Chapter 2

The Second Guest

Mario took off his hat and wrung it out on the ground; he couldn't be more wet if he had fallen in a lake.

The wind had picked up again, roaring through the bare trees, sucking away what little heat he had left. He fumbled with his pocket, fishing out the sodden map plastered inside, and squinted at it through the glow of his flashlight. The ink had run some, and chunks were missing—probably clinging to the fabric of his overalls—but as far as he could tell, he was still on track.

Emphasis on 'as far as he could tell'. The trees all looked the same here.

It didn't make him feel much better, knowing that he was probably walking to nothing. Mario knew this was likely a hoax going in. Luigi didn't even remember entering the sweepstakes when the flier for the mansion arrived. He almost dump the whole thing in the trash before Mario suggested they check it out. If nothing else, it was a reason to get out and about for something other than a catastrophe.

Though, at that point it had been a beautiful, clear afternoon.

Mario wondered if the weather would delay Luigi much. It was likely; he'd have to be crazy to walk through that storm. Mario wished he had waited as well. Then the two of them could have gone together and dodged the weather to boot.

A fresh shiver of rain misted between the trees. Marvelous. It'd be a torrent in ten minutes, Mario was willing to bet money on it. He picked up his pace, plunging through the trees, wondering what he would do if the mansion didn't exist.

The ill-kept path twisted and wove, seeming to go nowhere at all. Then, with no sign of thinning, the woods gave way to a clearing. Mario stopped at the edge of the trees, peering out at the space. It was large, much wider than it was long, and hemmed in by a spindly metal fence. A few feet from the trees loomed an ancient, crooked gate flanked by long-dead torches. Beyond, he could make out the black shape of a building.

Even from this distance Mario could see the mansion was falling apart, but at least something was here. He pushed at the gate. It didn't budge. Further inspection revealed a rusted latch, but no lock; it was simple enough to reach his hand through the bars and pry it up. The gate swung open with the most horrifying screech he had ever heard a gate make, and he had plenty to compare it to.

Beyond, the remains of a stone path led towards the building. He stuck to it gratefully, as the yard lay deep in mud. Bowed-over, half dead grass poked through the puddles, bobbing in the ripples of the thickening downpour. He increased his pace again, all but sprinting for the dilapidated wreck. Then something caught his boot and he stumbled, nearly falling flat into the mud.

He turned back as soon as he caught his balance, looking for what had tripped him. It was a pave-stone. It lay on its side, almost ripped out of the ground. That wasn't what held his attention, though. A long, deep set of claw marks raked across the path, shredding well into the lawn. Pools of water ran through them, creating a network of little streams.

They were huge, and they were new.

Despite the elements, Mario stood there for a long while, surveying the spot. He diverted off the path, following the shredded turf. Where the marks ended a set of tracks began: massive, taloned prints pressing deep into the ground. The night's first twinge of real uneasiness set in, and he glanced around at the rest of the lawn. All was still.

He hesitated, then pulled his hat down and continued to follow. It was better to find things like this than have things like this find you: best to check it out before it became a real problem. In the back of his mind, he began to wonder how innocent this 'joke' really was.

The trail circled up to one wall of the building, where a deep hollow lay pressed under the eves. With a bit of looking, Mario picked out the trail again, leading around the corner. He followed this bit very cautiously, and only after a moment listening. He did not want to find himself face to face with Bowser, or something worse. But when he finally made the turn, nothing was there.

The longer Mario followed the trail the more he realised it was uneven. Some prints were larger than others, and they seemed to wander independently, meandering loosely parallel the mansion. He reached a low stone wall, stepped over it, then stopped. Clear, spongy ground lay on the far side, spattered with scraggly patches of herbs and sleek, big-leafed weeds. There, side by side in the mud, stood two unique sets of tracks, one significantly larger than the other.

"Mama Mia," he mumbled under his breath.

Mario lifted his light and looked around uneasily. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to track these creatures down. A side door lead into the building not far away. He made for it quickly, but stopped and drew back as it caught more fully in his light.

The door was devastated, creaking back and forth listlessly, clinging to the shattered frame on half a hinge. All the paint on the inside had been scraped away, and the wood was pulped. He placed his back against the outside wall, bracing himself for a fast action, and gave the door a firm push. It creaked abominably, and he snatched his hand away, but there were no other sounds. Slowly, he poked around the corner.

