Disclaimer: I do not own Ranger's Apprentice, nor any of the characters used in this story.
(A/N): Heyo! This is going to be a one-shot. Realize that. I won't write further on what happens after the ending. Please tell me if there's anything I can improve on, I'm always looking for constructive criticism. Or just tell me what you think? Please?(Also, can you tell me if this is creepy, it's supposed to be creepy, but I don't know?)
". . . and then a year after that the people who tried to renovate it experienced the death of their twins, both of them, due to a sudden sickness. Upon hearing the history of the house from the locals afterwards, they decided to abandon the mansion, after all the money put into it, and left to return to their home country of Gallica," Crowley set down the paper on his desk, sliding it into the small report file. He looked up at the two young men before him, smiling, as if he didn't read about the murders of twenty-seven people. The murders of twenty-seven people, and the mysterious deaths of twelve people, so the deaths of thirty-nine people.
Horace shifted his feet, glancing at the side of Will's face next to him. Of course the Ranger seemed unperturbed, while Horace was now dreading this mission. While his eyes were still on Will, the smaller man glanced over at Horace, first looking at his chest, then up at his face. He smiled slightly at Horace, as if to say "Everything's fine". The Knight tried to smile back at him, but struggled to get the corners of his lips to turn.
"Any questions?" Crowley asked cheerfully, scooping up the file.
Gulping, Horace asked, "What exactly are we doing there?"
The papers fluttered to the floor as Crowley's hands went limp. The friends could hear as the leather folder slipped to the floor, sweeping the papers under the desk, and across the floor. The commandant gave them a confused look. "I didn't tell you already?"
Both Will and Horace shook their heads, Will smiling paritially, and Horace uncomfortably looking down at his hands.
"Oh," Crowley hesitated, looking at his feet where the majority of the spilled papers lay. He went to his knees, crawling underneath the desk where neither Will nor Horace could see him. This time, they exchanged amused glances openly. "Well, recently," came Crowley slightly muffled voice, "some kids have been seen walking into the abandoned place."
All amusement left Horace's face, and Will snickered at the sudden change. The Ranger turned away, proving that he had little remorse for Horace's fear, despite the earlier shared smile.
"Umm," Crowley continued from beneath the table, "I don't remember the exact number of missing children, but it's on one of these sheets. I think it was . . ." Crowley's voice drifted out of hearing, before he popped back up above the desk with a sheet in his hand. With a triumphant smile, he held out the sheet in front of him, and proclaimed, "Around twelve-hundred children."
Horace's mouth fell open. He hadn't been expecting a number as high as that! Next to him, Will gasped, before he bent over in a fit of coughs. "What?" Will asked between coughs. Horace put a hand on Will's back.
Crowley grimaced, and nodded, "Spread out over a few years, of course. The locals have seen groups of kids going in there every month or so. Big groups. People have gone in looking for the kids, but have found nothing. It's almost as if the kids just disappeared off the face of the earth."
Finally getting a hold of himself, Will stood up straight. Horace left his hand on Will's lower back, until he was sure he wasn't going to fall into another bout of coughs. "So what're we supposed to do?" Will crossed his arms, "Find the kids?"
Surprisingly, the commandant shook his head. "No," kneeling down once more, he crawled underneath the desk. "I just want you two to investigate this place. A suspicious past, and multitudes of kids disappearing within? Even if I did want someone to go find the kids, I would send more than the two of you," Crowley stood, a handful of papers clutched to his chest. Smiling once again, he shoved the papers, without even glancing at what they were, back into the leather folder he had also picked up. Holding out the folder, he continued, "That's twelve-hundred kids, leaving six-hundred for either of you to deal with. No," Horace took the folder out of Crowley's extended hand, while taking his other hand off Will's back. Quickly flipping through it, with Will leaning closer to see, the Knight noted a few upside-down sheets, and a few more that were folded in half. "Find what you can. Then come back here, and tell me if you found anything of note."
Will nodded, looking back up at Crowley. "And the locals? What about them?"
The commandant shook his head. "Don't listen to a word they say. Ignore them completely if you must. Anything and everything they say about the place will be seasoned with a superstition aged for decades."
Turns out, they were told, that the mansion in question wasn't even a day's ride from Araluen. Upon hearing that, Will had glanced over to view how his partner took that news.
Horace's face had lost any color it had retained from the earlier meeting.
Riding the short distance to the mansion, Will repeatedly glanced over to Horace, and saw the color slowly returning to his face. He still looked terrified, however, and that may become a hindrance later on.
"Uh, Will?" Came his voice, seconds after Will turned away from him, assured that he wasn't about to turn around and ride back to Araluen. Turning back, he saw Horace edge Kicker a bit forward and closer to Tug. Will tilted his head in acknowledgment, and Horace continued, "uh, about what Crowley said about this place . . ." He hesitated, and glanced towards Will.
The Ranger held out a hand to stop him from continuing, pushing back his hood in the process. Moving his legs in some complicated way that the Knight couldn't follow, Will crossed one of his legs over, leaving the other in the stirrup. He leaned back partially, and let the sun bathe his face. Horace noticed in the sun freshly healed cuts and bruises on Will's face, and a light stubble. He smiled comfortably though, contrary to the condition his features were at the moment. "Horace, it's probably just a really elaborate slave-ring. The past is just the past, a series of regrettable events. We've got nothing to worry about."
Only partially reassured at his partner's ease, Horace silently wondered where he'd gotten the superficial injuries from. As he debated where they came from, something in the distance ahead of them caught his attention.
A village.
"What's the name of the village again?" Horace faced Will again in the saddle, this time noticing a thin cut on his partner's collarbone.
"Berkton, I believe," he moved his leg down now, resituating himself in the saddle to a proper riding position. He leaned forward partially, squinting at the silhouettes of buildings in the distance. "It's not supposed to be that big, so this may be it."
Glancing behind them, Horace grimaced. "Were you planning on heading to the mansion right away?"
Shaking his head, Will smiled. "I figured we could wait until the morning, search the place in the light," he paused, and Horace let out a pent up breath. He hadn't wanted to go to that place, as dark as it was getting. "I was debating at first, because there's two different outcomes if we do wait."
"What d'ya mean?"
"Well," Will smiled again, facing Horace, "I figured waiting could just give you more time to stew about this, and terrify yourself out of it." Will's grin spread, and he laughed.
Horace's face grew red, which was definitely an improvement from earlier.
They rode into town, the Ranger sitting smugly on his pony, and the Knight silently fuming on his battlehorse.
Having decided to stay in town for the night, the pair rode through the town searching for the Inn. Horace pointed to a two story building, with a small wooden sign hanging outside. The sign looked as if it had been hung sideways, as the large oak tree that had been carved into the wood was at a ninety degree angle, as if it were branching from the building itself. Above the depiction, however, the type was written normally. Together, the pair read: The Tipsy Tree Tavern.
"I don't think 'tipsy' means on it's side," Horace muttered to himself.
Shrugging as he dismounted, Will said, "Well, being tipsy could put you on your side."
Horace dismounted after him, and tied Kicker's reins to one of the posts. Will simply dropped his reins as usual, and together the two of them pushed open the door, and walked into the warm atmosphere of the tavern.
Being a small village, not many people were present. There were the farmers and laborers, getting dinner after a long day of work, drinking and laughing together. Will and Horace were able to slide in, a few people taking note of the strangers, and the fact that one wore a Ranger cloak, and the other had a broadsword. As more people came about to stare at the two, Horace continued on to the counter to see the Innkeep about a room, while Will slowed down a bit. His hood was still down, and while his face still had the innocent charm of youth, he could make most people uneasy with the right look. Looking about the room, he made it seem as if he was looking for someone, as if they were in trouble.
