Disclaimer- I do not own the Power Puff Girls. I do however own the plot, Red Lady, story and song. Enjoy~
"….and they were never seen again!" A raven haired girl finished, her green eyes twinkling in amusement at the scene in front of her.
She was sitting cross legged at the edge of a bed, looking down at two girls, who sat upon two mattresses on the floor, hiding the wooden floor boards from view.
One of the girls was rolled up in a ball made up of blankets, her head sticking out, blue eyes gleaming with fear.
The other sat with the blanket rapped loosely around her, auburn hair flowing around her in a loose pony tail, looking not-so-happily at the laughing girl on the bed, her pink eyes narrowed slightly.
"Buttercup! Did you really have to choose such a scary one? You'll give yourself nightmares, not to mention us!" She exclaimed, annoyance making an appearance in her stern voice.
The raven haired girl stopped laughing and grinned at them, slight apology written in her features.
"Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to make it that scary. You alright, Bubs?" She addressed the blonde haired girl, who was beginning to unfurl herself from her wrap of blankets. She gave her a slight nod, fear still lingering in her eyes.
"Ok, on with the fun! Who wants to tell one more? 'Cause I have another one, and it's a goody!" Buttercup exclaimed excitedly, looking at the two mischievously.
The pink eyed girl gave her an almost disbelieving look, quickly replaced with a stern one. "Not too scary, I hope?"
"Nope. Relax, Bloss. It's not that scary." Buttercup answered joyfully.
Despite herself, Blossom found herself succumbing to Buttercup's joyful and jokey ways, and smiled back.
"Now, let's begin this frightening tale, shall we?" Buttercup began, taking on a spooky voice and continuing. "Ever heard of the 'Red Lady'? Well, now you will. There once was a girl who was bright and cheery. Her name was Rose, for her rosy cheeks and red hair. Her father was kind and her mother loving, but all that changed when she was eight and her mother died. She became ill and passed away just before sunrise. They buried her mother at the foot of a tree in her garden. She planted rose seeds at that spot that night, and the next morning, there was a mound of roses growing lively, as white as snow. Years passed, and the girl became a lady, and learnt medicine, making potions and ointments to heal the sick and injured. But people became suspicious, especially the local doctors, because she was doing their job without much payment. But one man decided he liked their fortune, so he started spreading rumours that she was a witch. He planned a raid on their house. They came in the dead of night, so her father hid her in this old grandfather clock, and went off to talk them down. Sadly, they killed him, and burned him. Some say you can still smell the burnt flesh in the air on certain nights, and hear the sizzle of his skin as it burned away." Bubbles grimaced, pulling a hand over her mouth and going slightly pale.
Buttercup ignored her reaction and went on with her story. "She watched them take her father's body away, and light him up. As he was burning, they came back to the house to take things of value and for her. They trudged over her mother's grave as they came, and made the roses crumple and cave. This made her go over the edge in anger. She got out of the clock and jumped out of the window, through the glass, and onto the roses below. When she landed, the roses went from snow white to crimson red. Some think she committed suicide, while others say she was just plain mad. But, our story doesn't end there. Exactly fifty years later, to the day, screaming was heard from the abandoned mansion. Turns out some kids had wondered into there, and had come across an old piano. Witnesses say that they heard music coming from the house. It was said that they'd sung the 'Red Lady's Balled' or something. It's supposed to summon the lady's ghost. So anyway, the kids did just that, and were found torn to shreds, strewn all over the place. It seems they'd come face to face with the 'Red Lady'." Buttercup put on an evil grin before continuing. "Then, fifty years later, the same thing happened. And another fifty years after that! The last time some kids were found with their heads dangling from the chandeliers."
Bubbles squeaked frightfully. "B-but, why was she doing that?!" She stuttered.
