he staggered. “Viggo! Orlando! Have to get out! Where are they?”
“Too late,” Elijah said, feeling all of the terror behind his words.
Dom was trying to kick a door open when a large form came at them out of the smoke. The three men recoiled in fear as the nearly spectral shape resolved into one of the wolfhounds. The dog came right at Elijah, and he only had time to duck as the huge animal passed by so close that it almost seemed to move through him. The dog was followed by its two mates, and the last dog paused to look Elijah right in the eyes before hurrying up the corridor.
“Follow them,” Elijah said, dragging hard on Sean’s arm. Dominic and Billy had nothing to say, and no air with which to say it, but they did as Elijah told them, and they dragged Bean along behind the dogs. Part of the ceiling over the main landing collapsed, sending sparks racing up the hall towards them. The wolfhounds turned into an alcove that Dominic would have sworn hadn't been there before, and fresh air hit their faces from somewhere below. It was a narrow staircase, leading downwards.
With Billy taking Sean’s head and Dom and Elijah a leg apiece, they eased him down the steps, moving as quickly as possible. As the air grew fresher their strength seemed to return, and when they hit the bottom step Dom and Billy were able to lift Sean fully between them. Elijah ran ahead, searching the unfamiliar corridor for an exit. If they’d ever been in these rooms before he failed to recognize them. Suddenly the few remaining lights went out, leaving them in the dark, the house entire house ablaze over their heads.
“Uh, Elijah?” Dom called over the roar of the flames and sounds of destruction.
“This way! There’s a room here!”
They followed his voice, but when they found the doorway and went inside they could see no windows leading outside. “Can’t stop here,” Billy panted. “We’ll be trapped.”
“No,” Elijah said, sounding surprisingly certain. “The dogs are here. One is touching my leg. They led me here.”
“To be trapped and burn up!” Dom gasped. Bean was moving now, groaning and shifting, trying to shake himself awake. Billy touched his face, finding that the skin was slick with blood.
Dom jumped as a dog suddenly grasped his wrist, tugging him deeper into the room. For some reason he was less afraid, even with the sensation of teeth pressing cautiously over thin skin. The dog let go, and an instant later the wall ahead of them exploded, collapsing inward in a chaos of plaster and wood. Bright beams cut through the dark like searchlights, and it took a moment for them to realize that someone had driven one of the Jeeps right through the wall. The Jeep heaved once and backed away, leaving a gaping hole in the side of the house, wind whipping in through the ragged opening.
Flames raced toward the new source of oxygen. Elijah was already trying to clear a path when Viggo came stumbling in over the remains. He took Sean from them in a classic fireman’s carry, and all five got out just before more of the mansion collapsed. They backed further and further away from the conflagration, taking refuge in the trees at the edge of the property. As Viggo tended to Sean’s injuries the entire mansion went up in flames.
If you read the previous temporary posting of part two on my journal please note there are about ten new pages here, at the end, so don't miss anything!
title: How Fragile We Are – Part Two
author: Pecos – PecosPhil@sprintmail.com
website: http://www.chimerafic.com
beta reader: Gloria Mundi
what is it?: RPS, speculative fiction
rating: NC-17 – angst, adult language, gay men,
violence, supernatural and horror elements
disclaimer: I don’t make the toys; I’m only
playing with them. No money made, nor
disrespect intended. This is FICTION
who’s in it?: Sean Bean, Orlando Bloom,
Billy Boyd, Dominic Monaghan, Viggo
Mortensen and Elijah Wood, mostly...
summary: Present day
Orlando plans a reunion for his friends
at a peculiar plantation in the Caribbean
feedback: yes, please! Even if just to say hello...
inspiration: “...perhaps this final act was meant,
to clench a lifetime’s argument, that
nothing comes from violence, and nothing
ever could. For all us born beneath an
angry star, lest we forget...” (Sting)
part one: http://www.livejournal.com/users/pecos/71435.html#cutid1
How Fragile We Are
A Caribbean Haunting Tale
by Pecos
Continued from Part One:
Orlando Bloom lay utterly still in the center of the big bed, staring past the ceiling, his mind going in a dozen directions at once. He felt very much alone. He missed Kate, he missed Sidi. He missed having something familiar around, even though he’d unpacked the usual crap he seemed to lug everywhere. No matter how much familiar junk he littered his life with, he always felt like a tourist in his own room, even in his own skin. He had no idea who Orlando Bloom even was anymore, and he was starting to suspect that he didn’t really like the guy anyhow.
That guy led such a shallow, wasted life, full of people he didn’t know. And they all wanted things from him, things that he didn’t think he should be sharing. How could you keep handing out bits of yourself and still expect there to be anything left when you were finally alone, in the dark, with the sound of the ocean and the night and the pressing silence of a house that was way, way too big and too empty? Even with his friends around him, he was alone.
“I am disappearing,” Orlando said softly. “I am fading away. Pretty soon there will be no one left at all.” No one answered his quiet plea for help.
But that didn’t mean that no one was listening.
The morning dawned bright and beautiful, just like it always should in the sunny Caribbean. They probably had a law about that somewhere, Elijah mused, rolling over to find that someone’s torn and tatty underwear had ended up draped over the bedside lamp in what had to be the ugliest new trend in interior design ever. And speaking of ugly…Dom was snoring like an asthmatic bulldog. Elijah jabbed him with an elbow as he squirmed out from beneath the covers.
“You determined to get yourself strangled?” Dom asked grumpily.
Elijah yanked the heavy curtains open and stood to admire the view. “It’s morning. See that thing in the sky? It’s called the sun. Get up!”
“’M on vacation, you fucking prat.” The Brit burrowed under his pillow, disappearing.
“Yeah, really? And here I figured you’d run away from the circus. Look at that horizon! You almost expect to see pirate ships sailing out there.”
Dom was having trouble getting comfortable again, and flopped around in the bed with dramatic gasps and sighs. Elijah’s foot crunched something on the floor as he started to turn around, and he bent to examine it. The tiny object turned out to be another bird bone, though how one could have gotten into their room through a closed window was a mystery. Must have been there yesterday, and they just hadn’t noticed it. What was the deal with dead birds around here?
“Bloody hell, now I’m wide awake,” Dom moaned, throwing back the covers. “It’s all bright in here. Why is it bright in here?”
“Blame the earth’s rotation, Copernicus.” Elijah set the little white bone on the windowsill and went to rummage through his open suitcase. He found his swim shorts and eased them up over the bruises on his hips. “Hey, thanks for going easy on me last night, you jerk. You’re lucky my mom isn’t around to see how you abuse me.”
