Important Note: Before you read any content in this fanfiction, I shall warn you that this fanfiction does contain a female OC (original character). For you who find a dreadful dislike in OCs, especially female ones, I suggest you click the "back" symbol and shun this fanfiction from your life. As for you who are comfortable and can handle an OC, please do continue reading. Thank you.
Title: The Basement
A Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends Fanfiction Composed by: Cassie Jennifer Bryant
Main Genre: Horror.
Minor Genres: Romance, Drama, Mystery, General, Angst, (slight) Humor.
Ratings/Warnings: Teen (suitable for ages thirteen and up) - for slight language, violence, pervertity (pervertity may increase tremendously within the next chapters depending). There will be slight OOC moments as this fanfiction continues on. If you are uncomfortable with any of the following, discontinue reading and find another fan fiction that you find suitable for your viewing. Thank You.
Disclaimer: I own my origional character, my writing technique, and the plot. Fosters is copyrighted to Cartoon Network. Please don't sue me, I am just a fan searching for feedback.
Begin Author Note: I've became a fan for Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends for a while now, and I must say it is a very amusing and intriguing show. Finally, I decided to come out and create a FHFIF fanfiction. One about my favorite Wilt to be exact. I was most excited while writing this, and I do pray you will enjoy. Since I am not as intimate with the show as I am with Invader Zim and other various shows, I am not sure if I have their entire personalities down. If anyone who is a prodigious fan and has anything they see they find, please do let me know in either review or e-mail. I will struggle to make them seem more into their character as the chapters progress. I was considering of making this fanfiction a oneshot, but in the end I simply decided on making it a series.
There will be a female origional character who is not yet introduced in this chapter just yet. If you notice she seems to contain the traits of a Mary Sue, please do inform me. I will do my best to insert defects into her. If you find a huge dislike in OC's, please do not bother with this fanfiction or flame me. In my perspection I will see it as a pointless way to irk me. If you wish to give me constructive criticism, I will be accepting to you and be gladly appreciated.
I am not positive if there was ever a FHFIF episode involving their basement. If there was, then we shall make this an AU in an awkward sort of way.
Please Read and Review! CCs are appreciated immensely!
With Much Love,
Cassie J. Bryant!
Chapter One – Feet
Feet. The first thing that you would automatically notice first on this imaginary friend was his feet, which were compressed by capacious athletic shoes. As you made your way up on this ignoramus creature, you would notice his skin. Red. Stitched. Worn out. There was a myriad of defective traits, such as the lack of a left arm and a deformed eyeball. Before seeing his ambient simper, you would feel pity for him. Then, when he would grin in your direction, you would be puzzled by how a creature so battered could express happiness and be so content. There was more to him than met the eye, one who enjoyed a quote would say, and many would concur.
This morning, at the Foster home, was like no other ordinary morning. All the friends had their meals and pampered themselves for the brilliant day ahead of them. Many of the positive type squealed that perhaps this day was the day they would be adopted into a new loving family. The adoption committee was quite popular; people from all around would visit the Foster's compassionate home filled with hundreds of abandoned imaginary friends. The idea was quite a fascinating one, seeing as there were a few children in this world that unfortunately did not possess the imagination to create such life.
Three o' clock and as always, the adolescent called Mac rushed through the prodigious doors filled with excitement as always. Blooregard, whose name generally explained every detail about him, physically and mentally, came running to see him too.
"Where is it, where is it?" Mac questioned in suspense.
"It's left!" Exclaimed Bloo.
Mac ran left.
"No wait it's right." Bloo said once again.
Mac sighed and ran left, appearing as if he was searching for something dearest to him.
"No I lied it's left!"
Mac ran left once again.
"Oh wait I remember now it's ri-"
"BLOO!" Mac yelled at the top of his childish lungs. "Just tell me where it is!"
"Uh, um, uh…" Bloo pretended to ponder deeply. Bloo, being himself, did not give a care to where Mac's important item was.
"You lost it." Mac dropped his shoulders.
"No I didn't lose it."
"Then who did?"
"Air and gravity did, duh"
Mac sighed. "And how did air and gravity do that?"
"Well… if it wasn't for air and gravity, it would've stayed with me right in my pocket."
"Huh?" Mac raised an eyebrow, seeing as Bloo didn't have pockets.
"See you're just a kid. You're not SMART like I am. I learned it from the T.V.!" Bloo stated proudly.