Buttercup shrugged. "For revenge, I guess. Our great-great-great-great-whatever's were her murderers. Pay back is eminent. The only way to stop her from killing you is to sing the last part of the song that begs for her forgiveness. That once happened about a century ago, but no one else has been able to sing the last part, for she kills them too quickly…or they're too frightened to say anything. Either way, that's the only way out of her clutches. Anyway, guess what tonight is?" She questioned, an evil smirk playing across her face.
"W-what?" Blossom frowned at her own stutter.
"The fiftieth anniversary!" Buttercup responded excitedly, taking on a look of mischief once again.
Blossom and Bubbles went pale, knowing exactly of what was to come.
"No! No, no, no, no! Definitely not! We are not going into that place!" Blossom exclaimed anxiously.
Buttercup grinned. "Well, I wasn't going to, but now that you mentioned it…." The look of mischief strengthened, so as she resembled a cheshire cat.
"No, Buttercup! Please don't! Don't scare us anymore!" Bubbles squeaked, in her ball of blankets once again.
"C'mon! You two aren't chicken, are you?" Buttercup teased, making chicken noises and flapping imaginary wings merrily.
Blossom went red in fury, a look of retaliation in her eyes.
"No we are not! C'mon!" She exclaimed angrily, storming off, out of the room, down the hall way, and out the front door.
Buttercup grinned as she followed, "Works like a charm," she muttered to herself.
Bubbles trailed behind, discarding her blankets one by one as she unfurled herself from their grasp and clutching at a purple octopus toy as she went, blue eyes sparking with uncertainty.
They walked along the dark street in silence, passing the rows of houses one by one.
Some of the lights in the houses were on, mingling with the street lamps, giving the street a sort of eerie glow.
As they moved forward, the houses became fewer and fewer, until they passed no more.
They eventually stopped in front of a great metal gate; the bars were high and pointed at the tips, seemingly meant to dishearten intruders from entering. Ivory climbed the gate, winding round and round, stopping at the tips, where it could climb no further.
Buttercup pushed open the giant gate, which squeaked in protest.
She took a small step forward, albeit hesitantly, before walking on, her tough exterior crumbling slightly.
Blossom hesitated, looking behind her at the street wistfully for a moment, before pressing on, uncertainty gleaming in her eyes.
Bubbles tightened her grip on her octopus toy, feeling close to running, but tried to adopt a brave face before entering.
"There're no such things as ghosts anyway." She whispered to herself.
They stood in a sort of garden, over grown with roses and weeds.
They pushed through, and came to a clearing, from which point they looked up, to stare, wide eyed, up at the building in front of them.
It was huge in size, with ivory climbing up its walls and three stories in height. Four massive windows were placed on the top floor, one broken, all caked with dust. A porch pocked out the front, the wood splintering slightly from age. A brass knob protruded from the door, which stood slightly ajar, revealing empty blackness beyond.
In its prime, the mansion would have been exquisite, but after two centuries of un-attendants, it was a wreck. The wood was splintered and rotted in places, remnants of black and gold paint peeling here and there. The roof was caving in slightly, and the beautiful garden that once surrounded it was overgrown and wild.
A tree stood by the broken window, a bed of roses at its feet. While the other roses were of the purest white, theses roses were crimson, and seemed to give off the metallic scent of blood.
At the sight of the tree, all three girls shuddered in unison.
"Buttercup…are you sure you want to-"Blossom began, but stopped abruptly, as Buttercup stepped onto the porch, and started to walk towards the door, hesitation in her steps.
Blossom looked back at Bubbles, who was shaking her head feverishly, her sunshine coloured pigtails bouncing from side to side.
"Please don't do it, Buttercup! Let's just go back!"
Buttercup ignored her pleads, and stretched out her hand, slowly taking hold of the knob and pulling it back, ever so slowly, the door creaking eerily into the night.
She looked back at the girls, a grin masking her relief, and beckoned them over.
They hesitated, before slowly coming forward, avoiding the small cracks in the path that wound its way up to the steps of the porch.
As they climbed the small wooden steps, they groaned slightly from the unexacting weight of human bodies.
Once they reached Buttercup, she looked away from them, and into the gaping hole of blackness that resided beyond the door.
