The Inconvenience of Memory
By Nicolle

Disclaimer: Undertale belongs to Toby Fox. This story is copyright to me.

Note: Here's a spooky little story in time for Halloween! I was inspired to write it while waiting for a character decision on a story I am ghost writing for an artist friend. While the first chapter here is a stand alone, you can stay tuned for what happens next!

Chapter 1: Still Life

Rain pounded on the roof of the small, paddle driven boat. Frisk ignored it as he rowed, even as he ignored the painful strain in his shoulders and back. His dark shirt stuck to his back, slick with sweat, and his jeans had long rubbed his legs raw. He'd been at this for days, but refused to show how much the exertion agonized him.

"*monsoon's pretty heavy this year." Sans leaned out as far as he dared over the edge of the boat, his blue rain jacket reaching for the water. As a skeleton, he was rather light, and easily tossed if the keel bumped into something. And, with the river this swollen, the biggest worry was hitting a submerged island… or tree. "*we should have waited for nicer weather."

"This weather is the reason we're out here, Sans. The more swollen the river is, the less climbing we'll need to do over the ridge," Frisk gritted out.

The undead frowned, an unusual thing for him. Sans liked to always appear happy, even when he was blisteringly furious. He shoved boney hands into the pockets of his black shorts. "*why are you doing this again? i'm sure there's some other necromancer who can handle it."

Frisk continued to row, frowning. It wasn't like Sans to pretend to even have an inkling of caring. Worse yet, though he and Papyrus pretended otherwise, they were keenly interested in this job. "I'm sure there are, but I'm the one the Dreemurrs hired and I'm rather interested in seeing this thing for myself."

Frisk looked to Papyrus, a much taller skeleton by far, dressed in a long, black trench coat and blue jeans, but received no response. The undead continued to steer the boat quietly, unwilling to give up his thoughts.

The skeletons had been a singular person in life: Dr. W.D. Gaster, an extremely intelligent master of necromancy today's necromancers studied extensively in school. Looking to exploit his intelligence after his death, demons stole his corpse and resurrected him, only to have him split into two, distinct, skeletal undead. Angered by the tricky spell the late Gaster had laid upon his own body, the demons sold them as slaves. They'd changed hands multiple times in the Red City before Frisk won their freedom by luck alone.

The winning had come with several complications, one of which being that the brothers' undeath was linked to his life. When he died, they would return to death as well, reforming back into Gaster. And while Frisk trusted that Papyrus wouldn't kill him in his sleep, he was never sure of Sans. The shorter of the two 'brothers' was willing enough to follow Frisk around, but felt no real loyalty to him.

It made dealing with them difficult even as he researched ways to destroy the link and give them their eternal rest. He'd even gone so far as to be used in flatlining experiments in which he would be resuscitated, but those hadn't worked either. Instead, it'd only forged the bond deeper. Stuck as he was, he'd broken ties with many friends and loved ones, even his beloved Sarah. They'd been discussing marriage and children, but that wasn't going to be a possibility when he was forced to cast a protection on himself in order to sleep at night.

It was very likely the reason why neither skeleton had dissuaded him from taking the job. All who'd tried before, died in the attempt.

Of course, if he succeeded, he would have access to the royal family's secret library and hidden archives. Which was something the 'brothers' were also interested in.

Frisk continued to row, looking over his shoulder from time to time, to see how far they were from their destination. Despite the heavy rain, the river ran like sludge, and if they wished to make landfall before night, someone had to row. They passed the tops of leafy, green trees, their islands submerged, and floated by debris from houses washed out by the monsoon.

Sans pointed. "*i see the ridge. it's through the fog that way."

"Can you spot a place to rest the boat?"

"*yeah."

Sans pointed and Papyrus steered in that direction. As the boat came to rest against a grassy hill, Frisk jumped out, grabbed the rope attached to the bow, and pulled the boat up the side of the hill as far as he could before tying it off around the trunk of a thick tree. As the skeletons disembarked, Frisk looked around. They were halfway up the side of a heavily wooded ridge that blocked the river from entering the hills beyond.