“You’re the lucky one,” Dom said, stretching and scratching and doing everything he possibly could to look like a caveman. “Beach today, right?”
“Right! Get your disgusting underwear off the lamp, will ya? I don’t think the maid will want to touch them.”
“These aren’t mine,” Dom said flatly, flicking the offending garment onto the bed and smothering them with Elijah’s pillow. “And Orlando said that there won’t be a maid. We have to pick up after ourselves.”
“What kind of cheap joint is this?”
“A cheap joint that’s costing somebody an assload of money.”
“And that same somebody better be planning on going swimming with us today!”
“Let go find the others. Maybe we can have the pleasure of waking them up if the sun hasn’t found that side of the house yet.”
“After you, professor.”
Sean nudged open the door of Viggo’s room and carried in two steaming mugs of coffee, finding the occupant still in bed, arms tucked behind his head, staring upward with a puzzled expression on his face. “I braved the evil kitchen appliances,” Bean bragged. “At least enough to brew a pot. If there’s a cappuccino machine in there somebody else will have to tackle it.”
“Billy knows how to make cappuccino,” Viggo said dreamily, yawning. He sat up fully and took a cup as Sean eased down on the edge of the mattress.
“Sleep alright, my King?” Sean asked.
“Like a lamb, assuming that lambs sleep well. The sound of the ocean always lulls me. Say, Seanie, what do you make of that?”
“What?” He looked up from his cup to find Viggo staring upward again. Sean’s eyes followed and he discovered that the ceiling over Viggo’s bed was covered with writing of some sort – strange symbols and words and odd markings in a language that he didn’t recognize. It was smudged in places, and look like it had been done in charcoal. “Well, now, that’s different. Creepy graffiti. I don’t suppose you did it?”
“Not likely. Fourteen foot high ceiling.” Viggo took a sip and hummed his pleased appreciation of the morning brew. “Wasn’t there last night, at least not that I noticed.”
“I’d think you might notice something like that, yeah,” Sean said, nodding. “Any idea what it means?”
“None whatsoever. Nice placement though. Very artistic. Some of those words look kinda African. I like the stars there on the left, if those are stars.”
Sean took another sip and sighed. “Does this mean that now we run like hell away from this place? I mean, just some scribbles doesn’t seem all that ominous. It’s not like there’s a horse’s head in the bed. Besides, Orlando would lose his deposit.”
“Naw, I don’t think we have to flee. I’m rather enjoying it. If this is all a hoax someone is going to a lot of trouble. And if it’s not, hey, how often do you get to stay in a haunted house?”
Sean nodded. “I’ll follow your lead, my King, once again, and not so reluctantly. After all, you weren’t really hurt yesterday. It’s all a lot less scary in the light of morning.”
“We’ll see what happens today. At least the coffee’s good.”
“Aye, there is that.”
Dom and Elijah found Billy standing in the door of his bedroom, glaring up the hallway defiantly. “Completely fucking haunted, it is,” Billy said angrily.
“Not you too,” Dom said, shaking his head.
“I’m a Scott. I know from haunted. Fekkin’ ghosts! Could’a been a nice holiday, too. Bloody Orlando.”
Elijah laughed out loud and hugged Billy’s stiff form. “Come on, let’s see if the Elf is up.” He walked a couple of doors down and let himself into Orlando’s room, Billy and Dom following close behind – a little too close in Billy’s case. “Wakey wakey, Orli-poo!” he called cheerfully.
Three enormous, shaggy heads lifted at once from the mounded bed. The wolfhounds were lying at the foot of the bed and on either side of its presumed rightful occupant. The giant dogs stared at the intruders balefully, eyes narrowing, but not making a sound.
“Jesus and Mary...the hell hounds,” Dom whispered.
“Is it morning already?” Orlando asked groggily, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He casually reached out to scratch the nearest wolfhound behind the ears. The dog’s dark eyes sparkled with pleasure. “Good morning, boys, and Hobbits.”
“You’re...you’re surrounded,” Billy sputtered. “Are you...alright? Did they hurt you?”
At that the three gigantic dogs all rose and jumped off the bed, moving en masse and more quietly than seemed realistic. They streamed past the three men standing at the door and headed up the hallway. Dominic stared at Orlando for a moment, and then turned to look up the hall at the departing dogs. They were nowhere to be seen, even though the hall was long and no other doors were open.
“You slept with the hell hounds?” Elijah asked.
“Sure. Didn’t one of you let them in here? I was asleep when they jumped on the bed. Gave me a bit of a start at first, thinking that Sidi had put on weight, but they’re lovely blokes. Very sweet and gentle, those big breeds. Great with children.”
The Hobbits were rendered collectively speechless. Orlando crawled to the edge of the bed and stood up to stretch, resplendent in a pair of baggy plaid boxers, his body marked with creases from the sheets. “Is it swimming today, or riding? I think I might have booked horses from a guy in town.” He started looking for his clothes amongst the rampant clutter he’d created the night before. “You guys remember that there’s no maid service, right? I guess they have a hard time finding anyone to come out here on a regular basis.” He didn’t seem to find that ominous at all.
“Mental,” Billy murmured.
“Totally,” Elijah agreed.
“Swimming first,” Dom announced in a mock cheerful voice. “I smell coffee. The filthy men must be up.”
Sean and Viggo drove into town to see about the horses that Orlando seemed to have reserved, and to enquire about deep-sea fishing possibilities as well. They were well into the male-bonding part of the vacation. The Hobbits collectively expressed no interest in doing anything as strenuous as riding, and determined to search the shore for a nice bit of beach and then lie around like dead things washed up in a storm. Orlando waffled for while about what he wanted to do, and then loaded up a hamper with essential consumable provisions and went with the younger set.
The beach below the cliff top where the house perched was rocky and almost impossible to reach, but just around the head was a small cove with a bit of sand and some nice mature palm trees. The four Rings actors tried the water and declared it suitable, and then tucked into the drinks and snacks and fanned out for choice spots on the sand. Elijah stuck to the shade, due to his fair skin, and Orlando stretched out just above the high tide mark, not bothering with tanning lotion and bragging that he had soaked up more Caribbean sunshine that the rest of them put together.
“Yeah, movie star, you’ll look real dashing with a bit of skin cancer,” Elijah complained.