Bubbles gulped, and pointed out timidly, "We don't have a light, s-so we can't go in, right?"
Blossom's eyes lit up with hope for a moment, but died away when Buttercup produced a small flashlight from her pants pocket.
She turned it on, a small but steady beam of light pierced the menacing darkness, and revealing a dust laden hallway, paint peeling, wood splintering, walls showing remnants of what had once been there, but had been ripped from the walls in a so called fictional raid.
Buttercup sneezed, holding her nose to keep the duct from entering it for a moment, before letting go and walking on down the hall, passing rat holes and peeling paint as she went.
The others slowly followed, looking warily around themselves.
They all made sure to keep close together, seeming to almost cling to each other, making sure to stay near the beam of light as if it determined life or death for them.
They passed many doors as they went, but didn't open any, seeming to be afraid a ghost would jump out at them and rip them to pieces.
The girls continued down the hallway, jumping at any sudden noise and cowering away from holes in the walls, where eyes seemed to watch them from the bone chilling blackness.
They eventually came to a stop at the end of the hall, facing a door, firmly shut and perhaps even locked.
The girls looked at each other for a moment, before Buttercup stretched out her hand, closing her fingers around the brass knob, and opening the door, revealing a gloomy living room. Curtains lay on the floor, moth eaten and dirty, upon the dusty rug, hiding splintering floor boards beneath. The furniture was bare and broken, some even tipped over in the now conformed raid upon the house hold. A fireplace was set into one wall, ashes still in the grill, cut wood stacked by the side, ready to be used to warm an evening in.
The girls crossed the room, careful not to disturb the rotting furniture and to another door positioned on the opposite wall.
The door, like all the others, was old looking, flashing a brass knob.
This time, it was Blossom who opened the door, with Bubbles and Buttercup looking on anxiously.
A stair case was revealed, leading up into the second level of the house.
The girls climbed them, one by one, creaking as they would, and reached the top, stepping into what looked to be the kitchen.
To put it simply, the kitchen was about two or three times bigger than the normal kitchen size. A hearth stood at one end, an old style stove stationed above it, ready to warm the kitchen while baking breads and cooking the meat at any given opportunity.
"Did they have cooks and servants?" Blossom asked, looking around at the remnants of a clean and colossal kitchen.
Chopping boards left unattended, knives lying unused.
"Probably, I mean, it looks like they were reasonably rich, so why wouldn't they… but, the story doesn't say." Buttercup answered, walking towards another door, opening it and stepping onto another flight of stairs, no doubt leading up onto the last level of the house.
The others followed, and they climbed them as well, coming to stand in a grand study, caked with dust and time.
Once again, places that would have once held great artefacts were bare, taken from their homes roughly and uncaringly. A desk stood at one end, broken and tilting slightly, a grand piano at the other. A grandfather clock stood next to the broken window the girls had noticed before. And if you looked down, you could've seen the bed of crimson roses below. Bookshelves covered the walls, but no longer held anything, being bare, covered in dust and rotting, as were most things here.
"I-is that where she…?" Bubbles trailed off, staring at the broken window.
Buttercup went pale. "No way! That's just an old story!" She answered, an unconvincing tone evident in her voice.
"Then why are we here?" Blossom questioned, annoyance and fear two key factors in her tone.
"I just wanna have a look around." Buttercup defended, walking around hesitantly.
Moonlight was streaming in through the windows, the dust muffling it slightly, giving the room a dark glow.
Pure moonlight streamed in from the broken window, illuminating the grandfather clock near it, and a small part of the grand piano, standing solemnly in one corner. A small layer of dust covered its surface, showing evidence of its peaceful rest for half a century.
Buttercup somewhat crept over to it, shining the light over its dust ridden surface.
The light landed on a music sheet, propped up so as the player could see it. A small amount of dried blood mottled its surface, and the paper was yellowing from age.
"Wonder why they didn't take this in the raid?" Buttercup questioned thoughtfully, running her fingers over the dusty keys, not daring to play a note on it.