Looking back for a moment to make sure the boat was secure, Frisk rolled his shoulders to adjust his backpack and headed for the top of the ridge. The steep climb made his stiff legs ache, but the chaffing from sitting in the boat for so long was now gone. While he was no stranger to long treks, the pouring rain made this one particularly odious. His hiking boots had been covered in mud even before getting in the boat the first time. Now it was starting to splatter his legs.

At the top of the ridge, the weather cleared, the mountains funnelling the clouds over the river. Sans and Papyrus came up next to him and gazed down across rolling, green and gold hued hills lit with the warm glow of sunset. But even this idyllic scene could not hide the roiling, black fog that swirled and churned around Mt. Ebott.

"*woah! it looks like calamity ganon!"

A smile tugged at Frisk's lips. "That it may, but this isn't a video game. That's the real deal. That fog is a ghost grown powerful on the curse laid on it, becoming a malignant force of nature guarding its own grave."

"AND WE ARE HERE TO WASH AWAY ITS BONES, RELEASING THE CURSE, AND RESTORE MT. EBOTT TO THE ROYAL FAMILY." Papyrus frowned. "I HAVE NO MEMORY OF THIS THING."

Frisk nodded. "It happened about two years after your death and you've been… occupied the last fifty or so years." He took a breath, watching the fog all but boil. "This is a story I know well. It's one you are taught in history class, regardless of your course of study. The Dreemurr royal family adopted a daughter and this adoption was unpopular among the lesser nobility because she was a commoner."

"AH. I DO REMEMBER THAT. I DIED JUST BEFORE THE CHILD TURNED EIGHTEEN."

Frisk continued, "In a bid to appease the lesser lords, the girl asked to simply be named a caretaker of Mt. Ebott, the Dreemurr ancestral home. And when she came of age, it was granted. As the caretaker, she would have no title or claim to the throne. She'd just be responsible for a house and a mountain that'd become little more than a tourist attraction in a very scenic part of the country."

Sans jerked a thumb at the blasphemous fog. "*so how did that happen?"

"A group of lesser nobles murdered her. Murder with a heaping helping of necromantic cursing. I mean the really awful stuff from the last century. Not the clinically clean stuff we do today."

"WHY?"

Frisk looked up at Papyrus, unsure of what to make of the taller skeleton's sorrowful tone. "No one knows." He frowned. "Or at least, anyone who does is dead. Every person at the house that day never returned."

Both brothers thought this over as Frisk searched for the best path down the ridge and found the remains of an asphalt road just down the way. Hiking along it made for an easy walk, but it meant that they would reach the mountain just as it was getting dark.

"*do you want to stop for the night?"

Frisk frowned, thinking it over. "If I wait till tomorrow, the ghost will have less power during daylight hours, so it would be a disadvantage for it. But that's also a disadvantage for me. My skills are complemented by the night." He swung his backpack off his shoulder and pulled out an energy bar. "I'll see you both later. Or you'll both return to sweet oblivion."

"YOU ARE NOT TAKING US WITH YOU?"

Frisk's shoulders sagged in annoyance. "I brought you along to help with the boat. It's not a one person trip up the river. But I never take you into danger." He pulled his backpack on properly, and turned back toward the mountain. Unwrapping the energy bar, he took a bite as he walked forward. He was tired, but at least he wouldn't be hungry.

He could feel the brothers at his back as he approached that writhing mass of black fog.

Frisk stopped and turned on his heel, instantly annoyed. "Really? You're following me? Are you really that interested in seeing me die?"

Neither skeleton said anything.

Frisk groaned. "Fine. Do what you want. Just don't stab me in the back until after I finish the job." He continued up the mountain, doing his best to ignore the two behind him.

As good as he was at it, he hated these kind of jobs: go in, fix some crazy necromancy shit at huge personal risk, come back, maybe get the promised payment, usually not. The last one had been complicated and time consuming, but he'd been offered a substantial sum for it. Just stop the ghouls from rising in the local cemetery. By the time he'd finished the job, he'd fought a cult, saved several townsfolk from human sacrifice, and taken severe injuries. And, he'd been run out of town. The mayor and the town council never intended to make good on their part of the deal.

Though the royal family was very good about keeping their promises, he worried that he might end up worse off this time around. It would be very easy for a posted guard to 'forget' that he was supposed to be in the archive and kill him.

