A/n: This was written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry forum. All prompts are at the bottom.
It's nearly Halloween, so obviously that means I've gotta post a horror-themed story, right? Special thanks to DolbyDigital, whose super amazing horror story inspired this, and for her help beta-ing!
Thanks for reading!
Looking Through the Keyhole
The little boy skipped across the orchard, singing his favourite nursery rhyme.
Ring-a-ring o' rosies,
A pocketful of posies,
A-tishoo! A-tishoo!
We all fall down!
He rolled down a short slope, squealing with joy. Once he reached the bottom, he lay there, his face and clothes covered in grass and dirt, giggling to himself. A soft breeze rustled through his raven hair, and his emerald eyes sparkled in the sunlight.
Rolling over, he watched a line of ants, crawling behind them as they wound through the grass. He was so focused in his role as an ant that he didn't notice his surroundings, bumping his head hard against a wooden wall. Looking up as he rubbed the top of his head, he noticed that he was lying in front of a rather small door.
He looked this way and that, finding that the door was attached to a vine-covered hut, the creepers and brambles so thick that it looked like a green wall looming over him. A breeze drifted by again, and the door creaked open. The boy hesitated, but the moment he spotted his ant friends marching straight into the hut, he braced himself and followed right in.
"Ring-a-ring o' rosies," he sang, in an attempt to muster courage. "A pocketful of posies."
The house was small and empty, the wooden walls nearly broken from the creepers and vines. There was enough light seeping in so it wasn't dark, and the boy followed the ants all the way to the back wall. He spotted an old painting placed on a table right in front of him. It showed the ocean, and the boy was surprised that it was so still.
"Why won't you move?" he asked it, reaching up to touch the white waves that crashed against the shore.
As though sensing the magic that ran through his veins, the painting came to life, the water overflowing from the frame. It seeped down the walls and along the floor, and it continued to flow until the boy was ankle-deep in water. He looked down and noticed his ant friends' lifeless bodies floating around him.
"No!" he screamed and began to cry. "Ring-a-ring o' rosies," he wailed, now afraid.
"A pocketful of posies," the house sang back to him.
"What balderdash," Molly scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Really? That was the best you could do?"
"At least it was better than Fred's stupid vampire story," Louis retorted, earning a sharp hit on the head from his cousin. "Ow!"
"At least my story was actually scary, you prat!" Fred exclaimed, his ears red.
"Looks like it was scary enough for the little ones," Dominique said, grinning at her wide-eyed younger cousins who were clinging onto each other.
Hugo and Roxanne whined, and Lily and Lucy burst into tears. Rose and Albus sat with pursed lips, holding each other's hands, and James said firmly, "I'm not little, and I'm not scared!"
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Victoire said as she walked into the room. "Are you guys telling scary stories again?"
"Here comes Ms Tattletale," Dominique said out of the corner of her mouth, making Louis and Fred snicker.
Victoire crossed her arms and frowned down at them. "Mum's calling us downstairs for dinner. She's not very happy that none of you helped set the table. Neither are your mums," she told her cousins when they looked relieved that they weren't in trouble. "Well, aren't you going?"
The teenagers grumbled and got to their feet, muttering swear words under their breath as they passed Victoire. Molly stopped to say, "I told them not to," before skipping out and ignoring the glares of betrayal.
"Tattletales everywhere," Dominique grumbled and left the room.
Victoire ushered the younger kids out, attempting to calm the hysterical ones by diverting their attention to the chocolate pudding they would get to eat.
"The boy in the story," Albus said quietly to James as they trailed behind the rest, "he sounded like me, didn't he?"
James frowned at him. "Don't be stupid."
"He had dark hair and green eyes just like me!"
"Go find yourself a spooky house that sings and a haunted painting that tries to drown you, then."
He watched the fishermen throw nets over the boats' sides, yelling to each other to secure the ropes and prepare to wait. The boy wondered what they would manage to catch in their flimsy nets.
Or what would manage to catch them.
The fishermen launched into song as they waited, giving the watching orphan a means to entertain himself as he curled his toes in the sand and hummed in tune.
"Ye here again, are yeh, boy?"
He looked over his shoulder at the burly man who shuffled over, his tanned skin and windswept hair reflected in the large bottle he held.
"Drinking before noon again, Barnaby?"