"It was probably too heavy." Blossom answered, coming over to look at it as well.
Bubbles held tightly onto her stuffed toy. "Guys! Can't we just go now?" Her voice was slightly unsteady, her eyes darting here and there nervously.
"Oh, we aren't done yet!" Buttercup responded excitedly, walking over to Bubbles, taking her hand and guiding her over to the piano, then sitting her down in front of it on an old leather bench, the cover cracking and revealing it's stuffing.
"Bubs? How's your piano lessons going?" She asked, a sly smile creeping across her face.
Bubbles eyes widened and she quickly stood, backing away from the piano.
"Oh no, nonononono! No way! I am not playing that!" She squeaked.
"Oh, come on, Bubbles! Please! Like you said, ghosts don't exist. Nothing'll happen!" Buttercup pleaded, steering her towards the piano again.
Bubbles resisted only slightly, and allowed herself to be seated once again, the piece of paper propped up in front of her.
She gulped, rested her fingers on the keys, and after a moment, started playing the 'Red Lady's Balled'.
After a moment, Bubbles and Buttercup began to sing the words, an eerily beautiful harmony, accompanied by the soft notes of the piano, strangely in tune after all these years of none attendance.
Oh, dear Red Lady, heed my calls,
come and greet us, within these walls.
Dear Red Lady, listen well,
as your tale may I tell?
Buttercup nudged Blossom, and pointed to the sheet, indicating for her to sing as well.
Blossom hesitated, but then began to sing, adding to the eerie tune.
You lived in this mansion many a year,
since you were a child here.
But, your dear mother, became ill,
and brought dark fears upon your will.
And on the night of a heavy storm,
your mother did not surpass the dawn.
You lay her to rest, at the foot of a tree,
where you planted roses, so simply.
All three sang in unison, a beautiful harmony, soft as moonlight, yet as dark as night.
Many years passed, without a smile,
that ever lasted, such a while.
You taught yourself, a medicine trade,
to give your family, a careful aid.
They sang softly, soothingly even, and possessed the voices of angels, seeming to try and coax the dead back with the living.
But many wondered, as they would,
if your power was really good.
The people decided, to cast you aside,
and take your fortune, to be unkind.
They came one night, on a summer's day,
the moon was shining, without delay.
They trudged upon the earth they did,
and you, your father had hid.
For a moment, something seemed to flicker in the moonlight, an unidentifiable shadow, that caused Blossom and Buttercup to blink, but once they opened their eyes again, it was gone. They dismissed the matter, and continued to sing, looking away from the broken window.
They thrust him down, and took his soul,
and burned his flesh, till it looked like coal.
And with a look of no regret upon theirs,
they went back, with no cares.
You hid in fear, watching them so,
from the clock, next to the window.
But once they trudged upon your mother's grave,
and the roses, began to cave.
Your fury took you, with great might,
and you took flight, into the night.
Blossom noticed a glass vase on a table, illuminated by the moonlight and containing beautiful white roses.
She frowned. 'Was that there a moment ago?' She wondered, still singing perfectly.
She nudged Buttercup, and nodded towards the vase, giving her a questioning look.
Buttercup frowned and shook her head, answering her silent question.
You landed on your white petaled roses,
and took your own life, many supposes.
The moonlit petals, began to darken,
a crimson colour, of bloody harken.
My dear Red Lady, you stand before me,
wearing your crimson vale.
In the light of the fullest moon,
it makes you look so pale.
You cast your revenge, upon us all,
for as we have yet said.
Tis our Grandfathers fault,
that you are dead.
As they sang, the roses seemed to darken, their petals taking on a crimson colour. Instead of a sweet smell, the flowers began to give off a strong metallic aroma, similar to that of blood.
Soon the room was sticking with it, and the girls faltered, a look of horror falling across their faces as they watched the vase's water darken, until it was blood red.
The girls had only two verses to go, the forgiveness verses, but they stopped dead, frozen in fear, at the bloody haze surrounding them.