Through it all, he never asked the brothers to help. Ever. This job had been the first time. Usually he'd leave them somewhere they would be welcome and surrounded by books. Or video games. Biographies never mentioned Dr. Gaster being a video game aficionado, but if the brother's where any indication, that was definitely where he spent his down time.

As they came up to the rolling fog, Frisk picked a couple wildflowers growing from the path and tossed them into the fog. It instantly withered and hit the ground a pile of dust. He picked up a rock and tossed it in. It hit the ground, unchanged.

"Stone skin it is then." He looked back at the brothers. "Are you sure you're coming along?"

"*we're following, kid."

Frisk sighed. He was going to use up the little energy he had way too fast. He cast a spell over them that would armor their bones in stone before casting stone skin on himself and walked into the fog. The inky darkness of it was thick, but not wet like you would have expected, simply blinding. Shutting his eyes, he trusted his feet to feel out the road forward. Reaching back for the brothers, we was shocked to feel Papyrus' large fingers wrap around his. The tall skeleton moved ahead of him and pulled him along, not the least bit perturbed by the darkness. Sans' jacket brushed against his other arm, letting him know where the shorter skeleton stood.

Papyrus stopped suddenly. "WE ARE THROUGH THE FOG."

Frisk opened his eyes and found himself in front of a tall, cast iron gate, the name DREEMURR artfully forged into the arch overhead. Now close to the house itself, it was clear that the fog merely wrapped around the mountain, but did not completely cover it. The little bit of evening sun still left hugged trees. Beyond the iron gate was a long neglected garden, the more invasive plants having edged out the delicate flowers. An old fashioned, white farm house with blue trimming, set into the mountain itself, waited ahead. Well, what should have been a white farm house. The walls appeared to be caked with dirt and lichens.

Papyrus' white pinprick eyes watched him carefully. "WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE HAD WE NOT BEEN HERE?"

Frisk shrugged, shaking off the stone skin spell. "I would have followed the road until I was through the fog."

The tall skeleton frowned. "THE ROAD DIVERGED IN SEVERAL PLACES."

"I would have gotten there eventually."

"YOU DID NOT INTEND TO USE A DARK SIGHT SPELL."

Frisk groaned. "I need to conserve my strength, Papyrus. I don't know what's in there and wandering around in the dark is not an imposition."

Sans walked up to the gate and pulled on it, brow bones going up. "*huh. guess we can just walk right in."

Frisk grabbed Sans collar and pulled him back. "Idiot! Don't just walk in like that! We don't know what's inside there!"

The shorter skeleton looked at him, plainly annoyed. "*I am not a fool, Frisk. I was once the greatest necromancer in the world and you will not treat Papyrus and I as if we are common undead."

Frisk leaned in, getting in the skeleton's face. "Then stop acting like common undead."

He reached into a pocket, pulling out two plastic baggies, one with ground fennel and the other with white sea salt. He poured some of the fennel in his hand first and tossed it through the gate. Seeing no reaction, he did the same with the salt. While the salt itself did nothing, but its movement attracted the plant life and a few vines slithered along the ground toward the path up to the house.

Frisk sealed up the bags and put them away before raising his hands to cast an old, but tried and true cantrip with a little twist: create boiling water. He funneled the water in a gush at the plants, killing the vines that came close and causing all the others to quickly shrink back lest they die as well. Clearing himself a nice path, he walked up to the house.

Papyrus nodded, a little smile on his skull. "THAT WAS PARTICULARLY INGENIOUS."

Frisk shrugged. "When you grow up poor, you can't afford vegicides to kill weeds in the garden. You learn to use what you have."

"*so how did you afford necromancy school?"

It was never a question of how he managed acceptance into necromancy school. Frisk's natural affinity for the dead was plainly obvious in school, and he'd been sent acceptance letters to all three necromancy schools without even applying. And despite wanting to pursue a tech career, he'd taken what he'd been given since it meant higher pay.

At least, it was supposed too.

"Sarah's father funded me in exchange for my interning with his company. It's how I met her," Frisk answered, taking the opportunity to remind them that he'd given up substantial portions of a normal life for them. If not for them, he'd be married, have a stable job with a good income, and possibly children. Instead, he was twenty-five and constantly looking over his shoulder to keep an eye on two people who should have been happy he took the chance to save them and then went out of his way to find a way to free them into death's embrace.