Most looked away as his eyes came towards them.
By the time his eyes had gone around the room, everyone had looked away, and were restarting their conversations. Everyone would remember that they had been there, Will knew, but that wasn't a problem. They weren't actually looking for something, and unless one of them were running the supposed slave-ring, then no one would even be alarmed to learn that they were investigating the mansion. Not that he was going to announce it.
Walking over to the bar, where it seemed Horace was currently bartering the payment of the room, Will took one last glance around the room. In the corner, near where the fireplace was blazing, a young girl stared at him. She couldn't have been more than seven, with long brown hair, somewhat tangled, that hung past her waist, almost to the hem of the tattered pink smock dress. She was barefoot, with torn tights, and muddied feet and arms. Her hazel eyes bore into him.
Poverty must be common in a town this small, he thought, turning back to Horace and the Innkeep, I wonder where that child's parents are.
"Hey, Will, how long are we gonna need the room?" Horace asked, as he brought out his money pouch, and started to sift through it.
Will shrugged. "We're staying tonight. Leave early tomorrow morning, and depending on if we come back or stay the night there, we might need it a second night." His taller friend hesitated, glancing up. Will had noticed his involuntary flinch when Will said 'or stay the night there'. "Just pay for two nights, and then we'll decide what to do later. Who knows, maybe we'll stay the next night if we do spend the night there."
The Innkeep furrowed his eyebrows, and seemed to want to ask a question. He looked like a stereotypical grandfather, with grey hair and scruffy beard, Slightly round, but not fat, he looked strong. Will cocked his head, when his eyes landed on him, and he motioned for the Innkeep, who's name Will heard to be Edwin earlier, to ask his question.
"Where you two goin'?" He grabbed a few mugs off the counter, and started to wipe them with a rag, which Will was glad to see was nearly pure white.
Seeing Horace's minute glance in his direction, Will answered. "What do you know about that mansion out west? Just out of town, right?" He leaned against the bar.
Surprise and suspicion flashed across the old man's face. "Waybrandt? It's so run down, left to the elements and all, that no one goes there anymore. The townsfolk used to maintain the yard when no one lived there, but since-" he stopped abruptly, suddenly unsure. He looked out towards the full room behind them, and back.
"But since . . . what?" Will wondered out loud, somewhat lowering his voice.
"Since the children started going in," Edwin looked around nervously for something to do, but he'd already done his job earlier. All mugs and cups were clean, and the waiters and waitresses were going back and forth, with no need to be reprimanded. Everyone who yelled for a beer was taken care of by a young boy, who eagerly leapt to the job, as if he was trying to prove something. The Innkeep suddenly realized he hadn't offered his new guests anything. "Uhh, what can I get you? Anything to drink, food?"
Horace answered for both of them, asking for coffee and whatever that night's special was for the both of them.
As the older man turned away, Will tapped Horace arm, and leaned closer to make sure only he heard. "I think people still think Ranger's do dark magic out here," Horace grunted in agreement, a slight smile on his face. Will continued, a similar smile on his face, "I'm going to go put the horses in the stable, you talk to him."
Will went to turn away, but Horace stopped him. "What should I say? Like, everything? Or not too much, or-"
"Nothing we're doing here is a threat to anyone, unless I was right about the slave-ring. Don't give away too much, but at the same time don't be so secretive that they'll get curious."
"What about the fact that you're a famous Ranger?" Horace hid a wider grin by turning his head away.
Scowling, Will said, "I think you and I can retake the names of Watt and Barton, if you so please."
Horace laughed at the resurgence of those names, the aliases they used during their mission in Macindaw, Hawkin Watt and Will Barton.
As Will left the room, Edwin returned with two mugs of coffee. "Where'd your friend go, Mister . . . ?"
"Watt. Hawkin Watt, and my friend's Will Barton," Horace didn't think Will had been completely serious when mentioning those names, but he didn't care that much. "He went to put our horses in the stable. If that's all right, of course. I can go stop him, if you want." Horace wouldn't mind being alone in the stables with Will for a while . . .
He shook his head, "No, no, that's not necessary. It's just . . ." He hesitated once again, but continued not after too long, "The two o' you going to Waybrandt . . . why?"
Shrugging, Horace picked up the mug of coffee, after having put some honey in it. He took a sip before he replied, and set down the mug. "We're just following orders," Horace smiled, "We're just supposed to investigate the mansion a bit, nothing more."
Edwin nodded, as if he had known already. "I suppose your higher-ups filled ya in on the history of the place?"
"Unfortunately."
"Take heed, friend."
Horace narrowed his eyes, suddenly concerned and suspicious. He vaguely recalled Crowley saying Don't listen to a word they say, but nevertheless, chills went up his spine. "Take heed of what?"
"Something has to be causing the mysterious deaths, right? It's still there, friend, and those who ignore it are usually the ones who don't come back."
Remembering Will's previous behavior, the Knight suddenly felt the need to defend his partner, even though he hadn't displayed his skeptical behavior in the Inn. "What're you saying? That we aren't going to make it back?"
"No. You will, but Mr. Barton out in the stables might not."
Horace lowered his voice. "I really do hope you're not threatening Will, Innkeep," Horace hissed, flicking Will's cooling mug of coffee. The flick sent little waves across the surface, nothing big enough to spill over the edge. He wondered what was taking Will so long.
But thankfully, Edwin was shaking his head vigorously, waving his hands in front of him. "No, sir. No, I wish Mr. Barton the best, sir. It's just how it's always been. The skeptical never come back out. They're it's food."
Opening his mouth to defend Will again, Horace felt a hand on his lower back, and upon seeing Edwin's eyes widen in marginal surprise, reasoned that Will had entered silently. Turning, and seeing the Ranger's cowl covered face, he began to wonder how much of that Will had heard.
Keeping his hand on Horace's back, Will smiled, purposely making it somewhat wolfish. "Hold my dinner, Innkeep. I think I'll be going to bed right away, after such a long day of travel," Horace caught the obvious lie, but stayed silent. "Which room is ours, again?" Will smiled again, not wolfishly, but moreover made it to say he'd heard everything.
'Mansion' Waybrandt looked as if it needed to be corrected to 'Castle' Waybrandt, as that's what it resembled.
It had thick dark walls, with a single, tall dark gate at the front. The walls were at least ten meters high, and were fairly smooth for their age, giving Will no handholds to climb with. Luckily, the gate was easily pushed open, once they got through the rust. Inside the walls, they found an expansive lawn, now well grown up to Horace's waist as they walked, due to neglect. As they lead their horses through the thick lawn, the two stared up at the house.
It was at least three stories, including the attic. So it wasn't that tall, but that didn't take away from the magnificence that the mansion had once had. Pillars of some darkly colored stone surrounded the main door, and there were many windows outside, with a huge bay window above the door, showcasing a large, if not run down and broken, chandelier. Of course, most of the expensive glass windows that had been there previously had been broken, either by villagers or weather, but a few remained. Most of the outside seemed to have been done in a similar stone that the pillars had been done in, but darker. Of the two door entrance, only one door remained on it's hinges, and was only half on at that. The other door was nowhere to be seen.
They stopped a few meters from the steps up to the front door. Will looked left, then right, then left again.
"We going in?" Horace asked nervously, still staring up at the walls. He'd been expecting a run down, beat up mansion, but he hadn't expected it to be so dark.
Will looked back and forth once more before answering. "I'm going to take walk around, check out what's in back." Nudging Tug around, he mounted him, and set off down the right side, parallel to the walls. Horace followed suit without a word, mounting Kicker.
