Disclaimer: I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner.

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese; the surname "Cearr" is the Gaelic translation of the word "wrong".

a Maldição de Diabo

April 9, 2006

A Devil's curse. An unsolved murder. 4 generations.
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he found out during his quest was.

PART TWO

JUNE 3, 1999

"Okay, miss, your fare comes to $23.50."

The accented voice, so characteristically New York, brought his passenger out of her silent reverie. The brunette in the backseat looked up from her guidebook. She glanced out of the window and saw that the taxicab had arrived at her given destination. Duane Street. Her emerald-colored eyes widened at the sight and she began to get excited. She had not seen her Aunt Ariadne in almost two years, since her Sweet Sixteen two summers ago. Plus, this would also be the first time that she had been allowed to visit her busy aunt in her Manhattan home rather than her spend time in the Mason household in Southern New Jersey. How could she not be excited?

She closed the pamphlet and stuck it inside her open bag. She would be spending her entire summer vacation with her aunt; she would have plenty of time to sightsee before returning home for her first semester at Rutgers University. Her Catholic school had ended the term two weeks ago; following a hectic year that culminated with her graduation, it was time to enjoy her summer vacation.

The young cab driver honked his horn once and popped the trunk. He had pulled up to curb and was idling, waiting for her to pay her fare. She unbuckled her seatbelt, shouldered her bag, and exited the cab, glad that the ride was over. She had seen countless movies making New York taxi drivers out to be lunatics behind the wheel; now she was positive the movie makers drew that from real life. The reason she had taken the guidebook out in the first place was that, after the first sharp turn he had made, she could not bear to watch him navigate his way throughout the congested streets. She valued her life – and her breakfast – far too much for that.

Reaching inside the open trunk, she pulled out two of her smaller suitcases. When she tried for the third, she had quite some difficulty prying it loose. The cabbie remained in his drivers' seat though she was sure he was watching her from his rearview mirror. In fact, she could see his cyan eyes watching her, a smirk curving his lips. But he did not get out of the cab or offer her any help at all.

As if out of nowhere, a young man, with longish brown hair flopping forward into his eyes, appeared beside her and began to wrestle with the large case. "Let me get that," he said as he removed it from the confined space. He walked it over to the sidewalk and placed it down, a scowl on his handsome face. "What the hell took you so long, Rhiannon?"

Rhiannon? Huh? Confused, she began to protest but stopped when the driver reached his hand out of his window and banged the roof of the taxi twice, drawing her attention back to him. She hurried over to the passenger side, pulling her wallet out of her shoulder bag as she went. She withdrew a pair of twenty's and handed them to the young driver, distracted. He thanked her with a pleased smile but she barely paid any mind to him. Instead she turned to where the brunet man had stood with her suitcase.

He was gone. There was no one waiting on the curb apart from her luggage. Surprised, she turned and approached the first person that passed by her on the street. "Excuse me, sir, but… uh… did you just see a guy put this suitcase down here?"

The business man paused for a moment before glancing at his watch and resuming his quickened pace. Her mouth hung open at his obvious display of rudeness.

"Welcome to New York, Miss Mason."

She closed her mouth and looked up at the old man who had just exited through the front doors of the building that stood right behind her. He was severely wrinkled, had very thin white hair and watery blue eyes that were hidden behind a pair of thick glasses. While he seemed awfully familiar, she could not remember where or when she had ever seen him. But at least he knew her real name… "Huh?"

He bent over stiffly and retrieved the suitcase that was waiting on the curbside. "My name is Alfred Kloppman, Miss Mason. Your Aunt Ariadne sent me to bring you to her apartment," he explained, gesturing to the building he had emerged from.

She nodded, her eyes still squinted as she looked him over. Oh, that's right. Mr. Kloppman. Aunt Ria's butler. I remember him now. I guess I just didn't think he was that old…

Unaware that the girl was looking at him curiously, Kloppman continued with his explanation. "She had to run out on an errand and wanted me to make you feel at home." He turned around, her large bag in hand. "Right this way, miss."

"Where would you like this last bag, Miss Mason?" the old man said, speaking for the first time since entering the building. He had smiled reassuringly on the elevator trip up to the penthouse apartment but, apart from introducing himself and inviting her inside, he had remained quiet.

Diana Mason smiled up at the elderly butler who had led the way down the hall to what would be her room. "Thank you, Mr. Kloppman. You can place that bag on top of the bed, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind at all, Miss Mason. After all, that's what your Aunt Ariadne pays me for." He reciprocated the smile as he slowly placed the last of her luggage on top of the bed. "I must say, though, I'm quite surprised that your aunt is allowing you the use of this room while you're visiting us here."