Mac, seeing as he imagined his blue blob of a friend when he was that of an infant, sighed and decided to give up on his attempts to argue with his friend. Bloo was never a person to surrender to a quarrel, even if both common sense and logical reasoning explained why the cerulean blob was incorrect with his theories. This could occasionally be a positive trait for the imaginary friend, but also a negative one as well. There were a few occurrences when Bloo's stubborn personality threw the pair into what humans call "deep shit". Yet, when there was a Bloo, there was a way, and there was always a way out of anything, as deep as the shit may be. Yes, the author does understand that that following statement was quite a disturbing one.
"Has Wilt been showing you those documentaries again?" Mac questioned towards Bloo.
"No. As a matter of fact, I've been watching them allllll by myself!" Bloo answered.
"Actually, Bloo, I have been showing you those documentaries, not to interrupt you guys or anything." Wilt's voice echoed from another room.
"Ha! I knew it!" Said Mac.
"No he's lying!"
"Wilt doesn't lie."
"He does now!"
Of course, this led into another infamous quarrel brought to you by the duo themselves.
Frankie chuckled, "Those two always know how to argue about something." There was no response to her statement, and Frankie shifted her eyes toward the tall and blissful imaginary friend. "… Wilt?" She expressed woe.
"Oh! Sorry…" Wilt responded, completely oblivious to the fact Frankie even conversed with him.
"You okay? You've been kind of out of it today." The concerned expression in her tone of voice brought a warm feeling to surround the tall figure. It felt comforting to know someone was perturbed by the fact of him not being himself. Using the mask technique, Wilt gave a wide false smile and responded immediately.
"I'm fine, really! I'm just a bit out of it today. I don't know why."
Frankie, sharing the obliviousness with Wilt, smiled back. "It's okay. You don't have to help me today if you're not feeling good. You wanna go to bed?"
"I'll be fine." Wilt answered, and continued dusting the foyer.
Frankie knew that would be the generous one's answer, since Wilt dreaded denial and that horrid two-letter word of 'No'. She decided to accept his response and the two continued with their daily mending.
"Miss Frances!" The speakers in every corridor ran throughout the entire house. Not one imaginary friend seemed surprised, since it appeared Mister Herriman had grew an obsession to the communication device. Frankie sighed, agitated.
"Here we go again…"
"I need to speak with you immediately! Report to my office at once!"
Wilt turned to Frankie, and Frankie turned to Wilt. "Ugh… I gotta see him. Could you just stay here for a bit and dust a little? I'll be back in a few minutes. Knowing him he will probably want me to flush a toilet or something since he can't do it himself."
Wilt was glad to do the favor.
Frankie stood in front of a disappointed Mr. Herriman.
"Miss Frances. I have discovered in the past week that somebody hasn't been putting the empty shipping boxes where I advised them to be put. I said that they were to be put in the basement. Since you are the only one who is in charge of the boxes, I suppose you're the one who is causing this dilemma?" Questioned the lanky rabbit.
Frankie sighed. "Well the basement's just… not really a good place."
"And what exactly do you mean by 'not a good place', Miss Frances?"
"It's just dark an-"
Mr. Herriman interrupted her rudely. "I've heard enough. Bring the empty boxes in the closet to the basement IMMEDIATELY!"
"Fine, fine, I'll go do it." Frankie rolled her eyes and started her trail towards the exit.
"Don't roll your eyes it is against the rules."
"Oh and I guess breathing is against the rules too?"
"Miss Frances-" Before he could continue, a slam ran through his ears, and the presence of Frankie was eliminated from the room. Mister Herrimen sighed.
Wilt had just placed the finishing touches into the living room. He wiped his semi-dirty hands and removed the perspiration from his forehead, showing utter accomplishment to the spotless room. "That wasn't that hard." Wilt lied to himself. Cleaning wasn't a job fit for someone such as he. He understood the fact he was lanky, and could reach high shelves that needed dusting and cleaning, but his athletic created body was made for participating in the sport of basketball; not being a male servant around a house. Of course, the hospitable friend would never depict admitting an emotion such as that. He would rather perhaps die than ever express displeasure or miff in facial expression or personality. Wilt didn't bother to continue his pointless train of thought, and decided to focus on starting the next room for Frankie.
"Wilt!" Yelled Frankie from the distance. Seeing as she needed assistance, Wilt bolted to her needed aid.
"What do you ne-" Wilt swifted into the room and noticed Frankie treading down the stairs, holding more than a dozen of empty boxes. "Whoa." Wilt rushed to grab the boxes from her.