"Tha's Mister Herrings to yeh, boy."
The lad scoffed and turned away, unimpressed by the drunk's usual attempts at earning respect he didn't deserve.
"Here," the fellow said after a time, holding something out to the boy as he settled down beside him. "Same as yer eyes, they are."
The brunet eyed the strings of seaweed and crinkled his nose in disgust. "No, they aren't. My eyes are blue."
"What're yeh saying, boy?" Barnaby held up the bottle so the lad could see his reflection in it. "Th're green, they are."
"The bottle's the one that's green, Barnaby, not my eyes," he replied in exasperation. "My eyes are the colour of the ocean."
"Ever seen a green ocean, have yeh?"
"Stupid drunk," the lad muttered as he ignored Barnaby in favour of the fishermen, who were now drawing in their nets. One of the nets seemed to have snagged against something, and the small boat capsized, causing the boy to jump to his feet in excitement.
He waded into the water until he was in waist-deep, as the panicked shouts grew louder. As a wave lapped at his torso, he looked down at his reflection.
"I told you they were blue."
Emerald eyes stared back at him in disdain.
"Al! We're leaving soon!"
"'Kay," Albus called back as he stood before a painting of the ocean, transfixed.
"You're back here again?" James asked as he came to stand beside Albus. "What's so great about this one anyway? Looks like any other painting of the ocean to me."
"There's just something about it," Albus murmured. "Like it's calling to me."
James snorted. "Weirdo."
"No wonder Molly calls you Empty Head," Albus replied coolly, earning a sharp whack on his back. "Ow! Mum!"
James rolled his eyes. "I'd rather be an empty head than a crybaby like you."
He dodged Albus' attempt to hit him and sprinted away, calling names over his shoulder. Albus frowned and turned back to the painting, annoyed at his brother for ruining a perfectly peaceful moment.
When his mother called him again to tell him they were leaving, he finally turned away from the painting. From the corner of his eye, he thought he caught the waves moving, but when he looked back, the painting was perfectly still. After he stared at it for a few more seconds and was convinced that it had been his imagination, he jogged over to where his mother and sister were.
"Mum," he said as he reached his mother, who was trying to coax Lily into wearing her hat, "Muggle paintings don't move, right?"
"No, love."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, Al, I'm sure." Before Albus could ask her again, she looked past him and said, "Is your dad chatting with that guide again? Al, be a dear and go call him, won't you? I promised your grandmother we'd be back in time for tea."
As Albus walked away in search of his dad, he could hear his mother yelling at James for climbing up a statue. He picked up a brochure that had pictures of all the paintings and notes below them from a rack, flipping through it until he found the one of the ocean.
"Dad, Mum says we gotta leave or Grandma's gonna yell," he called, having spotted his dad. He waved the brochure, and his dad waved back. "Hurry up!"
"Harry, come on, for heaven's sake!" his mother yelled, walking up behind Albus. "We were supposed to leave twenty minutes ago!"
"Why even come to an art gallery if you're in such a hurry to leave?" his dad muttered as they all walked down to the parking lot. "Did you have fun, Al?"
"Yeah." Albus found the page his painting was on and studied it. He was just about to flip the brochure shut when something caught his eye. He brought the painting closer to his face, sure that it looked different than what he'd seen. "Can I go back quickly and check on something?"
"Don't be silly, Al. Get in the car," his mother scolded.
"Just for a min—"
"Albus Severus Potter," his mother said in a warning tone. She pointed into the car. "Inside."
Albus climbed in and sat beside his sister unhappily, staring at the painting the whole way to the Burrow, convinced that he had seen it move.
"Don't be stupid, Al," Rose said later, when he told her about the painting. "Muggles can't make moving paintings. Only magical folk like us can."
"But I swear it moved!"
Rose didn't buy it. "Next you'll be telling me your eyes are blue, not green."
"I'll always wait for you, I promise," his girlfriend had told him when he had left to join the navy. They were childhood sweethearts and had stayed by each other through thick and thin. She was a loyal woman, but he worried that her intense loyalty would be her undoing if he didn't manage to return.
The battle raged on for weeks, and he spent most of it on the ocean with torpedos and the like blasting the sea sky-high. To make matters worse, the heavens rained down its fury on them mercilessly, uncaring of their well being, just like their superiors who commanded them to continue on despite all odds. "The war is being paid for in red blood on this black sea," his commander had said.