Rounding the house, though, Horace automatically pulled Kicker to a stop. Inside the walls of Waybrandt, there were two houses. The one, large, dark mansion to his side, and a smaller house that wasn't even a quarter of the size of the other. It looked to be only two stories from where he sat, but the sides went far, fairly close to the back wall. It was a brownish color, but from the looks of it, it seemed to have been a lighter color beforehand, maybe a white or daisy yellow. It was obviously now covered in dirt.
In front of him, Will had continued towards the house. Horace watched as he dismounted, glanced back to see where he was, and walked towards to house. He had his bow in hand, his hood up, but Horace still watched with some degree of concern.
The skeptical never come back out.
Horace urged Kicker forward once more, intent on getting closer to Will, in case he needed help. He stopped beside Tug, however, not wanting Will to think that he doubted him.
Thankfully, he walked out minutes later, saying that a simple layout and little to no doors in the place made it so he just had to stroll through.
They continued around, finding a small back patio, with a entrance into what looked like a butler's pantry. Through the window in the door, which still had it's glass, they could see a kitchen. An overgrown garden was not far from the patio, most of the plants long dead and rotten. They could see into the mansion through more broken windows, and torn down curtains. Most of the rooms looked like the outside of the house, falling apart, litter scattered everywhere. A series of windows they glanced into showed a large dining room, and while the large table that obviously used to occupy the large space wasn't there, the chandelier, smaller than the one in the front of the house, that used to hang on the ceiling seemed to have claimed the table's spot.
Eventually, they made it back to the front lawn, and now stood in front of the two-door entrance, staring into the depths.
Kicker and Tug were let to graze, but were kept close. Tug would listen, and Kicker would follow Tug's lead.
Horace hesitated following Will in. He nearly strolled in, completely unconcerned about the smashed furniture, layers of dust, and dead animals, while Horace crept in. Ahead of him lay the entrance hall, a huge stairwell that looked to go to all three stories, and what looked to used to be a piano. His footsteps echoed, while in front of him the Ranger walked silently. Will was waiting for him in the center of the hall, turning slowly in a circle.
"I'll take this floor, you go up to the top. We'll meet on the second. We good?" Will turned to face him as Horace approached.
"We're splitting up?" The floor creaked as he walked, and he wondered if there was a basement. They hadn't seen any bulkhead doors on the outside, so he assumed that there wasn't.
Will shrugged, and said as he turned away, "Yeah? Just scream if you need anything, Kurokuma."
Now standing in the butler's pantry they had passed outside, Will looked up at the bare shelves. He could see rotted food stains, which didn't make much sense if the last people had moved out. Had they moved out, or abandoned it? The file was in Tug's saddle bags, which he had left outside. Through the window, he could see it was overcast, dark and foreboding.
Behind him, someone shuffled their feet, kicking up minor dust piles. Figuring Horace had followed him instead of going up the steps, he sighed. Horace was worried about everything that had gone on in this house, not realizing that nothing of the supernatural existed. There was no such thing as ghosts, demons, vampires, witches, and anything else that parents told their kids would eat them during the night if they snuck out. "Horace, seriously-" He turned, but froze.
He was alone.
Will quickly moved to the doorway, and glanced out. To either side, no one. The kitchen was deserted. He moved towards the open door at the far end, that would take him into the dining room with the chandelier as the table. That room was empty as well. Above him, he could hear Horace moving around somewhere on the third floor, his stride familiar from a lifetime of hearing it.
From the dining room, an expansive archway lead to the entrance hall. That was empty as well.
"I'm just imagining things," he muttered to himself, disappointed that he was letting the words of a spooked Innkeep disturb him. He turned away from the entrance hall, and went back through a normal sized door into the kitchen, where he glanced around once more before heading back to the butler's pantry. He'd seen something there he wanted to inspect closer.
In the pantry once again, Will got to his hands and knees, bending over to see into the bottom cupboard. The doors had been torn off, and were wide open, but something inside had caught his attention. Inside was a dirty torn blanket, and next to it a small stuffed animal, crudely made. Around what had obviously been a living space for some time, were what looked like food remains. Much newer remains than what the house looked like, but still quite old. A pile of plum and peach cores were covering the floor, and Will vaguely remembered seeing plum and peach trees in the back near the overgrown garden. The trees were long dead.
Hearing movement behind him again, this time near the back door, rather than the kitchen, Will turned his head. No one was in the pantry with him, and when he stood up to look out the door, the yard was deserted. He ran a hand through his hair, thoroughly confused. He knew he heard someone move, that sound was unmistakeable. It couldn't have been the house settling or Horace moving around because he would have recognized those sounds.
A child giggled behind him, in the kitchen.
Spinning, Will saw a small figure dart out of the doorway, back towards the dining room entrance. Hurrying after the figure, Will settled a hand on his throwing knife. He didn't know what he was following.
Stepping out into the kitchen, he saw the child dart to the side of the dining room doorway. He stepped cautiously after, not sure if the child was playing a game of hide-and-seek, was scared, was leading him somewhere, or what. He slid the dagger out of its sheath, and considered yelling for Horace. No, he thought, that would just alarm him. It's just a child.
Through the dining room, he saw a wisp of dirty cloth turn in the arch, going deeper into the mansion rather than for the front exit. He followed.
Going out into the entrance hall, he figured he would see the child running across the room. It was quite a large room, expanding for at least of quarter of the mansions length, and the ceiling went up all three stories. The chandelier up there bothered him. Eventually, it would fall, and all he could hope was that neither him nor Horace were underneath it when it finally did. The entrance hall was empty, as was the stairs when he finally looked down from the chandelier.
On a complete whim, Will walked to a small corridor that was beside the staircase side railings. It was small, and probably an entrance to servant halls, but he hadn't seen where the child went. It was as good as any choice. Plus, the kid couldn't have crossed the hall, or gone up the stairs before he'd turned the corner.
In those halls, it was a complete maze. The walls were a monotone greyish color, their former color having been dulled and worn down. Everything was that color, the walls, floor, doorways. Will got himself lost easily. He could turn left once, and find himself where he'd been previously, which would have been impossible in any other circumstance. There were random staircases that didn't seem to go to a different floor, and doors that lead to nowhere and everywhere at once. He felt as he were back in Grimsdell forest, not knowing which direction he was facing, nor where the sun was.
Upon running into another dead end, Will sighed, frustrated. How the hell was he supposed to get out of here? Now that he was here, he had no idea where to go next, mainly because he couldn't get out of this damned place. By now he wasn't even looking for the child, he was just looking for the exit. Hearing a noise behind him again, he glanced over his shoulder, not expecting anything, because of his previous experiences.
The little girl from The Tipsy Tree was standing behind him.
She quickly turned the corner, not waiting to see if he said anything, and ran back down the hall.
"Hey! Hey, wait!" He yelled, no longer caring if Horace would be alarmed by it. He pivoted completely, and sprinted after the girl, turning the corner after her. It was like when he was following her earlier, seeing wisps of hair or cloth turn a corner. Chasing after her, they went up thin, rickety staircases, these seemingly actually going somewhere. As if before the house was trying to lose him, because he hadn't had a guide. He took the steps three at a time, afraid that he'd lose the child in the maze of grey walls. He figured they were now on the third floor after he passed a small dirty window, and only saw the sky.
He took another corner, seeing her hand slip off the wall as she went around.
In front of him, the hall was laid out in something he'd seen dozen of times already. An open doorway to his right, leading out into the house once more. Somewhere down the hall, he could hear Horace's heavy steps walk into a room. Across from the doorway, a small grimy window had a side table underneath, with a partially rotted wicker basket on the shelf underneath. There was also a smashed planter pot, and soil on the top and floor around the side table. The hall continued after that, but he didn't look.
Because his eyes were glued on the child that stood in the center, standing in the space between the side table, and the open doorway.
