A/N: Sorry it took so long to update. I had the chapter handwritten, but I couldn't find the time to type it up. Anyway, be expecting chapter 10 soon. BTW, this is a pretty LONG chapter, and a lot of stuff happens in it. Please review, and I'll update ASAP!

Where Nightmares Thrive

Chapter Nine: Truths Revealed

Joe Hardy had never been more terrified in his whole life. Looking around, he saw the faces of all the people he had known and loved back in Bayport—but now, his life seemed like a distant memory, a separate past…He saw Iola staring at him, an angry defiance in her eyes. Of all the people that now surrounded him, hers was the most vivid face. Her eyes glinted in malice, and Joe could have sworn he saw a flash of red in their depths.

Finally, he wrenched his eyes off of her beautiful, terrible face and forced himself to let his eyes travel across the small room he had just been cornered in. Biff and Chet smiled darkly, evilly at him. Vanessa's long, blonde hair surrounded her glaring face like a halo of a demon angel. Callie Shaw had a horrible, mocking smile that didn't make it to her glassy eyes. And Frank…Now, Frank had no other emotion in his expression other than disappointment. Disappointment in Joe. And that cut him deeper than if Frank had still been glaring at him like all the others.

They continued to chant in hollow, horrible voiced. "Where nightmares thrive, where your fears come alive. Where the ghosts of your past, and things yet come to pass. Monsters come out, they scream and shout. As your mind takes control, you can't see inside your soul."

They continued their endless, mindless chant, eyes unblinking, faces dead. Joe took another step back, panicking as he hit the wall behind him—he was trapped against the wall, surrounded. "Why are you doing this to me?" he whispered hysterically, to no one in particular.

At once, the figures fell still and silent. Finally, Iola spoke up. "We want you to die, Joe Hardy," she hissed, her voice bitter and heartless.

"D-die? But why?" Joe pleaded, not understanding any of this, just wanting to get home. He wanted to pretend that none of this had ever happened.

"Why?" Iola spat, looking taken aback. "Because you—just like your dear brother—need to get what you deserve. Like every other living thing on this earth, it is time for you to face judgment, to get what has been coming to you ever since you first contaminated the earth with your vile presence."

Joe stared blankly at her, not wanting to comprehend what she had just said. "But…why do I deserve this? What have I ever done to you guys?"

Iola gave him a reproaching look. "Surely you know," she said darkly. "Think of what you did to me when I was alive," she sneered.

"I loved—love you," Joe said desperately.

But Iola ignored him. "You never appreciated me, Joe," she said, eyes flashing. "You'd rather spend your time flirting with blonde tramps than be with me. And then, in my greatest hour of need, you deserted me. You let me die, Joe Hardy."

"No, I didn't—"

But Callie was speaking. "You always hated me," she snarled. "You were mean to me. You made rude comments to me, and despised it when I came to visit. You thought I was going to steal your big brother away from you. Couldn't you see that I only wanted to be your friend?"

"But I did—"

"You are too overprotective," Vanessa said. "You are a needy, jealous boyfriend. You never let me have any fun, or even so much as look at other guys. Like Billy Barta.* You remember him?"

"Vanessa, not you too?" Joe was on his knees now, hysterical and helpless.

"You always have to be better than me, don't you, Joe?" Joe stared at the possessed Biff, not believing what he was hearing. "If I'm receiver on the football team, you have to be quarterback. If I can lift 100 pounds, you have to lift 150. You always have to be the better athlete, don't you? Does it give you some sort of twisted satisfaction, to see me struggling to catch up with you?"

Joe gaped at him. "Biff, I never—"

Chet cut into the conversation. "You killed my little sister," he growled, fury in his voice. "She had so many hopes and dreams for the future, and you ruined that for her. She trusted you. But you let her down. It's your fault she's dead, and I'll never ever forgive you for that."

Joe sunk down even further on the floor, his hands clutching blindly at his hair. "No, I'm sorry, I tried to save her, but…"

"But what?" His voice was soft and dangerous. Joe looked up into the depths of those big, brown eyes he had seen comfort and understanding in all his life, but now all that stared back at him was disappointment, embarrassment in Joe, and anger.

"But you…"

"I know what you think, Joe Hardy. You think that I am the reason Iola died. You've blamed it on me for all these months—'if only Frank hadn't stopped me.' Well, at that time, I actually did love you. I was trying to help you, to save you from the same fate. But all you could do was get angry. You are so unappreciative, Joe Hardy. You don't listen to reason and you are much too impulsive. Even Mom and Dad think so. You're an embarrassment and a burden—to us all."

There was a silence broken up only by Joe's cries.

Then Iola spoke once more. "You see, Joe? You have done so much to us. We all want to see you dead. We want to see you get what you deserve."

Frank Hardy clambered to the bottom of the stairs, struggling to find his way in the pitch black. "Joe!" he yelled desperately, painfully unaware of where he was going. The only thing in his mind was finding his little brother and making sure he was really alive. He wouldn't relax until he could see Joe for himself.

Iola raised the knife, and 'Frank' leveled the gun at his brother's head. "We want you to die, slowly and painfully. Like I did. I burned to death. Do you know how excruciating it is? Have you ever smelled your own burning flesh?"

Joe moaned and gazed upwards, tears rolling down his face. "Are you going to shoot me?" he asked. There was no pleading in his voice, only a horrified sadness.

Iola laughed terribly. "Do you really think we'd let you off that easy?" At her next words, Joe's eyes grew wide with terror. "You are going to suffer the same fate I did."

"But how—"

"We are not of this world, Joe Hardy. You are at our mercy."

"You are going to burn to death, just like me. The only difference is, you will burn from the inside out—and your suffering will only end in death when I bid it to."

Frank was beginning to panic. Since he had entered the basement, all had been dark. He had stumbled blindly through many silent, cold rooms, but to no avail. He could not find his brother. He couldn't even see two inches in front of his own face. This wasn't a normal darkness. It was supernatural. He knew this because, although he had been in the basement for nearly half an hour, his eyes hadn't adjusted at all. It was as if he were blind.

He heard a strange, forlorn sound. At first, he thought it was someone choking. But then he stumbled a few steps in the direction the noise was coming from, and it became more distinct. Someone was crying. They were sobbing and weeping, desperate and helpless and hopeless.

It was Joe.

Frank felt terror well up inside him, because he could not help his brother. He couldn't see; he couldn't move. It was coming from all directions now. "Joe," he whispered, falling to his knees.

'Frank! No! Help!' A scream of anguish. Then nothing.

These words came from one place, but at the same time, they came from a hundred different directions. He was confused; horrified.

Another scream. He fell to his knees, frantic prayers flickering through his foggy mind. 'Don't let this be real…Let Joe be safe…Get me out of here…Help me…'

He let out a yell of fury and fear that seemed to come back at him, surrounding and choking him. He struggled to move; to breathe, but the exhaustion was overwhelming.

He let himself go, and succumbed to the darkness. All was still. All was dark. All was silent.

A crooked smile turned up one corner of his lips. He was pleased. One was about to be broken, but he wasn't to face the bliss of death—yet. The other was harder to break. Perhaps it was because he was not as emotional as the other. Or, perhaps it was because he had not had such a traumatic thing—the violent death of a loved one—actually happen. But the boy was on his way to being broken.

He saw the young man screaming and his smile grew. He was now vulnerable. It was time to break him.

Only two more verses of the poem left. Then their time would be over. They would finally face judgment.

And, at last, they would get what they deserved.

*Billy Barta was a character from the casefile "Nowhere to Run", who Joe almost got into a fight with because he was hitting on Vanessa.

~Emachinescat ^..^