Whether his blood would pay for anything, he would never know, though, because he had been one of many who had toppled over the side of the ship's railing after a particularly nasty hit.
Wet and cold and close to drowning, he was running out of options. He had begun swimming back towards the ship before the entire vessel had gone down with a mighty groan, explosions lighting up the night and setting the sea on fire. He was left clinging to a piece of driftwood from a destroyed lifeboat, praying and hoping that he survived.
Minutes felt like hours, and hours felt like days. Soon, he had lost all sensation in his limbs and his teeth were chattering incessantly from the cold. He could barely keep his face above the surface and remember to breathe, let alone do much else. At some point, he didn't know when, he decided that it was all too much. The freezing ocean burnt him raw, and he no longer had the strength or will to hold on. Finally letting go, he closed his eyes and pictured himself in his warm bed back home, his girlfriend in his arms, singing to him in that angelic voice of hers.
Ring-a-ring o' rosies,
A pocketful of posies,
A-tishoo! A-tishoo!
We all fall down!
He watched himself sink lower and lower, and as the light from the surface soon turned to darkness, he thought he saw someone swimming towards him. A dark-haired comrade, perhaps, with eyes that were as green as the ocean was blue. The man reached out his arms, and the soldier thought, for one moment, that he was saved, until cold fingers wound around his throat and squeezed what little life was left out of him.
"Good thing you got into Ravenclaw, huh? Now your obsession for everything blue can be rationalised," his brother commented one day at lunch.
"James," their mother warned, but Albus didn't let it get to him. His brother's juvenile taunts meant nothing in the larger scale of things.
"I'd rather he be obsessed with a colour than something more dangerous," their father commented.
"Like drugs," Lily supplied helpfully.
"Lily!" their mother exclaimed, aghast.
"What?" she said, scooping up a huge spoon of mashed potato. "It's true. Freddie said so."
"I'd hardly believe everything Freddie says, Lils," their father said, patting her on the head. When his wife shot him a look, he added, "What a scrumptious meal this is. Don't you agree, kids?"
"I'm done," Albus announced abruptly, standing up. "Can I go now?"
His mother sighed and nodded. "Take your plate away, first."
Albus did as he was told and marched up to his room, locking the door behind him. He pulled out a large trunk from under his bed and pushed open the lid, rummaging through it to find what he wanted. Picking up two marbles from within a small pouch, he held them up, admiring their clear blue colour.
He brought them close to his eyes and turned to see his reflection in the mirror. "I'd look good with blue eyes."
He wondered what would happen if he pressed the marbles into his eyeballs. Would the world be tinged in shades of his favourite colour? His mother told him he had marbles for eyes all the time because he could never find his things. Albus smiled, wondering how she would react if he actually had marbles for eyes.
"She probably wouldn't find it funny," he murmured, placing the small, clear pieces of glass on his bed. He reached back into the trunk and pulled out tubes of paint. They were all blue.
Albus had begged his parents to paint his room blue, and they had finally agreed. Now, he was getting started on the masterpiece he had in mind.
Putting on a ratty pair of pyjamas, he picked up his biggest paintbrush, stood on his bed, and got to work. If it turned out the way he had envisioned, it would look splendid.
"We have to take him to a doctor. This is getting of hand."
"Do you think he would agree, even if we suggested it? Do you think I haven't tried?"
His parents' urgent whispers were muffled from this side of the door, but he knew what they were talking about. He knew they thought he was a freak. He knew.
"Will this nightmare ever end?" his mother said, in tears.
"It will," his father assured her. "It has to. Because until it does, none of us will be free from this horror."
"He's only a child! How could he even think of things so terrible?"
His father didn't seem to have an answer to that.
Deciding he had heard enough, he walked away from his parents' room and into his. Standing in the centre of his room, he turned in a slow circle, taking in the paintings that covered the walls. He was mighty proud of his handiwork, even if his parents didn't like it one bit.
Walking over to his favourite picture, he touched the face of the fisherman he had painted. Merpeople and other creatures of the ocean swum behind him, throwing nets and spears at him, laughing and singing as they tried to capture him. His eyes were open wide in horror, and his mouth in a silent scream.