“Sour grapes,” Orlando retorted. “Heredity, mate. I come of hearty, sea-faring stock.”
“Aye, weel, I’d rather a bit o’ a soft day meself, ” Billy drawled, mocking his own accent, digging around in the hamper for some cheese to go with the crackers. “Och, Munster? What e'er happened to a bit o’ cheddar?”
“Clouds on the horizon, Bills,” Dom offered. “Maybe we can summon up a nice big storm to go with the haunted house.”
“It’s not haunted,” Orlando sighed. “You guys have overactive imaginations.”
“And you have an overly optimistic streak,” Dom shot back. “Just because you haven’t seen them doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you.”
“Pussies,” Orlando mumbled, rolling over.
Billy threw a handful of sand onto his exposed back. Orlando retaliated with a hank of wet seaweed. He missed Billy and hit Dom. Grapes composed the return salvo. That all ended rather badly, with everyone eventually retreating to the water again to rid themselves of various substances.
It was some time in the early afternoon that Viggo and Sean came riding up the beach on a couple of fairly nice horses. Sean had an English style saddle on and Viggo was bareback. Viggo had been riding in the surf, and horse and rider were well and truly soaked. Sean looked every inch the gentleman – and Viggo looked stereotypically like a gypsy. Orlando immediately begged a turn and Viggo slid off to offer him a leg up on the rangy bay.
“She’s got a hard mouth, but if she starts getting crazy just ride her into deeper water. Can’t swim worth shit, so she’ll either behave or drown you both.”
Orlando laughed at this direction, and immediately took off down the sand at a gallop, whooping like a madman. Sean had dismounted and was pilfering the hamper for drinks, disappointed to find that there was absolutely nothing left but a jar of truffles, and those had apparently been included solely for entertainment value. “Only came this far because we was parched,” Sean groused.
“Can I ride your horse, Bean?” Dom asked, looking after Orlando wistfully. He was clearly having fun, dodging in and out of the surf.
“I doubt it,” Sean said seriously. “This is not a beginner’s mount.”
“I’ve ridden horses before,” Dom complained.
“Stick horses and Weta phony ponies,” Viggo corrected.
“And Bill the Pony,” Billy added. “Was it the full-sized one, or the dwarf horse, Sblomie?”
“Aww, fuck off, the lot of you!”
“Don’t let your horse shit here, Sean,” Elijah instructed prissily. “I don’t want it to stink up the joint.”
Viggo shook a finger at Sean’s gelding. “Don’t shit. No shitting. The Hobbits have requested it.”
“I’m going to ride up to the house and get some beers,” Sean decided, swinging back up into the saddle.
“And sandwiches,” Dom called.
“Pickles,” Elijah added. “And ice cream!”
“Hooters’ chicken wings?” Billy requested hopefully, before chasing Dom into the ocean again.
Viggo was watching Orlando riding the mare into deep water, shaking his head, when he heard a commotion from the hillside above. There were shouts and curses, and then an equine squeal of fear, and suddenly Sean’s horse was plunging back down the dunes without him. Viggo tried to catch the horse, but he pelted down the beach at a full run, probably heading for his barn back near town.
Everyone ran up the hill, terrified at what they might find. Sean emerged from the grassy dunes intact, red in the face, and muttering darkly. “I’m all right,” he called to the rescue party. “Just got thrown off. All sand here, fortunately.”
“What happened?” Viggo said, beating the others to the obvious question.
“Horse spooked. Took one look at the house and it was like he came unhinged. You’d think they were slaughtering horses for glue and dog food up there.”
“Or something worse,” Dom speculated.
Some minutes later Orlando rode up on the mare, leading the gelding, but the horse was still rolling his eyes, snorting in fear, unwilling to even consider going inland, toward the mansion. Sean decided that he’d had enough riding for the day, so Viggo and Orlando took the horses back to their stable, riding in the dunes as far as they could down the beach, trying to dry off.
When the two actors arrived back from town they parked behind the mansion and walked around the grounds for a little while. All that time riding together and they had only talked about mutual friends, politics, and superficial things. Orlando was itching to get some advice from his respected mentor, and Viggo was ready and willing to assist, assuming that Orli would find a way to open up. You could lead an Elf to Mordor, but you couldn’t make him pick up the Ring.
“This foundation is huge,” Viggo said, kicking at the stonework peeking out of turfs of windswept grass. “Might have been a distillery for the sugar.”
“Making rum, likely,” Orlando observed. “Ovens for heating, you can almost still smell the burning rushes. I wonder how the rum would compare to what they make around here today.”
“Well, it was bound to be pretty good. They made it for centuries. I’ll bet your pal Jack Sparrow would have an opinion.”
“That’s Captain Sparrow to you, landlubber,” Orlando said with a grin. The smile faded slowly and he continued walking across the uneven ground. “Johnny’s great, you know. They’re really his movies…I think maybe I’m meant to stay behind someone with more screen value, wave a sword around and look cute.”
“Meant by whom?” Viggo asked. “Since when do you care what the critics say?”
“Me? I’ve always bloody cared! You’re the iconoclast, mate. You’re also the perfect leading man, despite your contrary claims. Even if I could avoid all the snide crap and catty comments, my mum cuts out the articles and reads them to me over the phone. It’s like she’s talking about someone I don’t even know, even in the interviews. I wonder, ‘who is this prat, and how he got to be so full of shite?’”
“You really think you’re full of shit, Bloom?”
“Only when I stop being cute and open my mouth. And that’s pretty much what they pay the trick pony to do.”
“I think you come off very self-effacing and sweet. You’re not a natural liar. Your honesty offends the vultures.”
Orlando stopped walking and turned around, staring openly into Viggo’s face. “You’re taking the piss, aren’t you?”
“Only a tiny bit.” Viggo grinned, suddenly jumping closer and folding Orlando into a tight embrace. The younger man winced, but Viggo wouldn’t let go. “You’re too sensitive for this acting business, baby. It really isn’t brain surgery.”
“Good thing that. Can you imagine the havoc I could wreck with a sword that’s actually sharp?”
“Heaven forbid! And speaking of ‘Heaven’, you are leading man material. You just need a movie that suits your soul. The casting agents have all the creativity of a Danielle Steel plot. You should be playing a homicidal, glue-sniffing, laundromat accountant.”
“With a limp, and a pet alligator!”
“Who does his soul-searching in the local bowling alley. Think of the angst you could plumb when the big shoe rental scene escalates into a full-on killing spree snit! Billy and Dom could write it up in a thrice!”