By their twin frowns, the point was taken.

Climbing the porch of the farmhouse, Frisk tested every step before taking it to be sure that he wouldn't plunge through a piece of rotted wood. The porch was large and covered in leaves in various states of decay. A long, wooden, porch swing hung to the right, creaking softly in the breeze. The screen on the front, storm door was torn, but otherwise intact.

Frisk pulled out the baggies again and tossed the fennel and salt. Not getting a reaction, he pulled on a glove before opening the storm door and testing the lock on the inner door. The knob turned and the door swung open to reveal a pleasant living room with a wood floor and an overstuffed, floral patterned couch facing an old tube tv. Overall, the room looked cheery in the growing dark.

Sans reached over and flicked on the overhead light. By some miracle, it lit the room.

Laying on the couch was the desiccated mummy of a long dead man.

Papyrus knelt next to the corpse. "HE APPEARS TO HAVE DIED IN HIS SLEEP."

"No naps then. Good to know." Frisk picked up an umbrella from the iron forged stand next to the door and used it to move the mummy's arm. "That's the Bloodworth University crest. Looks like we found one of my predecessors." He tossed a little salt on the man and received no reaction. "Looks to just be a regular, old corpse."

Turning, Frisk spied a split, wooden staircase, one stairway going up and the other down. An open doorway into the kitchen lay just beyond. Taking a quick look in the kitchen revealed a large, warm room of white cabinets and pine wood with a light yellow, pine wood stain that looked ready to host a family for dinner. Another desiccated corpse lay half across a counter top in the act of preparing a meal. It wore a Bloodworth University jacket as well. After checking that it wouldn't be getting back up, he returned to the stairs.

"Up or down? Up or down?"

"*down." Sans led the way, bare, boney feet clacking on the wood. The basement stairs widened as they went down, dropping into a large, open area with a dark brown, tile floor. Directly across from the stairs lay a plush, green rug with a mid century, dark brown couch, backed all the way to a dark, wood panelled wall and facing the stairs. A black and white photo of a particularly adorable boy and girl sitting in the back of an old pickup truck hung above the couch.

A loveseat to match the couch lay to the right, backed against a solid, white and gray, marble peninsula. To the left of the couch was a raised dais of brick on which an old, pot bellied, wood stove rested. On the loveseat rested another desiccated corpse, having died in the act of relaxing with a book.

Coming down the stairs revealed a full kitchen of old school, pale green, metal cabinets with a full dining table, though this table looked to exist for food prep. Two desiccated corpses appeared to be in the middle of conversation at the table, cups of tea between them.

On the other side of the stairs was another dining table, this looking to be the proper dining area with a dark wood china cabinet filled with some very old fashioned dishes, cups, serving bowls, and platters. A red wood, buffet cabinet rested against the far wall with a set of crystal candlesticks, and a lovely landscape painting hanging over it. An open door next to the buffet revealed a full bath with a shower. A desiccated corpse appeared to be taking a shower, though no water ran.

To the left of the buffet and next to the marble peninsula were two doors. One was an exterior door that, when checked, lead Frisk to a roof covered set of concrete steps up to the back patio attached to the second floor of the house where the straight line of the house disconnected with the soil of the mountain. The second door lead into a laundry room that held both the boiler and the oil heat tank. Multiple storage shelves lined the wall opposite the tanks, each filled with carefully labelled boxes. Half collapsed against the laundry machines was another desiccated corpse.

"*looks like the dreemurrs built a whole house out of the basement before building the rest of the house." Sans tapped a support pole with one hand. "*i bet the living room was once split into bedrooms and the dining room over there was the original living room."

Frisk huffed. "What is going on here? Every one of these corpses is a necromancer and they had to have come here specifically to destroy the curse. So why are they just standing around like they died doing normal things?"

"FOR WHATEVER REASON, IT DOES NOT BODE WELL FOR US."

Frisk frowned. "Let's check the second floor."

They climbed the stairs, with Papyrus taking the lead this time. They reached the top and found a large, square, carpeted landing with a latched gate at the steps. What was once a children's play area, hence the latched gate, had been converted into an office. An old metal desk, painted baby blue, and an old metal filing cabinet, painted pale green, rested undisturbed. Frisk went over to the desk and found a single piece of paper, its condition pristine despite being fifty years old.

