A/N : Hello, hello :) since the first OS seems to have worked well, I decided to write another one, of a different kind :p As always, please comment by way of reviews, I like to know what others think of my stories :)

This OS will be quite deconstructed (on purpose), and might not appeal to everyone, that's alright :), I'm experimenting, so tell me all about it with lots of constructive criticism (as long as you say it nicely :p)

Genre: Horror

Rating: M

Title:Thrice the Pomeranian hath bark'd

The cold sun of a January morning shone its rays through the window as Chastity Claire Babcock, fought the remnants of sleep from her brain. Tiredness had finally vanquished the tendrils of insomnia that imprisoned her, and she had succumbed to a mostly dreamless sleep. For a moment, her frazzled mind blanked out as something wet, warm and raspy made contact with her nose. She forced herself to open one eyelid. To her surprise and annoyance – had she been more awake, she might have recognized that it was mixed with affection, Chester, her fluffy baby was licking her face.

Immediately, she pushed him away and shot up, thoughts of Niles dog jibes making her smile. She felt happier today than she had been in a while: the Pomeranian diva did like her, after all. Not that he was not affectionate to her when they were at the penthouse, but face licking had always been reserved to Na- Mrs Sheffield. When he was happy and wanted to show it to Chastity, the canine usually wiggled his little tail – There went another of Niles' zingers – or nuzzled her hand. They cuddled, sometimes he shared the bed – Chester was her baby, after all – but it ended there, thus the cheer that was slowly spreading through her.

Feeling slightly apprehensive about the day – Something was bound to go wrong, she just knew it – the woman opened the partly opened curtains. C. C. Babcock – for that was how she was known to the world – had never been happy about the presence of canine dribble on her face, but now it seemed to have put her in a good mood. So, it was slightly humming to herself that she went to the bathroom to remove said saliva from her skin.

She was still humming when she entered the cab that would bring her to the Sheffield's mansion, where she liv… - worked – her mouth already watering at the prospect of the breakfast Niles had no doubt prepared. She was also anxious to see and hear what pranks and zingers he had prepared for her. In a place where Fran Fine was queen – even the bloody dog liked her better, for heaven's sake, and everyone liked her better – even Niles, but she was not about to analyse how that felt – C. C. was glad that someone did things just for her.

At 8:30 am sharp, Chastity Claire Babcock rang the bell of the Sheffield mansion. Absentmindedly she wondered why it seemed sombre, darker, somehow. "Must be my imagination" she thought. Nobody answered. The door seemed stuck. It could be one of Niles' pranks, but it did not seem like his usual style… and she had made sure to tell him that she would be eating breakfast here today – so that he knew that he had to prepare more food. That was … odd. And the nagging feeling of oppression was becoming stronger.

Chester barked. She frowned. She did not even remember having brought her with him, but it shook her from her contemplation. She turned to the street.

The air had become chilly, and a fog had descended upon the area. She shivered. Why did it suddenly feel like the temperature had dropped since she arrived? The fog, the bell, the house, Chester being here instead of at the penthouse… something did not add up, and all she was left with was a feeling of unease and not being at the right place.

She turned her head toward the house again. She felt it looming, like a predator menacing its prey. Yes, hunted, that was how she felt. Like a prey.

Something moved in the shadows. A groan. A roar. Then a blurry mass of aiming straight to her.

Tuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut Tuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut Tuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut !

Chastity Claire Babcock shot up in her bed panting, her eyes mad. She quickly scanned the room, and her heartrate slowly began to quieten when she realised that she was in her bedroom. In her penthouse. She let out a shaky breath and ran a hand through her tousled hair. She would feel the sweat running down her body, and suddenly she had to get away. The dark was making her feel claustrophobic.

She turned on the light, and saw Chester running towards her. The annoying little fur ball rubbed his coat on her legs, and a feeling of warmth spread through her chest. She took him in her arms and petted him a little, rubbing her cheek in his fur. She would never admit it, but she did love the little guy.

Feeling less trapped, she put him back down and made her way to the bathroom. She splashed some water on her face, and yawned. She scrubbed her face clean, then took that much-needed shower. She still felt cold and sticky with sweat. Then, she completed her morning rituals, and put her face on. She chuckled. No need to admit to the thrower of that zinger that she used it almost daily to describe her prepping routine.

Feeling a little bouncy, for a change, she hummed as she chose exactly the right outfit for the day. It had to be something that would make her feel like the powerful entity she was, after all. Why on earth was she using Niles' words? It was as if she needed them to cheer herself up after that strange nightmare… She sighed. Now, she was feeling down again. Why did she have to think? She should have understood long ago that thinking about things prevented her to enjoy them, to be in a good mood. She shook her head softly, and went out the door, saying goodbye to her baby as she went.

At precisely 8:30 am, the cab dropped her off at the mansion. She paid him, and almost ran to the door. She did not know where that feeling of unease came from. The man had been like any other cab driver. She shook herself and rang. Then, she looked up, waiting for the Bell Boy to open. But nothing happened. No ringing, no one coming to open the door, the yellow taxi vanished. And was it her or did the mansion seem even darker than in her dream? Was it not looming even more?