Orlando was already laughing. “Or how about this – a guy who rents a haunted house in the Caribbean, and manages to disenfranchise all of his only true friends?”
Viggo held him tighter, stroking a hand hesitantly over the mass of wind-tossed curls. “Is that what you think? We’re your only mates? Our ungodly bunch of losers? Is that why it matters so much?”
Orlando pulled away and started walking again, moving around the ruins of once strong and useful buildings. When he finally spoke his voice was hard to hear over the rising wind. The storm out at sea was moving in. “I had a friend from school who would call up my mum, wanting to stay in touch. Saw him the last time I was in London, and he was laughing about all these adventures the two of us had back in the days…and I didn’t remember a single one of them. Found out later that he had a website, selling stuff that he claimed I had signed, and collecting money for a charity that I’d never heard of. I had to have my solicitors contact him. Guess who the arsehole is when he tells the story – which he does regularly, and at great length.”
Viggo sighed. “I can beat that. My ex-wife is a school librarian now. Talk about contradicting yourself – she runs an anti-drug program, complains about rap music’s objectification of women, and wants Henry to join her church.”
“Exene…in a church?”
“Seriously. People change, Orli. That guy would have been an ass whether he knew you or not. It just made it easier for him to bilk unsuspecting little girls. You don’t really take it all seriously, do you?”
“I try not to. I just…it’s getting harder and harder to tell right from wrong. People will smile right to my face and then do the most dishonest, wretched things.”
Viggo caught his hand, pulling him close again for another hug. “Does this help, Elf? Does it help if I tell you that I’ll only ever speak the truth?”
“More than you’ll likely know. Thanks, Viggo. Smelly Man.”
“Prissy movie star. Get over yourself.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll try.”
“Good. Let’s go inside. There’s a storm coming.”
“Figures. There’s always got to be a storm at the haunted house.”
“Did Danielle Steel write this?”
Viggo was happily stirring a pot of soup when Sean found him in the kitchen late that afternoon. “I thought Orli was doing the cooking tonight,” Sean said, getting a bottle of water out of the cooler.
“He’s really tired, so he just did the salad. I’m doing soup and grilling lobster. Billy doesn’t like lobster, so I might marinate a chicken breast for him.”
“You lot know each other just too well,” Sean snorted. “No more signs of runaway cookers? No ghosties?”
“Not yet,” Viggo said with a smile, chopping leaks with a huge cleaver. “But I think I know where one hangs out.”
Sean’s brow went up. “You what?”
“Go down those stairs,” Viggo instructed, pointing to a door in the side wall. “It leads to a cellar.”
“What, and fetch you some amontillado while I’m down there?”
Viggo laughed. “No, thanks…but go ahead! It’s pretty harmless. Kinda dark, but you’d expect as much if there’s a ghost hanging around.”
Shrugging, Sean opened the heavy door and found a rustic wooden stairway that led downwards. There was a light of some sort at the bottom, and enough spilled in from the top that he could see where to put his feet. “If something down here kills me I’m coming back to get you too,” he warned Viggo, and then moved cautiously downward. Eight steps down, then a small closed landing with a 180° turn to the right. When Sean’s feet hit the landing he found that the air on his face was intensely cold, and all the hairs on his arms and neck stood up sharply. He caught a faint whiff of flowers. Unsure what to do, Sean continued down the stairs, and by the time he reached the bottom the air was warm again.
He was standing in a large cellar, which must have run under the whole kitchen as it was originally laid out. Many heavy support beams intruded into the space and shelving lined several walls, creating nooks and crannies. A couple of simple bulbs hung from ancient wiring, barely illuminating the area. The walls were bricked crudely, and in some places you could see that the cellar had actually been carved into the native rock of the ridge where the house sat. The air was still and damp and cool, but nothing like that chill spot on the stairs.
Taking a few hesitant steps, Sean poked around a little bit. He found a massive oak door which closed off a small room cut directly into the rock. Heavy, hand-wrought metal hooks in the roof beams indicated that this had been used for meat storage some time before refrigeration had come to the island. A faintly sickening smell of rotten meat and smoke still clung to the ancient wood and stone. Bean paused by a shelf to pick up a jar of something pickled, noting that it had been down there so long that it was all but impossible to guess what the food had originally been. He put the jar gently back down and decided he’d seen enough.
Clumping back up the steps, Sean hurried over the haunted landing, but when he hit the top and burst through the door he found that he was now on a different floor, one above the kitchen, to judge by the view out the windows. The late afternoon was being crowded out by the arrival of a storm brewing out to sea, the waves coming in white-capped on the rocks below the cliffs. Strangely enough, the house and grounds looked somehow different, like it was later in the day than it should be.
“What the…?” Bean mumbled. He looked around once, noticing that the furniture up here had been mostly covered with sheets, and then he turned and clumped back down the steps again, counting as he went. Nine down, a turn to the right, then ten steps, and he was back in the cellar again. “Bloody hell!” Sean growled. “Viggo!” he yelled up the stairway.
“It’s okay, Sean,” Viggo called. “Just come up again.”
Muttering darkly about fun houses, Sean climbed up the stairs slowly. At eight steps he found the landing with the cold spot, and the scent of flowers once again tickled his nose. Sean moved doggedly upwards through the phenomenon, and at the top he found the kitchen door standing open. Viggo was leaning against the cutting block with a spoon in one hand and a grin on his face. “You too, huh?” Mortensen asked, pleased. “How cool is that?”
“Not cool. Not cool at all,” Sean complained. “You don’t screw around with physics and all.”
Viggo laughed.
Elijah, Dom and Billy went together to find Orlando and tell him that dinner was ready. It just seemed somehow prudent to move in a pack as wind whistled around the house and shook the windows, compounding the oppressive atmosphere. Lights were turned on as they moved through the rooms and halls. They heard Orlando talking loudly from one of the salons – presumably on the telephone – and by mutual agreement the three paused in the hallway to listen in. It was just habit, looking for something to tease him about later.
“No, I don’t need that, Alec, I just…well, I’m so just disappointed! I mean he waited until I left town to do this shit, and he knew I was going to find out! What was he thinking? How could he expect that it would all just blow over and he wouldn’t get into trouble? He’s not that stupid, he had to expect consequences!”
“Uh oh,” Billy whispered. “Someone’s gotten on the Elf’s bad side.”
Orlando was clearly exasperated. “He did? He what…oh, you have got to be kidding me! That’s just…that’s….”