He lifted it and read it over.

"*whatcha got there?"

"It's a contract for mining rights." Frisk placed a finger against the text to follow the small type better. "Someone found veins of copper and iron in the cavern under the mountain." Frisk's jaw dropped. "The rights to mine the ores was awarded to Crawford and Sons."

"*that mean something?"

"Crawford and Sons is a commoner held company." He looked at the brother's with the sparkle of mirth in his eyes. "Quick history lesson: Just after you died, there was a huge economic downturn that resulted in a crash of stocks. A lot of the lesser nobles lost a ton of money during that time."

Frisk waved the paper a little. "They would have been desperate to get their hands on this kind of contract." He laughed. "All those years the lesser nobles treated her like shit and the moment she was given the chance for revenge, she awarded the mining rights to commoners!"

"AND PAID FOR SUCH AN ACTION WITH HER LIFE."

Frisk set the paper on the desk. "Don't blame the victim for the crime."

He turned and found only one door, which led into a small bedroom. Flicking on the light revealed a small bed with a yellow quilt, white painted nightstand, white painted dresser, and wall mirror. A door on the left led to another bedroom made up the same way, though the quilt in that one was blue. What appeared to be a walk in closet turned out to be a water closet.

The door on the right of the room with the yellow quilt was the master bedroom. Turning on the light in here lit up the chandelier over a large bed with a white painted, looping, metal frame. White, metal flowers were soldered on where the loops met. An incredibly white quilt with lace edging complimented white pillow shams with the same lace. A few throw pillows in soft floral patterns lay against the shams. A green, crocheted blanket lay draped over the end of the bed.

A white table with painted flowers rested next to the bed along with a floral, stained glass, lamp. A wardrobe, also painted white, finished the room. Instead of a closet, a full bathroom lay behind the door next to the bed. The door next to the wardrobe led into another laundry room, though this one appeared to be the one the caretaker actually used. Long dry clothing hung from a line.

Clothing that was smeared with blood.

Frisk looked down and found blood on the floor, but it wasn't a clean line. The splatter made it appear that the girl had kicked and fought as someone attempted to drag her to the back door. The back door led to a screen enclosed porch next to the patio the stairs from the basement had led too. The trail of blood went out the back door and into a summer kitchen, a small, red brick building with a chimney that most people would have mistaken for a shed today.

He ran for the blood splattered door and as soon as he touched the knob felt insanely tired. He yawned, stretching. He was just awake enough that he could cast his protection spell to keep Sans at bay while he slept. The bed with the blue quilt had looked entirely too comfortable. He turned, wandering back to the house.

"*kid? where are ya going?"

He waved Sans off, going into the laundry room. He could washout the stains in the clothes on the line tomorrow morning.

Papyrus grabbed him. "WHAT'S GOING ON?"

"Nothing. Just need some sleep."

Sans shook him. "*Frisk! You're under some spell! Snap out of it!"

Frisk yawned. "I'm fine. Just need some sleep."

Sans left eye began to glow a bright blue and he slapped Frisk across the face. "*Snap out of it! If you go to sleep, you'll end up dead like everyone else in this house!"

The sudden rush of adrenaline lit a fire in Frisk's lavender gray eyes. "What do you care?! You want me dead!"

Sans leaned in close, his skull glowing with his power. "*You can die after you break the curse!"

Papyrus unzipped Frisk's backpack, pulling out a tiny owl salt shaker whose holes had been sealed with wax. He shook it, tossing around the interior contents and activating the protection spell within it.

Frisk groaned. Shaking off the fuzziness in his head, he squeezed his eyes shut.

Sans and Papyrus steered him back out of the house and to the door of the summer kitchen. Taking breath to steady himself, he pulled out the baggies of fennel and salt, tossing both on the door. The fennel caused a quick purple flash, followed by a sound like glass shattering with the salt hit the door. Turning the knob, the door opened.

The food prep table that should have been in the middle of the kitchen had been tossed into a corner to make a space for the circle in which the victim was trapped. But instead of a skeleton, or at least a rotting body, the girl appeared whole. Her body, tied to stakes in the circle, forced her arms and legs into a star pattern. Burning, red candles endlessly dripped wax on her hands, feet, and long brown hair, sticking them to the red tile floor. Frisk leaned over to get a better look at her.