Will paused, unsure. Slowly, he crouched down, making himself about the same height as the little girl. Her hazel eyes fixed on him, wide, but with a certain amount of blankness. He reached out, hesitantly, towards her. Extending his arm to the fullest wouldn't get him to the girl, but if she extended her arm, their hands would touch.
Smiling, Will murmured, "Hello, honey. My name's Will." She continued to stare at him, not comprehending his stretched out arm or his words. Her arms stayed limp by her sides.
A door slammed in the main house, Horace's footsteps walked towards them. He was only down the hall, and getting closer.
The Tipsy Tree girl spun, and took off running down the hall.
"Wait-" He cried out, reaching out after her and leaning forward in hopes of grabbing her arm. She slipped to the side, causing him to miss, and she turned the corner, her ripped dress fanning out behind her.
He sat there, scrunching up his face in frustration, until Horace finally made his way to the doorway, and happened to glance in and see him.
"Will? What're you doing up here?" The Knight leaned into the doorway, a hand gripping the door frame. He looked a lot more relaxed, apparently having gotten used to the odd atmosphere of the old mansion.
Instead of answering, Will looked up at Horace, his face now completely settled into restrained annoyance. Through clenched teeth, he asked, "Have you heard any children running around, Horace?"
Horace seemed oblivious of his annoyance, and he tilted his head in confusion, frowning. "Children? Here?"
Will nodded, jutting his jaw out and continuing to glare at the Knight. Finally, the look seemed to register to him, and he grew uncomfortable. He looked away, in the direction Will was facing.
Abruptly standing, his shoulder nearly hitting Horace's jaw, Will stalked past him and down the hall. Behind him, he heard footsteps following hesitantly after him. Further down, the hall only bent in one direction, signifying them being at the end of the house. Around the corner, all that was there was a long, grey staircase, going up. He couldn't see a door at the end, everything being shaded in darkness, from a lack of windows.
This must be going up to the attic, Will thought, frowning. He'd seen no outward signs of an attic outside, seeing no small windows peeking out of the roofing. Also, if the third floor height was the same as the first story, then there wouldn't be room for an attic. He started up the steps, not taking them as fast as he did the others. He wasn't sure what was at the top, knowing that it was leading him to an impossible room.
They seemed to go on forever, the stairwell extending an impossible length. Everything was still the monotone grey, making everything blend into everything else. Glancing behind him once, as he hesitated going up, he could no longer see the bottom landing or Horace, who apparently had stopped following. Looking back and forth, between up and down the stairs, he felt a sudden wash of dread. Nothing good would come of this, of looking for this impossible room.
He could see neither the top nor bottom, so he figured he was about halfway. Hopefully.
Sighing, and still filled with dread, he continued up.
Eventually, Will realized he could see light at the top. There was a landing, with a door directly in front of him. Creeping up the stairs, he stopped, just a few steps from the top.
The girl had her back to him, and was staring out a window. The door was ajar, its hinges rusted so much he doubted he'd be able to close the door. Around her, there was a broken chair, scattered around the room. In the far corner, an intact chair sat facing into the corner.
Will glanced back, thoroughly creeped out, in hopes of seeing Horace finally caught up with him, traversing the steps towards him. The stairs were dark, and there were no signs of the tall Knight on the steps.
Stepping up, he entered the room, but stopped short. He didn't want to alarm the girl. "Hey, it's me again," he whispered. She didn't respond, and continued to stare out the window. Her tatted pink dress blew in the wind, even though the window wasn't broken, and there was no other openings in the room. Looking over her shoulder, Will saw the front lawn, far to the side. Further out, and over the wall, he could see the shadow of Berkton in the distance. The stairs probably ran along the side of the house, all the way from back to front.
Will set a hand on the girls shoulder, gently. The light poofs of her smock dress seemed light, offering no resistance to his hand.
"Holy shIT, HORA-" Will's scream was cut off suddenly by a loud thump, and then silence.
Horace froze for a moment in the hallway, before whispering: "Will," and sprinting around the corner. He paused only momentarily upon seeing only a long grey staircase, but not a moment longer. He took the stairs by three, sprinting as fast as he could manage up the stairs.
No, no, Will, please be okay, please be okay, he kept thinking. The last words he heard from his partner, being suddenly cut off, replaying again and again in his mind, don't be dead. Horace stumbled, caught himself against the wall, and continued up. How long is this staircase?
Finally arriving at the top, Horace stumbled to a stop in the doorway.
Will was curled up in the center of a room, his knees pulled to his chest, his hands over his head. His face wasn't visible, because he'd pulled his face down so his chin was touching his chest. He was alone in the room, which had a single window, and broken chair parts scattered around. Another chair, that was still in one piece, was settled in the far corner, facing into the walls.
Horace bent down next to the Ranger, placing a hand on his arm. When Will didn't move or react to his touch, he moved his hand around Will's chest. A hand supporting his neck, and the other around him, Horace attempted to turn his body, but instead of moving, Will responded with resistance, and groaned.
"Will? Hey, bud, hey, wake up," his voice cracked, and he pushed down the panic that was building in his throat. Releasing his arm that was wrapped around him, and instead moving it back to Will's arm that covered his head, he found no resistance. He gently removed Will's arm, and leaned over to see if he was okay.
His eyes were screwed shut, his lips pressed together hard. Brushing the hair out of his face, Horace breathed out, "Hey, bud, it's me. Just me," his voice cracking again.
At that, Will's eyes flicked open. He let out a heavy breath, as if that entire time he hadn't been breathing at all.
"H-Horace?" Will turned his head partially towards the Knight, and his body seemed to relax. Horace's hand now went back around his chest, his other one still supporting his neck, intent on turning him to face him. As his head turned further over to see Horace, however, he noticed something.
The other side of Will's face was covered in a layer of blood, dirtied from the dirt and dust that had been on the floor.
Will sat at the bottom of the main staircase in the entrance hall, waiting for Horace to come in with their saddlebags. At the moment, Will held his sleeve up to the cut, with all of their first aid supplies being in their saddlebags. The cut ran from his brow, down to his jaw. It wasn't deep, didn't blind him or anything, and it probably wouldn't even scar for too long. It just hurt like hell. When Horace had finally gotten Will standing, and helped him down the stairs, they'd cleaned off most of the blood. What bothered Will the most, however, was the fact that he'd gotten dust and dirt in the cut. It would hurt a lot more than it did now if it got infected.
Upon getting to a window, and seeing that it was nearly dark, they were both resigned to a night in the mansion.
By the time they got down the long staircase, and out of the servants corridors, Will was confident in supporting his own weight. He was still somewhat dizzy, as he had hit his head when he fell, and was unsure when they finally came to the main staircase. With neither of them saying anything, Horace slipped an arm around his shoulders, pulling Will against him. Will put an arm around Horace's waist, and leaned into him.
They were going to spend the night in the kitchen, which was close enough to the front door to hear anything going on, but out of the way of the broken windows if the clouds decided to break.
Even though he knew that he and Horace were probably the only people in the mansion at the time, and knew that he should be suspicious of anything proving otherwise, he still refused to turn when he heard the footsteps behind him. Small feet walked up and down the steps behind him, impossibly so. When no one was walking behind him, he'd hear giggles, either coming from the dining room, or the drawing room on the other side. No one ever giggled on the steps behind him.
Heavier footsteps, but not Horace, sounded on the third floor landing far above him. They walked slowly downwards. To the sides, the giggling seemed to get louder. Still, Will refused to look up, and continued to hold his head in his hands, staring at his feet. Whoever was walking down the steps got to the second floor landing, and paused. If Will turned around, he'd be able to see whoever it was plainly.