Diana walked around him, pushing her long light brown curls out of her face as she sat down on the bed next to her bag. Curiously, and a touch suspiciously, she asked, "Why do you say that?"

Kloppman pushed his wire framed glasses up his nose and quickly looked behind himself. When he had confirmed that the two of them were, indeed, the only two in the guestroom of the elegant penthouse, he lowered his voice. "Now, don't tell your aunt that I told you this tale but, Miss Mason, the thing about this room is… hmm, how do I tell you this?" he said, again looking around the room. His blue eyes were searching. It was almost as if he was expecting someone to pop out at any moment, berating him for telling the young girl anything.

Diana laughed, both at the butler's paranoia and the strange idea of someone lurking in the room that had just come to her mind. "You know… you make it sound like someone died in here or something, Mr. Kloppman."

With a snap, and a deadpan expression on his otherwise gentle face, Kloppman turned to eye her once more. "That's exactly what happened, miss."

As quickly as Kloppman was able to turn and face Diana, Diana was able to cease her laughing. A chill went up and down her spine; for some reason, she was reminded of the young man she had briefly encountered on the curb. "Are you kidding me? Someone actually died in Aunt Ria's penthouse?"

"Well, not quite," Kloppman admitted before continuing, "Someone… ones… did die here, but, not here here. They perished down on the second floor of this building." He paused. "That had to be, oh, almost a century ago, now."

She let out a short laugh, harsher than her earlier one. She was obviously relieved; having never been one for ghost stories, the idea that this room might contain lingering spirits bothered her for some reason. Sure, she had been quite a fan of such fantasies when she was younger, especially when it came to the idea of reincarnation, but her mother had always insisted that ghosts and witches and the like were just the products of over-active imaginations. "A hundred years ago? Phew. You had me going there for a second, Mr. Kloppman. I thought you were going to tell me that someone croaked in that bed a bit more recently than one hundred years ago."

But Kloppman did not look as if that had anything to do with lessening the seriousness of his tale. The severity of his expression, concerned lines etching themselves deeper amongst the butler's wrinkles, wiped the smirk from Diana's face. "If only it was that simple, Miss Mason. You see, back during the end of the nineteenth century, this building served as a lodging home for poor orphans who sold newspapers for a living." His eyes took on a glazed appearance almost as if he was remembering such a time.

"Why didn't the people just buy their newspapers from the machines?" Diana interrupted, confusion taking its turn on her face. It sounded strange to her, the idea that people actually sold newspapers to make ends meet.

Kloppman looked at Diana and his eyes lost that glossy look. He inwardly debated to himself as to whether or not the young lady was joking. With a sigh, he explained: "Back in 1899, the newspaper giants employed 'newsies' to sell the newspapers to the public because home subscriptions and paper vending machines hadn't been developed yet." When he saw Diana nod her understanding, he continued, "Well, one August night, in that same year… 1899… a young orphan girl died. That wasn't unusual. In those times, many children were lost. However, it was what happened next that makes this story so strange.

"It's been said that, one year to the day of her death, a young man that was close to her gave up his own life… his own soul… in order to avenge her death. According to the legend that has been passed down over the last century, that young man, in turn for his own existence, was given one hundred years to seek the cause of her death. If he was able to do that, he would be able to rest in peace alongside her. If not, he would be doomed to spend eternity to wander the Earth looking for the one that got away. A Devil's curse, they called it. Doomed.

"And that's not all, miss. It's also been said, according to that same legend, that there would be one person who would be able to help the young man achieve his destiny. A helper, if you will. And it would be up to that person to make sure that the young girl's death was solved. For she didn't die of any of the diseases of the day… if truth be told, the young lass… well, she was murdered."

"Damn." Diana, her slim hand covering her slightly ajar mouth, sat on the queen-sized bed, listening to Kloppman's story. It sounded entirely made up to her but she could not help but be curious. The old man seemed so serious; it was hard to remember that ghosts and curses do not exist. "And did he… the young man, that is… did he ever find out what happened to his girlfriend?"

Kloppman shook his head slowly. "I wouldn't know, Miss Mason. All I know is that the loss of those two lives was enough to shroud this building is some sort of doubt. Though, I must say, it has also been said that a relative of your mother once encountered the young man haunting this very bedroom almost twenty-five years ago."

That did not sit well with Diana. Straightening, she narrowed her eyes on Kloppman. "Hold on a second. Let me get this straight. Not only did some chick get murdered and some dude killed himself in my aunt's building, but one of them is still hanging around?" Her chills returned and she shuddered. "I don't like that at all."