Buttercup attempted a smile, saying: "I-it's alight. S-someone's just playing a prank on us, Let's-let's finish this." Her voice was feeble, reassurance un-assuring. "Forgi-!" She began, but stopped abruptly, a choke caught in her throat.
She looked down, wide eyed, at the hand protruding from her chest, covered in blood.
Her blood.
Her eyes rolled back into her head and she slumped forward.
The figure behind her pulled its hand free from her back, and she crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
The figure was what looked to be a lady, a red vale covering her face, wearing a crimson dress, roses seeming to be flowering from the fabric. Her hair was a fiery red, darkened slightly, the colour of velvet.
A scream tore through Blossom's throat, and she turned, running frantically for the door.
But the Red Lady was faster. With a few strides, she was beside her, stretching her hands out and taking hold of her head.
With one simple movement she pulled Blossom's head to the side, a sickening crack piercing the gloom.
She fell to the ground also, her eyes open, wide with terror, horror gleaming in her life-less orbs.
Bubbles didn't move, she couldn't tear her eyes away from Buttercup's unmoving body, a pool of blood beginning to form around her.
A whimper passed from her lips as she came to stare at Blossom, eyes filling with tears and a look of horror gracing her delicate features when she saw how her head was bent at a sickening angle.
The Red Lady looked to her for a moment, then moved towards her, in long, smooth strides.
"No!" Bubbles choked, standing and stumbling away from her and towards the broken window, silver moonlight still streaming through.
She looked around frantically for a weapon, until her eyes fell upon the yellowing piece of paper in her hand. She must have grabbed it without knowing.
'The only way to survive her vengeance is to sing the forgiveness verses.' Buttercup's words flashed through her mind.
She brought it up so as she could read it, and to block out the Red Lady, slowly moving towards her. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
Only an anguished sob passed from her lips.
Her eyes widened with fear, tears spilled down her cheeks.
The Red Lady stepped in front of her, and reached out towards her.
"No!"
A police officer stepped through the door and into the study, careful to stay clear of the crumpled body lane on the floor.
Another man was waiting for him by the broken window, and when seeing him, waved him over.
Sunlight illuminated his greying brown hair and line marked face. Something was clutched in his oversized hand, but the young officer wasn't quite sure what.
"Who're the victims?" He questioned, coming to stand next to the man.
"Three teenagers, triplets actually, 14 years of age, females. That one over there's neck was broken," he pointed over to the body lying by the door, head bent at a distressing angle. "The one by the piano has a hole through the chest and heart," he gestured to a figure, surrounded by a pool of drying blood by an old grand piano.
"And the last one?" The younger man prompted.
The older man held up a stuffed octopus toy, blood socked and ripped slightly. He then pointed out the window and down.
The first man came forward and looked down, and, at seeing the scene, went white, bile rising to the back of his throat, and straightened up again.
"W-what could have down this?" He questioned, feeling sick to the stomach.
The older man shrugged, walking away.
"Sometimes, stuff like this happens here. You're new to the area, right?" The younger man nodded. "This has happened for some time now, so all we can do is write it off as an unknown incident." The man answered simply, walking out the door and down the stairs.
The other officer looked at him leave, a questioning look in his eyes.
He walked over to the window again, not daring to look down, and saw a piece of paper lying on the floor.
It was yellow, and slightly crumpled.
He picked it up, notching the blotches of blood here and there.
"'Forgive us, forgive us, my dear Red Lady's souls,
forgive us, forgive us, it's as we have been told.
Tis not our fault, for you see,
the crimson vale's shadowed me.
Tis not us, who cast you aside,
into hells darkened abide'?" He read aloud. He shrugged, and left it on a table nearby.
The table had a glass vase upon its surface and wilting roses sagged on the sides. A single red petal fell, and slowly ascended to land on the paper, a small pool of blood beginning to spread across the yellowing surface.
Hope you liked it. I'll leave how Bubbles died up to you reader's imagination. Please review~