But he wasn't going to turn around. Because none of it was real. No one was standing behind him, staring at his back, and no children were giggling in the rooms to the sides. He and Horace were alone at the Waybrandt Mansion, having only told Edwin, the Innkeep back at The Tipsy Tree, why they were there. And he wasn't exactly able to just up and leave his business to joke around with a Ranger and Knight. And even if he did tell someone, they were still a Ranger and a Knight, and impeding their investigation wouldn't be the best idea. Cutting a Ranger's face wasn't such a good idea either.
What got to Will the most was that he didn't even remember what happened. He only remembered walking up the steps, those long, montone grey steps, and seeing the girl standing in front of the window. Horace told him that he'd hit his head, probably when he fell, and that's why he didn't remember.
The footsteps continued off the second landing, walking directly behind where he sat. Will stopped breathing. Around him, the giggling slowly faded - it didn't get quiet, but sort of faded, into whispers just as loud as the giggles before. He couldn't catch anything that was said, but for some reason, some hunch, he knew it wasn't anything good.
Will closed his eyes. I'm just imagining this. Because of what Crowley said. Because of what Edwin said. Because of Horace. My head is feeding off Horace's fear, creating my own. None of this is real.
The heavy footsteps were only a few steps above where he sat now.
"Hey, Will?" Horace called, shutting the remaining door rather loudly across the room. "You just need this bag, right?" Will opened his eyes, and looked up. He was holding up Will's satchel, the one that had a spare change of clothes. In his other hand, he carried his own bag, and under one arm was two bedrolls.
Behind him, the steps stopped. Around him, the whispers stopped.
"Yeah, but what about blankets?" Will called over as he stood, using the banister beside him as support.
"I've got a few in my bag, and you have your cloak. That's good enough, right?" Horace asked, now walking towards where Will was. "I also grabbed your first aid kit," he said, motioning at a smaller bag he had hanging on his shoulder.
With each step that Horace took, whoever was on the steps behind Will took a step back up, matching his steps perfectly with Horace's. He only knew because he felt the vibrations in the wood.
Horace held out Will's bag, for a moment looking concerned as Will let go of the banister and swayed for a moment.
"Is there anyone behind me?" Will asked quietly, staring at Horace's neck, not wanting to see his partner's face in reaction to the question. Not wanting to look him in the eye, and see his emotions.
There was a short period of silence, and during it, Horace slipped Will's bag on his shoulder next to the first aid kit. Will felt a hand on his waist, but he still didn't look up.
"There's no one up there. Not behind you, or on the second landing," he finally responded. "It's pretty dark though. Why?"
"Just curious."
He felt Horace's eyes on him, and they didn't leave for some time. After a while, though, Horace's hand slipped from his waist. He started to walk towards the dining room, not looking back to Will.
Will hesitated following after him, and moved his gaze to the bottom step. Should he check up the stairs himself? Or should he just go to bed without looking?
No, he realized. Don't.
He moved away, following after Horace.
He didn't look up the stairs not because he was afraid of what he would find.
He didn't look up the stairs not because all Horace had seen was darkness.
But the shadows he'd seen out of the corner of his eye were massed into one shape, humanoid, and watching him.
Will stood, staring out the back pantry door. They both had set out their rolls near the back of the kitchen, near the butler's pantry doorway, but Horace was currently fussing about something in one of his saddlebags. Outside, wind whipped the dead trees around, and the overgrown garden, nearly out of sight, had its weeds waving back and forth, against the wall, flattened. In the other direction, the small house could be seen. Even from here, the Ranger could see the house bending from the force of the wind, putting too much strain on the rotted and worn wood.
"Hey, Will?" Horace murmured from the kitchen doorway.
Turning to face him, a shock of pain flashed up his spine. His head was throbbing. Not wanting to nod and make it worse, he waved a hand. "What?"
"You okay?" He sounded unsure of himself, but at the same time, concerned.
"Yeah, Horace," Will sighed, glanced back out the door. "I'm fine. Head just hurts a bit."
The only thing he could remember was the girl standing in front of the window. Horace said he hit his head, and from the pain, it was obvious he had. Probably had a concussion. But what had cut him in the first place, which inevitably caused his fall?
"Uhm, Will . . ." Will looked back towards Horace. He was kneeling on his own bedroll, which was placed closely to Will's. "Edwin . . . the Innkeep back in Berkton . . . He told me-"
"The skeptical never come back out." Will quoted, smiling somewhat. It was sweet that Horace was worried about him, but all the same . . . "Horace, everything's going to be fine. I just hit my head, is all. We'll both leave tomorrow morning, ride back to Araluen together, and tell Crowley together that this place should be burned." Horace opened his mouth to say something, but Will waved him off, still smiling, "Horace, that man was probably raised on that superstition. Crowley even said to not take any word of the local's seriously."
Horace shut his mouth at that. He wasn't going to get a single word in to Will about this kind of thing, he realized. No matter what happened, Will would continue to play it off as something tangible. Nothing paranormal.
"Hey, I'm going to walk around, get my feet settled. Look around some more before going to bed, okay?" Will moved out of the pantry, slipping past Horace who sat just outside the door. He hesitated before leaving their corner, and turned back to Horace. "Also, we should have a watch, just in case. I'll take the first, you can sleep when I get back."
He was about to walk down the kitchen and towards the dining room, but Horace stopped him. "Want me to look into the smaller house out back? Just check things out again to be sure?"
Will shrugged, "Go for it."
His footsteps echoed, but he paid no attention to them. Leaving the door open behind him, Horace ventured deeper, passing two entry ways to either side of him, and continuing on towards the back of the small house. He could see another doorway before the steps at the back, but for some reason, he was compelled to travel up the steps before checking the lower rooms. There was a certain room he wanted to check first. He set a foot on the bottom step and began the climb up the steep and rotting wooden stairs.
Behind him, where he left the front door open, something closed it, and continued silently after him.
With no hesitation, Will headed across the mansion, intent on his destination. He was going up those steps, even if something compelled him not to before.
Turning the corner, and facing the large expanse of the main stairwell, the Ranger looked up.
It was too dark to see all the way to the top, even though there was still partial light outside.
As he got to the top of the stairs, a child giggled behind him. Horace spins, finding nothing.
Maybe he should have checked the downstairs rooms first, like usual.
Shaking his head, he continued. Facing forward, a long hallway extended to the end of the house, back towards the mansion. At the end, there was a dust and grime covered window, with a small side table below. There were three doorways on each side, evenly spaced. Two were missing doors completely, while three others were swung open. The door on the left side of the hall, all the way down, was the only door that was closed.
Walking forward, Horace glanced into each open door, seeing rooms littered with dirt and debris, broken down furniture, and ripped cloth.
Giggles sounded behind him, but every time he turned, no child was there. He would go back to the previous doorways, but no one would be in those rooms.
Finally fed up with the children's games, Horace turned back towards the one room he hadn't checked yet, the room with the closed door. He refused to turn when someone or something giggled behind him, and he put a hand on the rusted knob.
His hands were limp, and even though his hand twitched to draw his saxe, he didn't. There was nothing up there, so there was no reason as to why he should draw it. He stepped up the stairs, one at a time, slowly. He didn't know why he did it that way, but he did.
Maybe it was because something was walking behind him.
The small, pat, pat, of bare feet on the hardwood sounded on the steps he'd just stepped off of. They were the size of a child, he could tell.
Even though he couldn't see them, didn't want to see them, he knew the child. Knew that she had long, tangled brown hair past her waist. Knew that her tights were ripped beyond recognition, and off her bloodied feet. Her legs would be cut up and dirty, just as her arms and face were. She had big hazel eyes, which were focused in on his back. Her pink dress was ripped like her tights were, hanging loosely to her body.
He didn't turn to confirm this image, didn't want to.