“Agent?” Elijah wondered aloud.
“Boyfriend?” Dom questioned.
Orlando was muttering about trust, and the three Hobbit actors leaned closer to the open doorway, curious and fascinated despite themselves.
“He is? Right now? Put him on the phone! Yes, I mean it, put him on right this minute, thanks. I’ll fix his little attitude problem, or I’ll come home and fix it for him the hard way!”
“Oi, he’s gone all butch,” Billy mumbled.
They could tell that Orlando was pacing with his agitation. He huffed for a moment and then spoke even louder to be heard over a gust of wind that rattled the windows. “There you are, you mangy bastard! Don’t you start whining! Don’t you dare whine at me! Alec has told me every single thing you’ve done since I left, and it’s not going to continue! Do you hear me? Do you?”
“Mangy?” Elijah mouthed.
“And the new sofa too! How do you fucking eat a sofa? You really leave me no option, you’ve brought this on yourself….”
“Did he say ‘eat a sofa’?” Dom whispered.
“BAD DOG, SIDI! Bad, bad dog! Are you listening to me? Bad boy!”
The Hobbits collapsed in a heap, giggling, trying not to make too much noise or explode with mirth.
“Shame on you! That was a very expensive couch, and Kate had it made specially! And the crapping on her new carpet? Bad, bad dog! You know better than that! Don’t you whine at me! I’m not the one who’s been running out into traffic!”
Orlando continued to berate his dog for some time, while the three actors in the hall mimed spanking each other with rolled-up papers and shaking fingers sternly.
“Do we have an understanding, now? Are you going to behave for Alec? Because you know that the nice lady at kennel would just love to get her hands on you, and the first thing that’ll happen is a bath and your toenails clipped! Sidi, are you still listening?” He must have heard some sound on the other end of the call, despite a rise in sounds from the house, inside and out. “All right then, I’m going to trust you to make this right and start behaving. You know that daddy loves you, and I want you to be safe. So you be a good boy and mind your Uncle Alec. I’ll be home in a few more days.”
“Daddy!” Dom panted, tears in his eyes, finding it hard to breathe from beneath the pile.
“You be good from now on out, and I’ll bring you a special treat. Maybe even a new toy. Will you be a good boy? Will you, Sidi?”
“Arf!” Billy gasped, weak with laughter.
“All right, put Alec back on the phone. Alec, you be sure to call me if he rips up one more tree. He’s going to try to be better. Yeah. I’ll be at this number. Not sure if there’s a machine, but if someone’s here we’ll pick it up eventually. Call if you need to. Thanks. Bye! Bye, Sidi Boy. Behave, you little black monster!” The sound of footsteps, then Orlando leaned around the doorframe to gaze placidly down at the mound or Hobbits, all of whom were too weak with restrained laughter to move more than feebly. “I assume you lads are done listening in, as I am quite done entertaining you.”
“Dinner’s ready,” Elijah managed, before subsiding into riotous giggles.
“Good, I’m famished.” He stepped over them primly, but he was smiling.
“Pass the salad please, daddy,” Dom asked nicely at the dinning room table.
Orlando smirked to himself as he leaned around a candleholder to pass the big wooden bowl. The lit candles weren’t really necessary to add atmosphere – the storm was doing a fine job of that. Viggo bustled in with a tureen, then returned to the kitchen to plate up the lobster tails.
“Anyone up for a late night swim?” Billy asked.
“Sure, if you’re suicidal,” Sean commented, standing to serve the soup, passing bowls around.
“Anybody actually see any ghosts yet?” Elijah wanted to know.
“Maybe,” Billy said.
“Nothing to see,” Sean inserted authoritatively. “That’s the point. Though I think my horse saw something it didn’t like much.”
“Still got sand in your ears?” Dom asked. “No concussion?”
“I’ve been thrown off better mounts than that,” Sean bragged, though no one knew why.
“There’s the hell hounds,” Elijah offered.
“Those are just normal dogs,” Orlando said quickly. “They’re lovely lads. Came to visit me on the veranda earlier, and then again, upstairs, when I was changing.”
Dom frowned. “Really? Where do they come from? How are they getting in and out of the house? And who’s feeding them? Did the landlord tell you that the house comes with wolfhounds?”
“No, but…” Orlando was glaring at his soupspoon, which was bent back on itself, almost double. “This is probably very expensive cutlery, guys.”
“You think we did that?” Elijah snorted, picking up his knife, which had a curled tip. He tired his best to straighten it, but the metal didn’t budge. “Couldn’t if I tried.”
“You’re the blacksmith,” Billy pointed out. He gestured at the rest of the silverware at the table. Every single piece seemed deformed in some way. “It didn’t look strange when I set the table not thirty minutes ago. How long would it take to do all of this?”
“It’s a very poor joke,” Orlando said darkly.
Dom was sniffing the soup, and he made a disgusted face. “Ugh, Viggo. Is this hot borscht? It smells…odd. Sorta metallic.”
Viggo was just coming back in with the lobster. He took a quick glance at Dom’s bowl and suddenly knocked his spoon from his hand. “That is not the potato leek soup I made, Dominic!”
“I don’t suppose it’s tomato,” Billy questioned cautiously.
Sean was leaning over the bowl, frowning. He shook his head. “I suspect this is blood.” Dom’s eyes grew large, and then he bolted from the table. He made it to the hall bathroom before vomiting. Elijah went after him.
Viggo picked the platter of lobster tails back up and said “I’ll be eating one of these in the kitchen, if anyone wants to join me.”
“I’ll be upstairs, packing,” Billy announced.
Everyone abandoned the dining room. The bowls of blood cooled and coagulated.
Despite Billy’s claims that he was leaving, no one did. They finished their supper in the kitchen, where the atmosphere seemed somehow more conducive to living – even living well. Sean raided the wine cellar and pulled out anything that struck his fancy. The lobster was delicious.
“So, still think that it’s not haunted?” Elijah questioned Orlando casually. He made a face and helped himself to more rice.
Dom took up the discussion. “If it’s not, then someone is really, really putting some effort into making us think it is. There’s not a television crew hiding in a secret room here somewhere, is there?”
“I think we’re alone here,” Sean offered. “Oh, except for the ghost on the stairs….”
This led to the Hobbits exploring the cellar steps, creeping down in a tight and noisy pack. They found nothing unusual on the landing, and the cellar only held their interest for a short while. Elijah claimed that he felt ‘something weird’, but Billy pointed out that it was likely just Dom’s hand on his ass, and there was nothing weird about that – just queer.