The butler realized that, with that ending to his story, he might have gone just a step to far. Adopting what he hoped passed as a comforting smile, he awkwardly patted the girl on her shoulder. "Don't worry, Miss Mason. It's just a tall tale I heard tell of from me grandfather when he used to be the caretaker of this old building, back when your grandparents held the deed. Nothing to be worried about."

She was not sure if she believed that; however, she was not going to admit that to this old man. So, nodding, as she remained sitting on the bed, Diana attempted to absorb all of the information, including that final tidbit about her grandparents. Curious, and grateful to change the subject, she asked, "Grandma Étaín and Pop-Pop used to own this building too? I thought they always lived down in Florida."

Kloppman shook his head again. "Didn't you know, Miss Mason? Not too long after I… I mean, they found the young man's dead body on the roof of this building, the CAS… the Children's Aid Society… they shut the lodging house down and the other orphans sought out different establishments. It didn't matter to them. The kids believed it was haunted and wanted nothing to do with it, anyway. No one did after the rumors got out so it was your great-grandmother, Rhiannon, and her husband who were able to snatch up the deed to this place at such a great deal. It was also them that hired the first Kloppman to work as… caretaker." He paused for a second. Shaking his head, and trying to discuss this part of the tale without telling too much, he continued, "According to my family, it was my grandfather's father who had worked with the newsies and was hesitant to leave this building. He had an attachment to it, I understand, and felt partially to blame for the two deaths. He had—"

Rhiannon… Much of Kloppman's tale was tuned out after he revealed the name of Diana's great-grandmother. Rhiannon. Hadn't that been the name that strange boy called her? Or did her own mind interpret it as such because she had heard, at some point in her life, that her mother's grandmother was called Rhiannon?

Her thoughts – and Kloppman's story – were both effectively cut off when a third voice rang out down the hall and in through the open bedroom door.

"Diana? Kloppman?"

Kloppman's already pale skin flushed noticeably as he heard Ariadne Cearr's crisp voice call through the penthouse apartment. He tensed visibly before turning his attention back on the girl. "Just remember, Miss Mason. I didn't tell you none of that fable. Your aunt doesn't think too highly of me repeating that story as it doesn't reflect well on this old building." His voice was higher than it had been. He really did not want his employer to know that he had been speaking about ghosts and the like.

Diana nodded, a smile on her lips. She felt bad for the man. And, besides, the way she figured it, it could not hurt having her aunt's butler owe her something. "Don't worry, Mr. Kloppman. I won't tell Aunt Ria that you're telling ghost stories about the room I'll be staying in this summer."

Kloppman nodded solemnly, missing Diana's playful, and mischievous, smile. "Thank you, Miss. And, now, if you don't mind, I think we should attend to your aunt."

"Sure thing," Diana replied, patting the last of her luggage, as she stood up off of the bed and followed Kloppman out of the room, not recognizing the slight breeze that seemed to follow the pair out. She did, however, hear the almost inaudible sigh of relief that the man emitted. That, she purposely ignored.

Author's Note: My aim is to have this story updated weekly so here's week two :) I wasn't planning on giving out all the names so far but I did – as well as the meanings behind them. Hopefully you guys understand exactly where I was going with that. The meaning of the names mentioned in this chapter is as followed:

Diana: "Diana (whose name simply means "Goddess") is the Roman goddess of the wild places who protects women and girls, especially virgins. She was praised for her strength, athletic grace, beauty and hunting skill."

Étaín: In Irish mythology, when Midir fell in love with and married Étaín, his first wife, Fuamnach, became jealous and cast several spells on her. After she turned Étaín into a butterfly and sent a wind to blow her away, Étaín landed in wine that was drunk by a pregnant woman, thus enabling her rebirth. She eventually, after many happenings, found her way back to Midir.

Arianrhod: "Arianrhod ("Silver Wheel", or "Queen of the Wheel"), is the Welsh Goddess of the Wheeling Stars, and one of the Children of Dôn, the Welsh mother goddess and counterpart to Danu. She signifies the still point in the middle of motion, the paradoxical position at the center of the wheel where one is moving yet still."

Ariadne: "Ariadne ("the Utterly Pure") is the Minoan (Cretan) Great Goddess and Mistress of the Labyrinth, who is goddess of the shining moon and the dark underworld. She represents tangled issues and their untangling, deep, core issues, and the dark secret at the center of the maze, that to be healed, must be brought out to light. She is believed to be a distant relative of Arianrhod."