With his heart in his throat, with no weapon in hand, he stared up in that impossible black void, taking one step at a time.
It was eerily quiet without the giggling.
They had stopped the moment he stepped inside the room, quickly intensifying to squabbles, and then ending abruptly as he crossed over the threshold.
He didn't know why he entered this room, when all the others he just glanced into. Maybe it was because the door was closed, or maybe it was because the room was in the same position than the one Will had gotten hurt in. Top floor, front left corner. A corner room.
Or maybe it was because the two rooms looked exactly the same. The one where Horace had found Will on the floor, it had been about the size of a large closet, longer than it was wide, with a single window at the end with shredded, see-through drapes, a smashed chair, and a chair facing into the corner. It was exactly the same in both rooms.
The only difference, Horace supposed, was the fact that there was a live child in this one. He was staring out the window, although how he was doing that with how much grime was on it, Horace didn't know.
There was movement behind him, and the Knight glanced back. There was no one, however, just like every other time. Horace looked forward once more, and looked in the direction of the kid.
Turning back, now on the third floor landing, Will could see down the stairs clearly. He could see perfectly fine, now that he was up here, but the shadows he'd seen earlier unnerved him. It only made it worse thinking that he was now standing inside them.
The child was still with him, now standing beside him as he stared down the steps. He didn't look.
Maybe I shouldn't go back, Will thought, I was alone and yet got cut in the face in that room. Now I have a child with me. That place is dangerous.
Just as he was about to step back down the stairs, the child tugged his hand. Refusing to look, he continued to stare down the stairwell, but let the child lead him away. He continued to look back, as his body turned to follow. Normally, he wouldn't have let a child he didn't look at lead him into the unknown, but he felt this time was necessary.
Something moved in the shadows around them, and Will had the feeling it wouldn't be too happy if he decided to leave before they got to the grey stairwell.
Horace stood behind the child, having already asked the child multiple times if he was okay. With no response, Horace decided he would need to physically get the kid's attention.
He put a hand on the child's shoulder, and felt the bile rise in his throat as his hand passed clean through the body.
Halfway to the room, Will realized he couldn't let that happen. He couldn't go back into that room. If he did, he'd never leave.
Will couldn't explain that feeling, but it was there. Panic rose, and Will twisted his hand out of the child's grip. At the last second, the hand seemed to crush his own, forcing it to stay, but he'd already been turning, and therefore was able to get himself out. Still refusing to turn and see what had been following along with him, Will hurried back towards the steps.
As he rushed down them, taking two at a time despite the rotting pieces, he felt something staring at his back. As he reached the landing, he slowed, hesitated.
Glancing back, he saw no child, but the presence of the shadow was still there, and for some reason, Will felt as if it were watching him.
Slamming the door behind him, Horace stumbled out of the smaller house, his jaw shut firmly as if he was holding back a mouthful of puke. He didn't notice Will leaning against the side immediately, but when he did, he cried out in surprise, and stumbled away from him. His sword was drawn, and he leveled it partially.
Will raised his arms, slightly alarmed, "Hey! Hey, Horace, it's just me!"
The Knight hesitated, squinting at the smaller figure before him. He was wearing Will's cloak, and had his bow and knives. A small glint of silver showed at his neck - his oakleaf. Dropping his sword only partially, Horace continued to stare at him. "Will?"
Nodding, and slowly dropping his arms, Will smiled. Something had spooked him, he knew, and he bet that his partner had been standing in the front left corner room, top floor, when it happened. Of course, he wasn't going to say that. "You all right, bud?"
Hearing his voice clearly now, Horace dropped his sword arm completely. Sheathing his sword, he stepped closer to Will, but looked towards to mansion. He didn't respond to Will's question.
"Horace? What happened?"
Now he looked down, still refusing to look at Will. "I don't know," he said quietly. "I don't remember?"
Will hesitated. "Let's get back to the mansion. I think it's going to start raining soon."
"You-" Horace stopped, glancing back at the small house. His eyes seemed to go to the top floor, the corner room. "You still want to stay here?"
"Unless you want to be caught in a downpour for the twenty minute ride back to Berkton," Will asked, just as thunder boomed above them, and the clouds broke. It didn't downpour, like he said, but there was no doubt that they would be caught in heavy sheets of rain if they didn't get back soon. "Personally, I'd rather stay the night in a creepy, abandoned mansion for a night rather than riding in this."
Horace looked up, not closing his eyes when the rain hit his face.
"Horace, we have a job to do. It's mostly finished now, but there's still things to check out," Will reached out for Horace's hand. It was cold, and strangely limp, but maybe Will's familiar touch brought him out of whatever reverie he was in. His eyes flicked up to meet Will's through the rain the was gradually thickening. As Will tugged lightly on his arm, Horace followed with no resistance as he was led back to the mansion's back door.
Inside, Will tugged Horace around him in the butler's pantry, and motioned for him to go ahead. Horace walked sluggishly through the closet, and Will watched him. He watched as Horace slid off his damp jacket, and untied his boots. Will slid off his cloak, and walked past Horace, throwing his cloak over one of the tables that were still intact. Most of the tables in the kitchen were still intact, actually, because they were better quality, made to withstand longer periods of time.
"I'll still take first watch, you get some rest," Will said, bending down to untie his shoes. He wouldn't take them off, but loosened them. Horace nodded numbly, looking straight forward. Upon hearing a long, drawn out sigh, Will turned to face Horace, only to see that he'd lied down, and was now curled on his side. Will leaned over partially, to see his face, and saw that his eyes were closed.
Shrugging, the Ranger stood up straight, taking a look around the dusty room. The butler's pantry was to his left, in the corner, which would lead out. If he sat in there, he'd have a door to his back. Taking the opposite corner would be best, because it would give him a view into the pantry, but also of the rest of the room, and a partial view into the dining room. Stepping over Horace's prone figure, he walked silently to the corner.
Will settled himself between the two walls, and brought his knees to his chest. Looking briefly at Horace's back, Will figured he had at least a four hour watch.
The pounding of the rain soothed him. A familiar sound, among everything that was new to him. He could hear the splashes as the rain fell in through broken windows, creaks and other noises as the severe wind dragged around pieces of debris around rooms. A few times, doors slammed a floor up, blown shut by the wind. Sometimes, the creak of the hinges shutting would start up, but instead of slamming shut, the doors was bump into something, sounding a loud thunk, as if something was between the door and the jam.
All these things were normal house sounds, even considering the rain falling through the windows. It calmed him.
Until he realized that there wasn't a single sound anymore.
The rain had gone silent.
All the creaks and groans of the house settling had gone silent.
Nothing was dripping from the rain stopping.
Glancing over to Horace, he still saw his chest rise and fall, but he didn't hear it.
Above him, the steps started once more. They walked slowly, whoever it was, walking in a circle in the room above him. Took a step, with a few seconds between, then taking another step. Out in the dining room, bare feet pattered around, not necessarily in a circle, but . . . like they were playing. A few kids, running around, chasing each other. Now that he thought about, he could hear giggles, screams, sometimes bumps as a child fell down. He felt like he was back in Wensley, or even the Ward, hearing the children playing. The only thing that kept Will from actually believing that he was back in Wensley was the footsteps, pacing above him.
Not above him.
On the steps, halfway down to the first floor.
Now the kids were getting a little muffled, the sound dulling. A little ways down the wall, to where Horace lay, his breathing was still silent, and he was still unmoving.
Out in the entrance hall, he heard someone call, "Now who do you think you are?" The voice had no feminine or masculine attributes, but Will could hear malice in it. Whoever it was, they didn't sound happy that someone other than the kids were there. He's talking to me, Will knew, but he also knew not to answer. He knew it wouldn't be wise.
Silence followed the voice.