On the opposite wall was a picture of a little boy. He was in a decrepit old hut covered in creepers and vines. Light poured in through the gaps in the foliage and the broken boards. The house was filled with water, and the boy floated in the centre, his arms and legs thrashing in an attempt to save himself from drowning. A painting of the ocean was behind him. His eyes were open wide in horror, and his mouth in a silent scream.
The wall on the left depicted a picture of a soldier lying in a bed beside a woman. They were covered in mud and roses. Above them were two headstones engraved with their names. The woman looked like she was sleeping peacefully, but the man… his eyes were open wide in horror, and his mouth in a silent scream.
And the final wall, it had been reserved for the most special painting of all. He spent the next several hours finishing his masterpiece. Once he was satisfied, he stood back and admired it.
It was a picture of a cliff, painted in perspective so it was like you were looking up at it. A boy was standing at the very edge, looking down, his arms outstretched. Two bodies were free-falling towards the ocean below. The man and woman's eyes were open wide in horror, and their mouths in a silent scream.
Cleaning himself up and changing into nicer clothes, the boy left his room and walked to his parents'. They stopped talking when he entered and forced smiles onto their faces.
"What is it, love?" his mother asked, her voice dripping with sweetness.
He smiled, clutching his paintbrush in his hand. "Can we please go to the beach?"
"Wow, Al, that looks beautiful!" his mother exclaimed as he presented his artwork. "Did you do it all by yourself?"
He nodded.
"Looks like we've got a genius artist in the house," his father said, ruffling his hair. "What say we call everyone over so we can display this magnificent piece of work, eh?"
His mother laughed and agreed. "But not today. I hardly have the time or energy to prepare a feast."
They left after complimenting Albus a few more times. His brother, who had been quietly staring at the large wall mural of the ocean, fixed Albus with an odd look.
"Why're you so obsessed with oceans? It's creepy."
"Mum and Dad don't think so."
"Mum and Dad don't know about your journal or the creepy stories you write."
Albus' eyes widened. "You read my journal?!"
James' lips curled in disgust. "It was a mistake, I'll tell you that. Won't ever do it again."
He spun on his heel and ran out of the room. Lily, who had been sitting on Albus' bed singing her favourite nursery rhyme, left the room behind James. Her voice could be heard even once she was gone.
Ring-a-ring o' rosies,
A pocketful of posies,
A-tishoo! A-tishoo!
We all fall down!
Albus walked over to his study table and pulled open the lowest drawer. Reaching all the way in, he pressed the edges, and the false back fell open, revealing a bright red journal. He settled down at his desk and picked up a pen, flipped to a new page, and started writing.
"What do you want to be when you grow up, Al?" his mum asked as they sat on the beach.
He watched as the waves lapped at his feet, the water both cool and warm at the same time, and then pulled back a moment later, as though teasing him.
"The ocean," he answered finally.
"The ocean? Oh, you mean you want to be a merman?" his mother asked, chuckling. "Isn't that cute."
"No," Albus said "I don't want to be a merman. I want to be the ocean."
His mother smiled. "And why's that?"
Albus didn't answer. He stood and walked into the sea until he was waist-deep in the water.
"Don't go too far, Al!" his mother called, but he ignored her. If he wanted to be the ocean, what sense did it make to be afraid of it?
He placed his palms against the surface of the water and moved them away, mesmerised by the ripples that formed around him.
"Because the ocean can make you disappear," he whispered in answer to his mother's question. "And no one will ever know."
He eyed his reflection in the water. His eyes glinted blue.
This is written for Assignment 7 of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Class: Muggle Studies. Task One: Write about something that has been portrayed inaccurately. (My take on this may have been slightly out-there.)
Also written for the Writing Club.
1. Section: Creepypasta.
#2: Candle Cove. Task: Write about a child having hallucinations. (Albus basically has trouble differentiating between his vivid imaginations and reality, if that wasn't clear.)
2. Section: Book Club
Killorn Warren: (occupation) Fisherman, (word) orphan, (trope) childhood sweethearts, (pairing) Harry/Ginny, (word) loyal, (dialogue) "The war is being paid for in red blood."
3. Section: Show Time
Genetic Repo Man - (dialogue) "None of us are free from this horror."
4. Section: A Year in Entertainment
Movie: Chitty Chitty Bang Bang - (word) Scrumptious