"Thanks. Mr. Herriman wanted me to put these in the basement. I've got a lot to do today though, so do you think you could put them down there for me?"
"Sure no problem!" Replied Wilt with his original wide simper. Wilt paused, "Wait. We have a basement?"
"Yeah. No one really ever goes down there. We just never got to fixing it or anything, so we usually use it for storage and stuff." Frankie responded. "There's no lights down there so be careful."
Wilt nodded to show he understood. "No problem!" The stitched imaginary friend grabbed the boxes with ease and headed towards the door that Frankie pointed out to where the basement was.
Wilt passed Bloo, who seemed to be playing with some sort of instrument you use with your phalanges. "Hey Bloo!" Wilt greeted warmly.
"Heywhat'sup?" Bloo answered swiftly. He then paused and curiously looked at the boxes. "Heyyy, whatcha doin'?"
"Oh these?" Wilt looked at the boxes. "I'm just putting them in the basement for Frankie. Where's Mac?"
"He left early because he had homework. And we have a bas-" Bloo paused, plotting a devious idea. He snickered. "Oh yeahh. The basement. A very, very, very, very scary place. Have you ever heard of," Bloo leaned in mysteriously and whispered, "the secret?"
Wilt paused and placed the boxes gently onto the tile for a minute or two. The azure blob grinned mischievously, knowing he had grabbed Wilt's full attention. "What secret?"
"You've never heard about the scariest, horrifyingist, blunblurbocabreist-"
"I'm sorry but, Blunblurbocabreist isn't a word I don't think."
"SHUSH! Do you want to know the secret?" Bloo questioned. Wilt shut himself up and nodded. "As I was saying. An old lady died here a long time ago before Foster's was even built. Don't tell anyone about this, because only a few of us lucky, intelligent, and handsome ones can know." Wilt agreed. "When she died, she said that if anyone was to build a new house on her property, she would haunt them for the REST OF THEIR LIVES! And then Foster's was built. Some say they can still hear her moans of anger from downstairs. . . or the basement. If you don't come out alive, don't say I didn't warn you." Bloo went back to his normal mood and continued to play with his toy in hand.
Wilt gulped tortoiselike, and grabbed the boxes with nervous long fingers. The grip was weak, but enough to hold the boxes steadily. Wilt turned the knob slowly, and with a deadly creak that could bring chills down anyone's spine, the door opened. The skyscraper like imaginary friend took a deep breath headed downwards into the dusky basement.
Each step towards the basement was an antagonizing and dreadful one for the imaginary friend. The closer he came to the cellar floor, the closer he felt to hell. "It's okay Wilt. Just put the boxes in the back then go upstairs. Just put the boxes in the back then go upstairs. Just put the boxes in the back…" Wilt chanted this to himself to kill the eerie silence. Using his powerful sense of touch, Wilt decided upon a befitting spot and placed the boxes gently onto the ground.
He sighed and nodded. "Alright that is done."
In an instant, complete darkness flooded the room. Wilt gasped and fell onto the floor in an unfortunate combination of fear and surprise. All Wilt could imagine was the ghost of Foster's doing this.
Little did the poor and frightened imaginary friend know that a certain blob-like imaginary friend slammed the door on him.
Wilt's usual warm blood and red skin was now ice cold and white. His knees were quivering, and his breathing became tense. He searched for the stairs using his hands, causing objects already placed on basement shelves to fall off, which brought the friend even more fear. Wilt decided to use his optimistic side, and began to talk to himself for comfort.
"It's okay. It's alright. It's just a basement. Th-There isn't a ghost." Wilt managed a giggle. "There are imaginary friends who are probably much more scary than some ghost."
With that being said, a clashing sound ran in and out of Wilt's eardrums. Wilt stopped all movement. He heard it again, and this time he was a hundred percent sure the sound was not coming from him. There was something else down here; something alive. Wilt gasped and began to panic. He struggled as fast as he could with all his athletic created body to find the exit. Within minutes he found the exit and felt a pinch of relief and appeasement. He rushed up the stairs, and time appeared to stop for the stitched imaginary friend. He felt something… grabbing ever so tightly… onto his ankle. It was pulling him to the ground.
"Ghosts exist! Ghosts exist! Help! Help!" Wilt cried out to anyone who could possibly hear him. There was not an inch of luck. The hand pulled as hard as it could, and caused Wilt to be dragged back into the cellar bottom. Wilt struggled with all his might to free himself, but one arm was not enough power to resist.
Wilt reached the bottom painfully.
The hand let go.
He screamed.
To Be Continued