The children no longer played, no longer giggled.
Will drew his knees up closer to his chest. He considered waking Horace up, but didn't dare move. He closed his eyes in hopes that it'd just go away.
What wishful thinking.
"WELL?" The sinister voice snarled in his ear, dreadfully close.
Which would be impossible.
Because Will sat in a corner.
His hand already rested on his saxe, but that was the last straw. As fast as humanly possible for him, Will flung his saxe into the wall beside him, using the momentum to push himself to his feet. Stumbling for only a moment, he vaulted over Horace's still figure, into the butler's pantry. He stood in the doorway, bracing himself by placing on hand on either side of the opening. Thunder boomed, rattling the old glass in that served as the door's window.
No one was in the room with him and Horace. No children were playing in the dining room. No one was pacing in the room above them, or even on the steps. He could hear the rain once more.
"Horace," Will whispered, hoarsely. His partner didn't move. Didn't even stir.
What the hell is going on, I'm going crazy. Will glanced out the window behind him, keeping his hands firmly on the door frame. The downpour had finally taken hold, and the waist-high grass was now flattened. Puddles gathered more and more rain and mud. No one would want to travel in that.
"Horace," he repeated, louder, firmer. Horace wasn't a light sleeper like any Ranger, but he would wake up when needed, even if he was only being spoken to as Will was speaking now. Yet he still wasn't waking up. Why isn't he waking up?
Will moved towards him, intent on waking him up. "Hora-" We're being watched.
He stopped. Someone was standing in the doorway, between the dining room and kitchen. All Will could make out was a partial silhouette, only vaguely humanoid. It was too narrow to be human. Too tall.
Now Will didn't care. He'd stepped out of the pantry earlier, and now stood within kicking range of Horace. Will nudged him in the chest, but he didn't move. The Ranger kept his eyes on the figure in the doorway, just as the figure in the doorway kept it's eyes on him. Reaching forward to where his cloak dried on the table, he grabbed the water canteen that layed next to it. Quickly unscrewing it, and fumbling once, twice, with the cap, he finally got it off. And dumped the entire contents onto Horace.
He shot up immediately, sputtering. "What the hell?" He paused upon seeing Will with the canteen, and opened his mouth to say something more. He didn't say anything, however. Something registered in his eyes. Maybe it was the fact that Will wasn't looking at him, and was instead staring fixedly ahead. Maybe it was the fact that Will's saxe knife wasn't in it's sheath.
No questions asked, Horace reached to where his boots sat, and shoved them on, not bothering to tie them. Will let the canteen drop, and reached for his cloak.
The figure stepped forward.
Not bothering to see if he was ready, Will snatched Horace's wrist, and dragged him along as Will quickly backed away into the butler's pantry.
Behind him, looking back the way they came, Horace gasped, and terror filled his eyes.
Will didn't look to see what it was that he saw.
Water sloshed into Horace's untied boots, splashed his trousers, but it was nothing compared to the rain that battered down on them. So hard it hurt, and while it did hurt him, he was paying more attention to the figure in front of him. At first, Horace had thought Will was leading him to the small house, and had debated telling Will that it wasn't much better than the main house. But he veered away from that, leading them around the house.
His grip on Horace's hand was deathly, and the Knight was nearly convinced that Will was going to break a bone in his hand. His body shook, but he couldn't tell if it was from the rain or fear.
"Will!" Horace called through the rain, hoping to catch his attention.
Will kept leading, not running, but walking fast, almost running. Will's head went from one side to the other, as if he were searching for something.
Horace sensed more than saw when they passed the corner of the house, and out of curiosity, looked up, to where the grey corner room window should be. Now that he knew to look for it, there was a small window above the third floor windows, partially hidden by the over-hanging roof. He looked down in time to see the thick fog roll in.
How the hell was fog here? In the middle of this downpour?
Out of nowhere, Will stopped moving completely. Horace slammed into Will's back, making the Ranger stumble forward, and he lost his balance and fell to his knees. Horace's hand slipped out of Will's grip, as it had suddenly went slack. A slackness that alarmed Horace. He moved quickly around him.
Both of them were soaked to the bone, it was dark, and fog was rolling in, but what Horace saw in Will's face terrified him. Will's gaze was blank, completely, yet his facial features showed nothing but terror. His mouth was shut tight, his jaw clenched, and his eyebrows were raised, but not in surprise or wonder. Thinking back to what he saw in the doorway, Horace wondered if Will saw it too. He didn't know how to describe it, but the only thing human about it was the shape, humanoid. Nothing alive would look like what he saw, it plainly wasn't possible.
Horace moved to put a hand on his shoulder, but at the sign of his movement, Will flinched away, falling backwards, away from Horace. They stared at each other for a full minute, Horace crouched over, Will practically lying in the puddles of mud and rain. We need to get out of this rain.
Their only shelter was the mansion or the smaller house . . . or the village. Tug and Kicker were out front, supposedly grazing. In this rain, they'd probably moved underneath an overhang or tree.
"Will," Horace called, moving towards him again, slowly, not wanting to alarm him, "I'll get the horses. We'll go back to town."
Not knowing if Will even heard him, he watched as Will shifted his seating, so he was sitting on his feet. He was still sitting in the puddle, being submerged nearly past his thighs, but he didn't seem to mind. His eyes were still blank, unseeing. It scared Horace how complacent he was.
He moved in the direction he hoped the mansion's front steps were in. After a few moments of floundering through impossible fog, and thick, hard rain, he eventually found the wall, and followed it along to the front steps. Even through the downpour he could tell no horses were under the overhang, and he silently cursed. Where else would they be? Tug would never wander far, and Kicker wouldn't wander far from Tug. The front steps were the closest shelter, right?
Putting his fingers to his mouth, he let out a piercing whistle, hoping the horse's sensitive ears would hear it over the downpour. He dropped his hands, and waited. And waited. And waited. Sighing, he brought his hands back up, and let out another whistle. And waited once more. A good five minutes passed before he let another loose, dread slowly soaking into his attitude. He whistled once more, feeling, knowing, that they weren't coming. He waited once more, but not long. He had to find his way back to Will.
Following the wall back, and when he got to the point where he thought he could walk straight out and find Will, he did. But stopped.
Will was still sitting the way he had when Horace had left, sitting on his feet. His head was bent over this time, though. And someone was standing in front of him, looking down on him. He could only see a figure, no features or anything. It wasn't the same thing that he'd seen back in the kitchen, he could tell, but he really could see anything else.
He hesitated. Did he call out to Will, warn him that he wasn't alone?
That would be bad. After how he reacted to everything else.
Instead, he simply walked forward, terrified, but not going to abandon his better half. When he was within ten meters, whatever stood over Will jerked up. He couldn't tell if it turned to face him or not, but he saw it stand up straight. As Horace kept walking towards it, it seemed to hesitate. Then, it was gone.
He kept walking as if he saw nothing.
"Will," he said, except louder so he could be heard over the pounding rain, "They aren't coming. We need to get out of this rain."
The Ranger didn't look up, but nodded. Either his head wasn't hurting anymore, or he just didn't care about the pain. Horace held out his hand to help him up, and when Will eventually put his hand down, it was cold. Freezing. They were going to catch a cold out in this.
When Will was standing, Horace was glad to see that his eyes were clear, not one-hundred percent focused, but more than what he had before. Horace leaned closer to Will as he motioned for him to come closer. Nearly putting his mouth on Horace's ear, and leaning his temple against Horace's own, Will whispered, "We have to go back in there."
Even though he had been the one to say they needed to go back in, Will refused to walk past the back door threshold. He watched Horace from there as he bent down in the corner Will had been sitting in. His saxe was still buried into the wall near where his head had been.