When they came up again the entire group moved to one of the big reception rooms, where books and games had been collected and displayed. Dominic and Billy sat down with an antique backgammon game. Elijah perused the old record album collection, making obscure comments to himself in a radio announcer’s voice. Sean and Orlando took up billiards cues and proceeded to spend their time arguing about the rules of the game and Viggo sat down near the windows to watch the storm while writing in a tattered journal.
Billy had won one game, Elijah professed a lifetime attraction to Billie Holliday, Sean had soundly beaten Orlando (though the result was being contested), and Viggo paused to roll joints. Mortensen’s fingers handled the rolling papers with amazing dexterity, producing seven perfect little works of art, which were enthusiastically received all around. “Two for me,” Viggo pointed out when Elijah started to pick up more than one. “I’m the only one who bothered to bring grass.”
“I’m scared to take it through customs,” Elijah complained, lighting up.
“Amateur,” Mortensen teased him.
“Teach me how to smuggle, Viggo, please!” Elijah begged endearingly.
Orlando snorted, leaning back from where he was situated on the arm of Sean’s chair. Sean had his own arm around the younger man, and was watching him unwind slowly in the convivial atmosphere. “Don’t be spreading your tricksy ways and wickedness, Ranger,” Sean teased. He took a long draw on his own joint, and let his fingers tickle Orli’s ribs under the hem of his shirt. Orlando giggled uninhibitedly.
A faint clacking noise across the room echoed in the momentary silence, and all eyes turned toward the billiards table. The red ball was rolling across the surface on its own, powered by a strike that none of them had made. The ball hit the bumper with a clunk, and loudly dropped into a pocket.
“Okay,” Dom said softly. “Is that what ghosts do?” The sound of footsteps raced across the floor and out the door, accompanied by a faint burst of giggling.
“Everyone heard that, right?” Billy whispered.
“Oh, yeah,” Elijah said, his eyes comically big.
"We're being haunted by a Hobbit," Sean mused. Sean mused. “Did you hear how tiny those steps were?”
“I don’t think she’s a Hobbit,” Viggo said slowly, putting his joint in the ashtray and picking up his journal. “Uh, did you guys watch me write this?” Several agreed. “Okay, well…it’s in French. I don’t speak French well, and I write it not at all. Orli?”
The young man took the book gingerly, professing that he was long out of practice and that his dyslexia always made reading hard, yet he quickly scanned the scribbled lines and then spoke:
“Papa says Gunnar a bad man. Papa says Gunnar do a bad thing. But it not true! He doesn’t listen to me, no one listen to me! Papa so sad and alone now. I miss Papa and Cook and all of the others. I want to be able to play with the dark kids. No one play with me. No one talk to me now. I’m all alone.”
“You wrote that?” Dom questioned, squinting at Viggo through a cloud of smoke.
“I don’t think so. But maybe I did. I thought I was writing about the storm.”
Orlando shivered, handing the journal back quickly. “It’s really bad French. Kinda, I don’t know, archaic looking.” Something crashed loudly somewhere in the house, and everyone winced.
“We’re being scared by a child ghost?” Sean asked aloud.
“Maybe,” Viggo mused. “And maybe she’s not alone any more.”
Everyone headed upstairs late, while the storm raged and exhausted itself against the rocks. Orlando lingered in Sean’s bedroom as long as he could while the older man was getting ready for bed, and then he dismissed himself with the usual British pleasantries. He stopped by Viggo’s room and poked his head through the door. “Goodnight, Viggo. Thanks for everything today.”
“No problem, Elf Prince,” he said, looking up from the art book he’d brought to bed with him. Viggo smiled at Orlando for a long moment, then asked, “You want to sleep with me tonight?”
“No, thanks. Kind of you to offer, though.” He smiled self-consciously. “I’ve often wondered what would have happened if you’d accepted my offers in New Zealand.”
Viggo’s crooked grin widened. “I would have amazed you with my love-making skills, baby. But I wasn’t offering my body to you tonight – just a place to sleep. If I was able to resist you in that blond wig I should have no problem now that you’re so much older, issues-plagued and kinda mangy-looking.”
“Who’s mangy-looking?” Orlando laughed, hurrying into the room to kiss Viggo’s cheek, and then retiring to his own bed. He cracked a window open to the smell of rain and tucked himself up against the dark.
He was sound asleep an hour later when the spectral dogs materialized in his room and took up their posts, intending to guard him. But even the ghost dog pack were no match for Gunnar, when the monster came to claim his victim.
Rolling over the top of Dominic’s sweaty back, Elijah reached for the lube on the little nightstand, muttering dirty comments and veiled threats of sexual violence. Dom wasn’t worried in the least. He squirmed into the damp sheets happily, trying to accommodate his own erection while making room for his partner’s. The storm raged outside, and the barely-opened window caused the lacy curtains to rustle and shift in the inconsistent breezes.
A dark presence moved into the room through a wall at the foot of the Hobbit’s bed. The sound of heavy chains dragging across the wood was lost in the complaints of the wind and rain, as well as the noise of panting and laughter from the bed.
“Does Evie reach you here?” Elijah asked, thrusting deeply.
“God,” Dom moaned, pushing back with all his strength.
Stacks of CD cases were tipped by an invisible foot, and several jewel boxes were crushed under an unseen weight. A swirling mist of smoke could be seen, if either of them were looking.
“God…God…yeah!”
The heavy footsteps continued to the closed door, and through it. The scent of smoke lingered only for a moment.
“Harder…ugh! Yeah…God, Elijah…Elijah, did you leave a ciggie burning?”
“Shut up, bitch!”
“Yeah…yeah….”
Sean was brushing his teeth and thinking about those odd looks Orlando had been giving him. The kid had clearly wanted to say something, and yet he’d fled the moment that Sean had started to ask him if he’d like to stay a while and chat some more.
There were times when it really seemed like Orlando fancied him, despite their considerable differences and a history of untouched opportunities. It was common knowledge amongst the Fellowship that Orli was bisexual, and Sean had been known to dabble as well. But the two of them had never connected on that level. You had to wonder why that was. It wasn’t like either of them had any objections to a good-looking man making offers. After all, offers were not the same thing as any kind of commitment, thank God. He shuddered at the very though of commitment.