The girl… The girl wasn't dead. She lay in some sort of suspended animation, the knife wounds in her chest and neck lay open and perpetually leaking. The green she wore had long been strained an awful brown from the continuous trickle of gore. Frisk took a quick walk around the circle, looking sigils or written spell work that might interfere with getting her out.

He knelt next outside of the circle, feeling the barrier it made around her, and looked at the wounds.

"WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?"

"First, I need to figure out a way to get to her without breaking the suspension that's keeping her alive. If I can do that, I can heal the wounds, and save her."

The brothers looked at each other.

"*how ya gonna do that?"

"I have no idea." Frisk pulled off his backpack and when he set it down, russet-brown eyes caught his attention.

She was awake.

And watching him.

Letting out a breath slowly, he dug around in his backpack, and pulled out his emergency flask of spider cider. It was one of the most potent healing stuffs in the world and this was the last bit Frisk had. He stuffed it in a pocket before pulling out his ritual knife.

The girl saw the knife and screamed, back arching off the floor. That great, undulating fog rushed away from it's churning path around the mountain and slammed into the small room. Frisk moved to quick cast stone skin again, knowing it'd be too slow. That he was a dead man.

Papyrus pushed him into the circle. He landed next to the girl and she screamed again, struggling against the bonds of both the rope and the spell. Frisk looked up to see the brothers summoning a barrier of glowing bones around themselves and the circle.

"*whatever you're going to do, kid, do it quick! we can't hold this off forever!"

Frisk looked to the girl. She'd stopped thrashing and was looking at him with a mix of fear and hate. He put the knife down and scooted up closer to her head. Pulling the flask out of his pocket, her gently lifted her head as best he could with her hair sealed to the floor by the red wax.

"It's a healing potion. I swear it."

She pursed her lips shut, holding her jaw shut tight.

A ghostly voice dripped from both skeletons' mouths at the same time. "*CHaRa! oPen YOur MouTH thIS InsTaNT!"

The girl blanched, and her mouth fell open. Frisk tipped the spider cider into her mouth, gently rubbing her throat to help her swallow. She coughed, sputtering a little, before moaning in relief. The cuts across her chest and neck closed and healed to tiny silver-white lines.

"*hurry it up, frisk!"

Frisk dropped the empty flask and picked up his ritual knife. Unsheathing the blade, he turned, cutting cleanly through each of the five, red candles. The wicks continued to burn, the candles remaining upright.

Gritting his teeth, he ran the blade across the palm of this hand and smeared his blood across the circle. That power that was life, death, and something in between, flowed from him, smashing through the magic of the circle. The red candles fell to the ground and the fog disappeared.

Exhausted, he crawled over the girl, cutting the ropes that held her and peeling away the wax that'd continually dripped on her for the last fifty years. When he got to her head, he frowned. There was no way to release her hair from the wax short of cutting it.

"Hold still. I promise. I'm not going to hurt you."

The girl watched him, but remained still as he lifted the knife and cut her hair as close to the wax as possible. Papyrus knelt on one knee to help the girl sit up while Frisk wrapped his cut hand in a bandage.

She stared at the skeleton for a moment before those russet-brown eyes looked to Frisk. Body stiff even after the full healing of the spider cider, she put her arms around him, resting her head on his chest, and wept. He held her, gently rubbing her back.

Frisk looked to the doorway and saw a clear night sky under a bright, almost full moon. He stood, pulling the girl up with him.

"Come on. I doubt you want to be here any longer than you have to be."

She nodded and let him draw her through the house, down the stairs, and out the front door. The overgrown plants of the garden had withered without the sustenance provided by the malice of the churning fog, leaving the path an easy one. Passing through the iron gate, they followed the overgrown road.

Frisk trudged along. He was too tired to row back and too tired to cast the protection that would keep Sans from killing him in his sleep. He could feel the undead behind him like a dark malignance, their power strong with the rising dark. Sans boney hand landed on his shoulder. Frisk sighed. At least the brother's wouldn't harm the girl. He looked around for a tree he liked. A nice, thick trunked elm beckoned him and he sat under it, closing his eyes.

It would make a nice grave.