Claw marks were here too: raking over the stairwell inside the door. Mario climbed the steps cautiously and swept his light over the rest of the chamber. But it was empty, or more accurately, intact. A few broken cups lay on a counter, but if the creatures had got in here, the room would look much worse than this.

So the mansion was safe, or at least, relatively safe.

He looked back at the door: it wouldn't close anymore, and that bothered him. It was a mental thing and he knew it—the door obviously hadn't lasted long on its first encounter with the creatures—but he would rather shut and bolt it all the same. Then another thought struck him. If they came back and saw or smelled him, the extra motivation might just be enough to squeeze them through the doorway.

He retreated further into the building.

Mario found no other trace of the creatures. Sheets of glowing web blocked some of the doors, something he did not like, but there were no signs of imminent danger. Excepting the thick coat of dust over everything, the inside of the building was pristine. It was an odd parallel given the way the outside looked.

He started trying doors, hoping to get a bit further away from the entrance. They were all locked or blocked. With nowhere else to go, he climbed the bowed stairs to the second level. The first door he tried there was locked as well, but the second wasn't. He didn't open it.

There were a few other doors on that level; he tried them all, but as he suspected, none would budge. The little thread of anxiety that had been chewing at him changed to annoyance. So, in all this massive place only one door would open? There was no doubt in his mind now; something was seriously wrong here.

Behind him, the unlocked door rattled, and he whipped around to glare at it. Slowly, with the tiniest creak, it unlatched and swung open. He braced himself, ready for whatever happened next, but nothing came.

Mario crossed his arms, considering his options. This whole thing was a trap, that was clear enough now, so what would he do about it? He couldn't just walk out: that's not how this worked. He wished more than ever that he had waited for Luigi, but he hadn't. He could go back downstairs, wait for him to arrive, but Mario had no idea how long that would take, and the longer he stayed in one place the higher the risk of the whole place coming down around his ears. He had seen the ruin from the outside; it was huge. Whatever waited for him in that room was likely just the beginning. This would be a long night; he might as well get things started now, on his terms, then meet up with Luigi whenever he came.

Mind made, Mario approached the room. He placing his back against the wall just as he had done for the front door. Inside was silent as the grave. He spun forward, unleashing his firebrand and pouring a torrent of flames inside. That would be a hard introduction to ignore.

Nevertheless, it was ignored.

Gradually he let the fire die, every muscle tense, ready to leap away if the need arose, but again, nothing came. He stepped into the doorway, scanning the interior of the room. It was a sort of parlor, a scorched, empty parlor. He wished these situations could be straightforward for once. Then the door snapped shut, slamming him in the back, knocking him onto his face.

Mario rolled to his feet, rekindling fire in his free hand, and backed against the door. Lazily, like they had all the time in the world, boos drifted out from the furniture in the room. Better than he expected, at least; he could handle boos. His confidence shook, though, as they just kept on coming. They seemed braver than other boos he'd encountered as well, staring him straight on as they amassed into a chirping cloud.

Mario didn't wait for their attack; he launched forward with a shout, letting loose a stream of fire. The boos scattered, squealing as they went, then dove after him.

He ducked their first pass, sidestepped the second, then bounced off the head of an unfortunate straggler, launching himself to the other side of the room. The boos let out a united cry and looped back around, fury burning in their beady eyes. Mario stood his ground, bringing his flashlight beam up into their faces as they charged. It worked better than he expected, instantly triggering the 'hide your face' reaction he was used to. He followed up this advantage, diving right into the middle of the pack with a flaming fist. Boos flew every which way, bouncing like so many ghostly balloons.

Leading with his light, he twisted to face the next wave of attackers. Boos scattered as he came, dodging the arc of the beam, ducking behind furniture or through the walls. Mario launched another stream of fire, breaking up an attempt to regroup, and charged again, bearing down on any boos less fazed by the light. He never stopped moving—twisting and turning, bouncing over the furniture like there was rubber in his shoes—then recoiled horribly as he found himself face to face with another boo.

It was right on top of him, inches away from his face. He backpedaled, swinging his light up into its eyes; it jarred as if it had received a physical blow, but kept coming. It paled, passing out of the solid spectrum, then dove into the flashlight.