She felt trapped. Drawing a shaky breath, she closed her eyes, and opened them again slowly. She frowned. Why was her respiration so constricted? When had that fog descended upon the area? In the distance, Chester barked. Behind the curtains, the shadows were moving. Chastity gritted her teeth. She was not going to let herself be impressed by it. She was a Babcock.

She pushed the door open, and entered the dark foyer. A darker, blurry thing brushed by her and took her into its arms, crushing her…

Tuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut Tuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut Tuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut !

Chastity Claire Babcock gasped awake. Something furry brushed by her and she screamed. Then, it barked, and she realised it was Chester. With shaky hands, she petted him softly, and tried to assess where she was. The crepuscular light of the morning was coming through the dark curtains. She could see an old Louis XVI chair and, a little further back, a dresser. She released the breath she had been holding, and put on the robe that had been resting on the chair.

She felt cold, and made her way towards Niles' room on less than stable legs. Usually, she would have taken a shower, but today, she needed to see him to feel some sort of reassurance. That dream had felt too real.

She opened her door and was once again surprised at the vulnerability she felt. "This is the mansion, you idiot. Get a grip on yourself!" Knowing that Niles' room was on the same floor as the guest rooms, the room across from hers, actually.. Frowning, she softly knocked on the door, slowly opened it, and had to hold back a little squeak.

Even in the dim light, she could see that it was not Niles, but a creature with longer hair. She shakily opened one of the curtains, and shot back against the opposite wall. The creature's tangled limbs were of an unnatural white, that gleamed in the moonbeam. Its lips were curved on an unnatural rictus, and full of blood. In fact, she could see a sea of dried up blood where the cover had moved. Her eyes scanned the creature in horror. When she saw the upper part of its face, she bit her lip so hard that it drew blood. That dead thing looked like Grace…

She ran out of the room. Panting, she steadied herself on the wall. She looked at her hand: it was covered in blood. Her breathing was more and more irregular. She turned her head around, and could feel something lurking in there, mocking her. C. C. took the first turn right, to a strangely angled alcove. Absentmindedly, she noted that it used to be a straight hallway.

She opened another door, and stumbled upon Brighton's corpse, devoid of blood. Another, and it was Maggie. Her head was spinning. She felt as if she had run 20 miles on an empty stomach. The dizziness was back. The house seemed darker still, and as silent as a cemetery. C. C. felt alone and trapped. She felt her mind shutting down minute by minute. She turned around, and around, and around at the same spot. She shot down the corridor and arrived at another door. Knowing that a gruesome vision was probably waiting to jump on her on the other side of the door, she closed her eyes.

The mocking was still there. In fact, it was even stronger. She could hear a sort of nefarious and cavernous laugh, a mix between creaky woods and groaning bears. She felt something trying to grab her, and quickly entered the room. She stumbled on something and fell on the moist carpet. She tried to pull herself back up, but slid on the tangled bedsheets. She tried to steady herself on the thing she had fallen on, and slid back down again.

After much effort, the woman was back up. The sound of the laugh seemed to have disappeared, and she thanked her lucky star for that. It was unnerving, and deafening. She could not, however, shake the feeling that something was there, and had trapped her. That the something was amused by her reactions, and that it wanted to break her.

Something felt weird. Something did not add up. There was an oddness to the house, a malevolence, a crookedness. She looked down at the moist, sticky carpet and screamed.

Nanny Fine and Maxwell were dead. Their combined bloods had formed a sea of read on the white sheets and on the carpet.

She had to get out of here. And she still had to find Niles. Was he….?

She shot the door open and there he was, across the wall. Dark, handsome. A strange look on his face. She approached him, and touched his arm. He felt warm. Maybe she would not feel as cold, now.

She embraced him, relieved that he seemed alright. He did not move. She pulled back. His eyes seemed stuck on the same position. Then, she realised that something was running down her body. She looked down. Blood. Blood everywhere.

On his shirt. On the wall. On her clothes. On her arms on his neck. On her face.

She yelled in pain and realised she was crying. The tears were closing her vision, so she put a shaky hand to her cheek, and tasted it. Tangy. Metallic. Blood. She felt down the source of her pain. Something from the wall had stabbed Niles, and she had impaled herself to it. In a last moment, she rested her on his shoulder and kissed it.

Biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip Biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip Biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip

And screamed.

C. C.'s piercing cries rang through the white walls, and with their usual pitter patter, the white coated people ran toward her, called by a nurse.

She opened her eyes, and was blinded by the white light of the lamp light above her. She tried to stand up, but she was strapped to the bed from the upper arm to the ankles. Her head shooting madly from side to side, she tried, to no avail, to shake of the leather straps. She could not recognise the place. She was feral like a wild cat caught in a net. Then, she felt something prick her left arm, and everything went black.

Somewhere in the distance, Chester barked.