An old-fashioned claw-foot tub stood on the tiles behind Sean. There was a metal track above it supporting a plain, but expensive, beige shower curtain. The curtain rustled as an unusual form of energy moved through the wall and into the bathroom. Something started to materialize, just an impression of a shape – a very large, man-like shape – which dwarfed the Brit standing at the sink.
“I could offer you some comfort, lad,” Sean said to his reflection, imagining saying the words to Orlando. ‘Yeah, right,’ Sean thought. Pity he was such a damn coward. He would never be able to say that sentence aloud to the person who most needed to hear it. He snorted and went back to brushing his teeth, feeling guilty and weak.
The edge of the shower curtain caught on the tip of a claw, which was slowly raised behind Sean’s exposed back. The curtain shifted, rings sliding quietly along the metal rail. Other claws could be seen then, outlined against the straining material. Sean bent to spit out toothpaste. His nose caught a whiff of smoke, and he stood quickly. He just saw the motion of the curtain falling back into place out of the corner of his eye, and he started to turn when the blow struck.
Bean was slammed back into the sink, and then into the wall beside it, his head hitting the plaster hard enough to crack it. His eyes rolled up into his skull and he went down hard onto the cold tile floor. Smoke swirled up around the lights, and the old mirror reflected a horrifying image. This was no Weta trick. This was a large, dark-skinned man who had, though hundreds of years, harbored the deepest of grudges and a hatred so pure and hot that it burned his very soul to a crisp, like the flesh that had long ago deserted the spirit.
Sean’s unconscious body was dragged a couple of feet, and then abruptly left in a heap. Blood swelled up from a row of claw marks on his shoulder. The smoke swirled lazily against the wall, and the presence was gone.
Viggo was just reaching to turn out the light when he heard a mighty thump from somewhere across the hall. He frowned, distracted, and then started to get out of bed to investigate. It was at that moment that he heard urgent, unintelligible whispering, and a draft of icy air caressed his face. A soft scent of summer flowers directed his gaze upward, and Viggo again noticed the markings on the ceiling over his bed. There was a creaking noise outside his door, and he suddenly understood what the words and symbols meant. He cautiously lifted his foot back onto the bed
The floorboards groaned under a great weight, and the smoke monster materialized inside Viggo’s room. Tiny red eyes glowed in a face devoid of any human comprehension. The massive back was hunched, and long arms reached nearly to the ground, curled fingers tipped with claws suitable only for destruction. The thing’s skin was burned red and black and peeling, like it had been set on fire, and curls of smoke still rose from its incinerated flesh. It turned its flat, expressionless face towards him and the mighty jaw cracked open. Tendrils of smoke poured from the gaping jaw, and then it growled.
Viggo curled up in a ball, fascinated and terrified to the core. The thing seemed to be trying to speak, to articulate some demand for justice. It made a lurching motion, as if it intended to reach for him, but when it leaned closer to the bed it suddenly drew back with a howl of rage. The clawed hands came up and its gaze seemed to rise to the writing on the ceiling. Anger surged off the creature, and it tried again to reach him. Viggo was on the verge of fleeing to his balcony, despite the storm and the considerable drop to the ground, but the horrifying monster suddenly disincorporated, dissolving into a mass of dark and roiling smoke. The smoke dissipated, and Viggo felt his own body go limp with restrained terror.
Billy was rubbing sand from between his toes when he heard the fight. It was obviously the pack of Hell Hounds, and they were barking and growling and yipping in anger. Boyd jumped up and looked frantically for a weapon of some sort. It sounded like the dogs were in Orlando’s room. Even in the few moments that he hesitated Billy heard the dog fight escalate, with at least one animal shrieking in pain and a horrible crashing noise seeming to indicate an untimely demise.
He grabbed a heavy bottle of single malt he’d liberated from the house supplies and ran for the door, shouting that he was coming. He wrenched the door open and plunged across the hall, throwing open Orlando’s door and running inside – right into his own bedroom! Billy skidded on the smooth wooden floor and turned, shocked. He was looking through the hall door into his room, and yet he was standing in his room. He could still hear the dogs fighting, though with less vigor now, and more yelps of pain. Orlando was shouting too, and there was no hiding the terror in his friend’s voice.
“I’m coming, Orli!” Billy shouted, running back into the hall. He wrenched open another door; it was his bedroom again. He cursed effusively. Every door he tried led back to his own simple room, his clothes and personal items strewn around. Billy screamed in anger, and the dogs fought and cried and fell silent, one by one.
His head thumped against a doorframe as he struggled, the smooth wooden floor sliding by beneath his back. Orlando frantically tried to reach for the doorknob, but all he could grip was the frame. He dug his fingers in even as the monster dragged him another meter down the hall. His arms and back stretched painfully, and the grip on his calves tightened. The claws had already broken the skin, and he had the impression that the creature wasn’t at all worried about being gentle. His knuckles popped, and the wood of the doorframe creaked ominously.
The smoke ghost growled and tugged, turning to look at him angrily. Orlando felt his strength start to fail him in the light of those burning red eyes, the hideous charred flesh and grinning teeth that held no trace of a smile. Those teeth had already torn out the throat of one of the wolfhounds. The monster jerked hard on his legs, and the wood splintered beneath his hands, showering Orlando’s face with shards. He was dragged to the head of the stairs.
Somehow, Orlando knew that to be taken down those stairs would mean that he’d lost the fight, and he renewed his struggles valiantly, kicking and scratching and screaming. His hand still held a bit of the doorframe, and he jammed it into the ghost’s all-too-solid leg, gouging hunks of putrid flesh from the bone. He actually got loose for a moment, and scrambled to get away one hands and knees. He didn’t even make it across the hall before the ghost had him, dragging him backwards and into a clench, arms wrapped around Orlando’s chest. The monster squeezed, crushing the air from his lungs. Orlando fought for his life, biting and clawing, his shard of wood lost into the monster’s side.
Shrieking in rage, the ghost bore down even harder. Orlando’s ribs creaked, and a disgusting hand slapped over his face, wrenching his head back against the ghost’s massive chest and cutting off any chance he had of getting more air. It proceeded to try crushing the life out of the now weakly flailing actor. The wooden floors at the monster’s feet were now smoking, the wood charring to black. Wallpapers near the landing curled up, as if trying to escape the heat and rage radiating off of the creature. The reek of burning flesh would have made him gag if he’d had the air for it.
Orlando blacked out. He never had a chance to see what happened as the old wood of the stairs caught fire.