The beam flickered, light changing from yellow to a purple-white. The casing grew warm in Mario's hand and he dropped it, stepping away as it clattered and rolled across the floor.

A triumphant warble rang through the room as the boos lashed forward, all hesitance gone. Mario spun on his heels and released a barrage of flames from both hands, checking their triumphant surge. They recoiled and scattered, snarling and squealing, then swarmed forward again from all sides. Slowly but surely he was backed into a corner, the boos growing more confidant with every step he lost.

Mario whipped back and forth, fighting to keep the ring from tightening in on him. The boos ducked and wove, dodging the flames, gnawing away his ground inch by inch. It was like fighting a swarm of bees. He let out a ragged blast into the heart of the cloud. Boos flew left and right, whimpering. More tried to fill the gap, but Mario was too quick—skidding between their ranks and sprinting for a door at the other end of the room.

He knew it would likely be locked, but that didn't matter. He braced himself to ram it, hoping with all his being that it would give.

One of the boos sank its fangs into his shoulder. Mario yelled and grabbed at the creature with his other hand, but it slipped between his fingers, drifting away with a gleeful laugh. He could already feel his arm going limp—courtesy of the boo's special brand of venom.

Momentum broken, Mario spun round, backpedaling against the new door as the boos bore down on him. He ducked, letting loose a one-handed barrage of flame. But they were expecting that. The cloud arched, split as the attack passed, then dropped in a mass, smashing him to the floor.

It was all over at that point. Mario tried to beat them off, with pitiful success. They dragged him to the center of the room and pinned him there. Slowly and deliberately, another boo emerged, solidifying in front of him. It was by far the largest boo Mario had ever seen. The creature looked over the situation leisurely, then chuckled in a self satisfied way.

"So you are the Mushroom Kingdom's grand protector," he said, slowly and deliberately. "It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Mario. Well met indeed."

Mario grit his teeth, still breathing hard. The boo laughed again.

"I suppose you know who I am. Or should I make a proper introduction?" he asked gleefully.

Mario didn't answer. He knew who this creature was; he had heard rumors of him before, though never confirmed his existence. And even if he hadn't, the jeweled crown perched on the boo's head would have clued him in.

"Some would consider it quite rude, not answering one's host," said the boo, sounding anything but bothered.

Mario started to thrash again; he wasn't going to stay flattened in front of this thing. The boos squealed in shock as he managed to get a knee under himself, and despite their numbers, heaved upward.

Another set of fangs punched into his leg and he grunted in pain. The boos took full advantage, shoving him all the way down on his face.

Their king looked amused.

"I must say, you're quite impressive," he said, drifting down to the level of his prisoner. Dark sparks fizzed around his arm, casting Mario's face in dim purple light. "Your reputation is well earned. But rest assured, I have no intention of underestimating you."

Mario recoiled, squirming violently as the king reached down towards him. He cried out again, writhing as the magic leapt through his system, then went limp as a boned fish, senseless.

It was that perfect time of day. Sun shone through the massive windows, giving the marble it's own pearly glow. Paintings lined the opposite wall, watching those who passed with almost a lifelike vigore. Heavy glass stands rested under the portraits; inside lay each monarch's crown, never to be touched again.

Comet walked down the hall, watching the faces she knew all too well, then stopped at the place she always did. She had never seen those last four paintings, and didn't want to. She turned around, walking back the way she had come.

All was quiet in the halls. The bright colors and glistening tiles only strengthened the feeling of solitude. Then, up ahead somewhere, a pair of footsteps clicked across the marble. It was an odd, hobbling gait, and Comet recognized it instantly. The sound stopped, replaced by the soft swiffing of a furiously worked duster; it was Anna without a doubt.

Comet lengthened her stride, glad not to be alone anymore. She rounded the corner, expecting to see the woman cleaning the cases, but the hall beyond was empty, and the sound had vanished. Comet kept walking, confused.

She wandered aimlessly from there on, seeing no one. The place was completely empty; brilliant, glistening, and deserted. She quickened her pace, opening doors and searching rooms, looking for anyone at all. Occasionally sound whispered through the chambers—voices, music, footsteps—but any time she approached they would disappear.