Horace wrapped a hand around the hilt, and gave it an experimental tug. It didn't budge.
"How hard did you hit?" Horace asked, glancing up to Will. Will wasn't looking at Horace though. Both of their clothes were soaked through, and when they had gotten back in the first thing they did was change out of their cold, wet clothes. Will wasn't wearing his jacket, and his woolen shirt had been cut once near the collar, and hung loosely. Horace was yet to put a shirt on at all.
Will shrugged absentmindedly.
Sighing, Horace wrapped both his hands around the saxe hilt, leveled his feet the best he could, and tugged. It was awkward, considering Will had been curled up in the corner, and the saxe was buried low and deep into the wall. After a few tugs that made Horace's muscle bulge, he paused, his breathing still even, but heavy. Finally, he set the sole of his boot, now finally tied, on the wall next to the knife, leaving the other firmly planted on the floor. Using both his arm and leg muscles, the saxe jerked out of the wall, very suddenly. Horace staggered back, lost his footing when he stepped on his discarded wet shirt, and landed on his back. Horace cursed loudly when his back slammed into the ground, but he was luckily able to maintain his grip on the saxe, and the deadly sharp knife didn't go flying.
In the back doorway, in the pantry, Will flinched. Horace had swore loudly, and he looked upward. Can they hear us? He wondered.
As he got up, Horace reached out and grabbed his dry shirt. He walked over to Will, shirt in one hand, knife in the other, and held out Will's knife. "No use standing in the rain, Will. Please come in here, you're going to catch something."
Will crossed his arms over his chest, but didn't back away as Horace got closer. As he didn't accept the knife back, Horace leaned to the side, and slide the knife into Will's empty sheath himself. Will continued to stand where he was, not saying anything. Now, Horace slid the dry shirt that he had on, straightening it and making it comfortable, before meeting Will's gaze once more. He was still wary, still scared.
"Will, please. If standing outside could stop it, then I'd stand out there with you. But somehow it's keeping us here, it was out on the lawn with us," Horace paused a moment, wondering what Will's reaction would be at the mention of that information.
Without nodding, hopefully because the pain was registering with Will once again, the Ranger said, "I know." And when Horace put an arm around his shoulders, and tried to lead him inside, didn't resist. He let Horace lead him inside.
"Get some rest, bud. I'll watch, don't worry," Horace murmured, rubbing his back. Again, not nodding, Will silently smiled wainly, put his own hand on Horace's back, and planted a light kiss on his cheek. Than he slipped out of his arms, and curled up on Horace's bedroll, underneath one of the blankets that Horace had been using earlier. Figuring he would need it, Horace dug through his bag, and pulled out the spare blanket he had brought, and draped it over Will.
We'll get out of this, bud, Horace thought, looking down on Will's sleeping face. He'd fallen asleep fast. Nodding to himself, Horace stood, and went to the corner where he'd dug Will's saxe out of the wall. He wedged himself into the corner, preparing himself for a few hours of watch. It wasn't that long 'til light, thankfully.
Looking over at Will's sleeping form, the Knight smiled. His partner looked so peaceful, after such a crazy day. It was nice to see him finally take a break.
So nice, in fact, that it lulled him to sleep.
Waiting a few moments before doing so, Will sat up, silently. He turned, and faced Horace, now sitting cross-legged on the bedroll. Will sat staring at Horace for at least ten minutes, possibly waiting to see if he woke up.
"Horace," Will spoke normally, as if he and Horace were just having a normal conversation. Horace didn't move.
Will stood and glanced once more at Horace, before turning, and walking out of the room.
Something told him to wake up. And so he did.
It was still dark out, Horace saw, but the sky was slowly lightening. Rain dripped now, no longer pouring like it had for the majority of the night.
Wait. When had he fallen asleep?
When had Will left the room?
Horace jerked to his feet, suddenly realizing the implications of the empty bedroll near the pantry door. He started to panic. Where did he go?
He didn't go outside. Horace didn't know how he knew that, but he did. Will didn't go outside, so where did he go? Deeper into the mansion. Where though?
Horace stumbled over to his bag, which had been near Will's head. Placed behind it, somewhat hidden by the folds of the bag and shadows, lay his sword.
He knew where Will was. Again, he didn't know how he knew, but he did. Will was in the grey room. The corner room.
The room was exactly the same as Horace had last seen it, he could tell, even though he was a few steps from the landing. As he inched up them, he began to see a silhouette, standing in front of the window, facing out. It was darker than earlier, so the room no longer looked grey, but nearly black. The chair was still facing into the corner, and there was still another smashed chair spread around. Footprints in the dust from their earlier time in here could be seen. Will's straight forward walk, then a mass of unknown, in a shape that somewhat resembled a circle, from when Will fell over. Horace could see his steps to the mess, and the following movements that took place: Horace attempting to get him up, him refusing. Will finally waking up, and struggling to his feet.
Will wasn't on the floor this time when Horace made it too the landing. He was staring out the window, strangely calm.
"Will," Horace wanted to see his face. His eyes. He wanted to see that Will's eyes were clear, no blank.
"Where are we, Horace?" Will asked, sounding strangely . . . confused? Had he sleepwalked up here?
Horace took a step closer to the doorway. "We're at that mansion, remember? You're in the extra corner room."
"The corner room? No, I'm in the pantry, aren't I? I'm looking at that small little house right now, see?"Will's arm moved, beckoning to something out the window. "It's right there."
For some reason, this time around, Horace couldn't force himself to go into that room. "No, Will. We're upstairs, looking out the front, not the back. You were sleeping, and I was keeping watch. You left, and I found you here. The corner room, Will, not the pantry."
Will shook his head vehemently, and Horace winced. That had to hurt him, hadn't it? "But I'm in the pantry?"
Horace forced himself forward, until he was nearly in the doorway. Something was stopping him from crossing the threshold. "No, honey. Turn around, and you'll see," he whispered gently.
After only a brief hesitation, Will turned. His head was tilted to the side, as if he was asking a question or waiting for an answer. He looked completely normal, his eyes open wide and clear. He just seemed to be a bit confused. Maybe he did sleep walk up here, Horace thought.
"Oh," Will said quietly, finally taking a look around him. He looked to his sides, studied the grey walls, the chair, the broken chair. He glanced over his shoulder to the grime-covered window. "I guess I'm not in the pantry. How did I get here?" Panic rose in Will's voice, and as he turned to face Horace again, he saw the terror, fear, the barely restrained horror in his eyes. He was scared.
Now Will did something Horace rarely saw him do. Tears started to stream down Will's face, and his shoulders started to shake. He moved his hands over his mouth, and he started to take short, quick gasps. There was nothing Horace wanted more than to step forward and wrap his arms around him.
But he couldn't. He couldn't move his legs.
Through Will's gasps, he managed to get out, "I-I ca-can't move my-my legs, Horace."
While neither of them could move their legs, their arms seemed to be free. Horace reached his arm across the threshold, reaching for Will. Will reached out to grab it.
The door slammed, smashing into Horace's hand, his arm, and shoving him back. He stumbled, and tettered on the edge of the abyss of stairs. He nearly fell, but he swung his arms wide, and caught himself against the wall.
Horace stared at the closed door, cradling his hand. The last thing he'd heard Will say, yell, scream more like, was still echoing in his mind. The pure terror that laced it, the dread, the panic, the fear, the alarm, Horace couldn't get it out of his head. He never would get it out of his head. He would never see Will again. Never hold him again. Horace closed his eyes, holding his hand, the good one, and the arm of the bad one, to his ears, hoping to block out the word that was on repeat in his head, going on and on and on. The door in front of him was deathly silent, but he couldn't help stare at it.
"HorACEE!"
The skeptical never come back out. They're it's food.