Elijah and Dominic had been trying for several minutes to get the door of their bedroom open. It was jammed shut tighter than any lock could account for. “Orlando!” Elijah screamed. He’d heard his friend’s cries for help as he had been dragged past, but there was nothing they could do to rescue him. Dominic was using a lamp to try breaking through the door, but nothing inside the mansion had been made cheaply or flimsy. The door was solid oak. The lamp disintegrated long before the wood gave way. “Orlando!” Elijah yelled again.
“We have to get out!” Dom said darkly, backing up.
“Something’s got him!” Elijah panted, turning his terror-stricken face toward his sometimes-lover. But Dominic wasn’t referring to Orlando’s plight any more. He was staring at the top of the door, where tendrils of smoke were now feeling their way into the room. It only took a moment to sink in, and then Elijah ran to the window and slammed it shut, cutting off the draft that was bringing the smoke in.
“Can we jump out?” Dom asked.
“Not good.” Elijah had already decided that would be their final escape route only. The ground was a good twenty feet down, and on this side of the mansion it was rocks, dead trees and stumps in what had likely been a garden at some time. The walls were slick with rain and whipped by the storm’s fierce winds. He didn’t fancy their chances of surviving the fall unscathed. Of course, anything would beat being burned up. They could now hear a growing conflagration outside their room. The fire was spreading very quickly.
Dom was staring at that gap at the top of the door, hefting the metal bar that was the only thing left from the lamp he’d beaten to pieces. “Baby, if I lift you up, you think you can get this wedged in near those hinges?”
The lights in their room went out. The smoke was coming in thick and heavy when they finally wrenched the door out its frame, and the dull red flicker of flames rushed it to meet them along a torrent of heated air. Dom grabbed Elijah’s hand and then turned up the hall, running away from the roaring fire at the head of the main staircase. A hunched figure appeared in the smoke, and Dom skidded to a stop just before falling over Bean’s body. Billy was dragging him away from the fire.
“Help me!” Billy gasped, bent over, hugging Bean’s head and shoulders to his chest as he pulled.
“What happened?” Elijah begged, grabbing an arm. Dominic took Sean’s other one, and the man’s limp body started moving much more quickly up the corridor.
“Couldn’t get out,” Billy panted. “Finally thought to open a door and back through it, and I found myself in Bean’s room. He was collapsed on the floor in the loo. I think he’s hit his head – it’s bleeding. Hurry! The fire’s spreading across the ceilings!”
“There’s no exit up here!” Dom said, reaching out to guide himself with a hand on the wall. None of them could see more than a few feet in the roiling smoke. They were all coughing constantly now, choking on the fumes.
“Some of the rooms have balconies,” Elijah panted. “If we can just….”
“Viggo!” Billy shouted, then coughed so hard that he staggered. “Viggo! Orlando! Have to get out! Where are they?”
“Too late,” Elijah said, feeling all of the terror behind his words.
Dom was trying to kick a door open when a large form came at them out of the smoke. The three men recoiled in fear as the nearly spectral shape resolved into one of the wolfhounds. The dog came right at Elijah, and he only had time to duck as the huge animal passed by so close that it almost seemed to move through him. The dog was followed by its two mates, and the last dog paused to look Elijah right in the eyes before hurrying up the corridor.
“Follow them,” Elijah said, dragging hard on Sean’s arm. Dominic and Billy had nothing to say, and no air with which to say it, but they did as Elijah told them, and they dragged Bean along behind the dogs. Part of the ceiling over the main landing collapsed, sending sparks racing up the hall towards them. The wolfhounds turned into an alcove that Dominic would have sworn hadn't been there before, and fresh air hit their faces from somewhere below. It was a narrow staircase, leading downwards.
With Billy taking Sean’s head and Dom and Elijah a leg apiece, they eased him down the steps, moving as quickly as possible. As the air grew fresher their strength seemed to return, and when they hit the bottom step Dom and Billy were able to lift Sean fully between them. Elijah ran ahead, searching the unfamiliar corridor for an exit. If they’d ever been in these rooms before he failed to recognize them. Suddenly the few remaining lights went out, leaving them in the dark, the house entire house ablaze over their heads.
“Uh, Elijah?” Dom called over the roar of the flames and sounds of destruction.
“This way! There’s a room here!”
They followed his voice, but when they found the doorway and went inside they could see no windows leading outside. “Can’t stop here,” Billy panted. “We’ll be trapped.”
“No,” Elijah said, sounding surprisingly certain. “The dogs are here. One is touching my leg. They led me here.”
“To be trapped and burn up!” Dom gasped. Bean was moving now, groaning and shifting, trying to shake himself awake. Billy touched his face, finding that the skin was slick with blood.
Dom jumped as a dog suddenly grasped his wrist, tugging him deeper into the room. For some reason he was less afraid, even with the sensation of teeth pressing cautiously over thin skin. The dog let go, and an instant later the wall ahead of them exploded, collapsing inward in a chaos of plaster and wood. Bright beams cut through the dark like searchlights, and it took a moment for them to realize that someone had driven one of the Jeeps right through the wall. The Jeep heaved once and backed away, leaving a gaping hole in the side of the house, wind whipping in through the ragged opening.
Flames raced toward the new source of oxygen. Elijah was already trying to clear a path when Viggo came stumbling in over the remains. He took Sean from them in a classic fireman’s carry, and all five got out just before more of the mansion collapsed. They backed further and further away from the conflagration, taking refuge in the trees at the edge of the property. As Viggo tended to Sean’s injuries the entire mansion went up in flames.
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*worries and frets and ARGH HOW DARE YOU LEAVE IT THERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*
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I'll CRY if it doesn't
*g*
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I'm not really a 'new' friend, I've read your wonderful work, sometimes with RedAutumn (is that right?) on yahoo groups. I'm there as pippins_toy...
Anyway, when I saw you weren't going to post anymore on the groups, I skittered on over here to be sure I didn't miss anyting - *g* and I almost did...
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Angst.... How did I miss the first chapter?
Fav scary scene,,,,,,, the kitchen with Viggo's hand stuck to the burner,,,,, ohhh had me for a good bit.
But, but,,,,, Orlando,,, you left Orlando with that monster,,,,,
Someone save him,,,,,
I even forgive this excellent story for not being Orlijah. LOL,,
Dom and Elijah are cute together.
You have given all of the cast the most wonderful voices.
Thanks
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Looking forward for the rest of this creepy tale.
cheers, rb
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As for tours of the inside of my head, going to have to wait until the medical school is dome with it. Cheers!