In time, Comet found herself in front of the nursery, somewhere she hadn't been in a long while. She pushed the door open on her old room; the lavender walls were beautiful to see after the sterile gold and white. It was just the way she had left it, if a little cleaner. Even her old teddy bear even sat on the bed—the one she had given to Novi when she was born, along with the room. Comet always called him Simon, but Novi was dead set on Samantha. Old drawings hung on the walls, just about every scribble she and Novi had ever made. Comet pulled one of them down; it always made her smile that Novi 'signed' her work with a smudgy thumb print in one corner.

Then she stiffened, all attention snatched by a soft sound from the other room.

It was a song, one that Novi's mother would sing. Every once and again, their father's voice would chip in, doing his best to match the soft, sweet tune. Comet dropped the drawing and threw open the door, as if speed could trick the shadows into being seen. It crashed open onto the little playroom connecting to the nursery: toy boxes, pillows on the floor, and all. On the wall hung three paintings, each covered with white cloth. No one was there.

She wasn't sure what else she had expected. Softly and respectfully she closed the door again, then retreated into the hall and ran.

"Murzim!" she shouted as she tore down the halls. "Sasura! Mamiai! Lizard!" But no one answered. She continued to call all the way to the gardens without so much as a shadow of a response. Fine.

The garden was lovely, flowers spurting up everywhere. Comet tore between them without sparing so much as a glance, forcefully tuning out the voices that sprang up between the hedges. The back gate lay crouched in the back of the garden, twisted wire framed in climatice and morning-glory. She got about half way there before she heard the creak of Novi's swing.

An old tree rested against the stone wall of the garden, a bit of knotted rope dangling from one of the branches. The noise kept on, slow and soft, though nothing moved. Novi had claimed this as her spot: the place where no one would bother her, and though it was never said, the place she would wait when she sensed Comet was in the mood to 'duck out'.

Then they would talk. Occasionally, Novi would win. Much of the time Comet just ducked out anyways...

Comet couldn't leave. She had to find Novi at least…

The sounds in the hedges had grown steadily louder all this time. A crowd seemed to be gathering, or at least the shadow of a crowd. But something about them sounded wrong. Comet gave an annoyed look back at the flower beds, half expecting it all to go silent the second it had her attention. But this time it didn't.

The din grew louder, high and sharp, a chirping and squealing rather than actual words. Then it curved inward, flying at her through the flowers.

Comet thrashed, her arm landing with a puff on the pallet beside her. The blankets shifted as their occupant rolled over, making a sound between a whine and a coo. Light from the still lit lamp seeped through the weave of the blanket over her head.

She was still in the mansion. Everything was alright.

Comet lay quietly, eyes open, taking soft, deep breaths. A gentle murmuring swept through the room, and a draft ran along the floor. There must be a hole in the window, or the frame didn't fit right. Somewhere along the floorboards, a rodent started to nibble. She flinched.

Then jumped straight up as a cry rang from the halls.

Comet thrashed the remaining blankets off, snatched her weapon, and bolted for the door without a second thought. She drew her sword as she skidded into the black halls, activating its ionized edge; the soft light it gave was just enough to maneuver by. Behind her came another slam as Novi tore out of the room after her.

Comet didn't stop. The cry seemed to come from near the entrance, at least, that was her best estimation. She bolted around another corner, retracing their route to the entry hall with mix of memory and the occasional muddied footprint.

She stopped when she reached the door of the parlor. It hung just the slightest bit ajar. Cautiously, she push it in; it swung open noiselessly. A soft, burning smell drifting at her from blackness inside.

Comet raised her sword and entered the room, poking the weapon around like a glowstick. The place was a wreck. Furniture lay on the floor, turned over and smashed; what that looked and smelled like scorch marks were everywhere; and a smear of muddy boot prints laced the floor. A few of these were Novi's and her own, she could tell by the tread of the boots, but the majority were not. Someone else had been here, and by the looks of it, things had not gone well for them.

But what had happened to them, and where were they now? Comet stepped back into the hall. She knew she had shut that door when She and Novi left. The room had bothered her, so she shut the door. But it was open now. She raised her sword, looking for signs of anyone passing—it must be the way the newcomer had gone, or been taken—but the hall was empty.

The hall was empty.

Where was Novi?

A fifteen pound brick of panic dropped into her stomach. She had heard her sister follow when she left the room. "Novi!" she shouted. In the back of her mind, she knew it wasn't a good idea to announce her position. But it didn't seem to matter; there was no answer from Novi, or anything else.

Let the chaos begin.