"Take away a man's light, his clothes, his food, his friends, his air, and you leave him with nothing but himself. And for most, that is not pleasant company." -Ranse Truman.
You all wear so many masks, and with so many masks, which is your real face?
Lazarus rested next to the shore of the trickling stream, admiring the scenery around him. Sometimes he just needed to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city. 'Hey.' A pair of hands came down on his shoulders, manicured nails resting on his black jacket. 'We used to play here all the time as kids, didn't we? What were we... Ten?' Lazarus tilted his head back, long black hair falling aside so cerulean eyes could see the woman smiling down at him. 'Yeah. A long time ago. Feels like only yesterday.'
'Feels like 12 years to me.' Andrea Harper groaned as she sat down next to him. 'You remember the time Sister Mavis found us out here? She freaked.'
'Yeah.' he laughed. 'Now that I think about it, it was quite funny.'
'Mmm. "Why can't you be more like the other children?"' Andrea said in a rather good impression.
Lazarus smirked at this, watching his reflection be distorted by the ripples of the stream, a stray leaf was carried past. 'This forest... It'll all be gone soon.' he said sadly. 'All our childhood memories along with these woods.' He reached next to him for Andrea's reassuring form. It wasn't there.
'Andrea?' He looked around, golden butterfly charm around his neck flicking from side to side with his head as he searched for me. Her vanishing form was seen by him, just going between two trees. 'Andrea!' he hurried after her, trying not to let her put too much distance between her. These woods, unless you knew where you were going, were easy to get lost in. He continued chasing her, white trainers crunching leaves and cracking twigs under his feet. 'Where are you going?' She was still far away, just barely visible in the fading evening light.
He stopped abruptly, it was either that or crash into Andrea's back as she stood in the forest clearing. 'Andrea?' She turned to him, as if in a trance, and spoke as if in wonder.
'Appletown. The lost village.'
Chapter 1: The Lost Village.
'I've heard about this place.' Lazarus wondered as he looked around at the leaf covered buildings, with their overgrown gardens and gardening equipment merely abandoned where it stood. 'A long time ago... I thought it was just a legend. People who are drawn here are never seen again.'
'We found Appletown?' Andrea was almost laughing but she stopped as she scanned the houses.
'I heard singing before, but... There's no-one here.' Andrea observed as she looked around. 'Hey, we found this place, we should explore! Some of the houses might have money!'
Lazarus snorted at Andrea, always financially minded. 'Laz!'
'Hm?' he snapped from his trance, spotting Andrea digging about in an overgrown garden, pulling at something in the long grass. 'What?' he wondered, amused, as he strode over to her. 'Did you find a credit card?'
'No- Ugh!' Andrea grunted as she tugged ruthlessly at the object before finally managing to pull it free; a handbag. Taking it out of the garden and onto a ruined pathway, Andrea eagerly began to sift through the contents. 'Just bits of paper...' she noted sadly.
'Wait...' Lazarus stopped her before she could shut the bag again. Reaching a hand inside, he pulled out a complete sheet, writing on it. 'Look. A diary.'
'Ooo, good on you, Mr eagle eyes.' Andrea jested as she took it from him and began to read.
-
JOURNALIST'S DIARY 1: "I found Appletown! The so-called "Lost Village", what a scoop! I think I'll take a look around the houses, see what juicy info I can dig up from all this dust." -
The creaky door with the peeling white paint closed behind them, disturbing the musty, stale air inside the house. Both of them stood in the hall, rough floorboards groaning under their shoes, nearby rested discarded shoes and wellington boots, caked in years of dried mud, it would likely hold their form should the shoes corrode away completely. 'Let's...' Andrea spared the oak staircase a smal glance before instead shifting her aim down the narrow hallway ahead of them. '... Check out the ground floor first.' She decided finally. Andrea moved past a cracked window that looked out into the gap between two houses, she did not see the pale face looking in at her, Lazarus, however did. 'Andrea...' He said quietly, loud enough for her to hear as he looked at her.
'Hm?' she wondered, turning to face him. Lazarus looked to the window again. No face.
'Nothing...' he stated, rubbing his eyes tiredly.
The kitchen stood in disrepair. Washing up simply abandonded in the sink, a spider had spun it's web between the handles of two saucepans. Andrea entered into the room, emerald eyes scanning the decrepit kitchen as her black shoes scattered years of dust that had settled on the grimy floor. Lazarus soon joined her, shivering as he wrapped his black jacket tighter around him. 'It's a bit... Cold...' he shuddered before sparing Andrea a curious glance. 'Don't you feel that chill?'
'No. It's nice in here.' she replied, feeling the evening sunlight on her skin as it trickled in via thin beams through a dusty window.
'Meh, there's nothing here, Laz.' Andrea gave a shrug and proceeded past him, heading back to where they had first entered the building. Lazarus stood in the kitchen, shivering. Though he could see and feel the warm sunlight, it was somehow drowned out by an otherworldly chill. 'Lazarus!' Andrea's voice came from the hallway, squeaky and frightened, a tiny whisper of it's usual self. Floorboards bending under his exertion, Lazarus hurriedly returned to her. 'What? What's wrong, Andrea?' he asked her. The woman in question stared unblinkingly at the top of the stairs, pale as death. 'There was someone up there...' she whispered, pointing a trembling finger in that direction. 'Just for a second...'
'Should we go and look?' he asked, giving her a gentle shake to wake her from her self-imposed trance.
'Y... Yeah... Let's go and look.'
These stairs creaked even more then the floorboards below, each one bending far more then they should be allowed to. The two of them found another diary entry on the ground; page torn asunder from the journalist's notebook.
-
JOURNALIST'S DIARY 2:
"The longer I stay here, the more I feel this unwelcome chill in the air. There's a feeling of tension present as night draws in. It feels like the village is waiting for something, or someone. But it's not me... It's not me..."-
The rest of the rooms in this house were just like the village; run down and filled with cobwebs and dust. One room had once belonged to a young girl. Once the room probably had been bright and full of colour, now all that was left was faded, peeling wallpaper and mouldy stuffed animals were the main make up of the room. By now the sunlight was all but gone, a few last rays of daylight stubbornly clung over the trees, but it would likely be gone by the end of the hour. 'Where did she go...?' Andrea asked as she looked around the room. 'I... I saw her go in here. There was no way she could just vanish...'
Lazarus looked around. 'Maybe she went into another room?' he wondered. 'I'll go check out the master bedroom.'
Andrea nodded, crossing into the room opposite.
Lazarus examined the room, mouldy sheets still made neatly, most likely by a family that would never sleep in that bed again. Bottles of perfume and brushes sat on the mirror fronted table, all of which were out of date and had been for years. 'Hm?' something caught his attention; a flashlight was on the ground, seemingly out of place with the rest of the room. Considering it useful, he picked it up and checked it, the batteries were still good. Turning to face the mirror, he froze, catching sight of his reflection; Midnight black hair laying flat down the sides, yet was wild and spiked near the back, deep eyes bloodshot. He looked tired. His eyes widened as he saw who stood behind him; a pale creepy figure of a woman, blonde haired tied back into a ponytail, dressed in ragged clothing as she clutched a crimson fronted journal to her chest; It was the ghost of the journalist. 'Please...' she whispered, in a dry echo of a voice as she strode towards him before passing straight through him, in that moment Lazarus was lost to the soundless void.
Here is what he saw:
'Who's there...?' The Journalist strode through a monotone version of Appletown. 'Is someone around?' She shone her flashlight in the general direction of the town hall. Something was beckoning her there. She openened the doors and entered inside, doors shutting behind her, her shreiking scream faded into static...