Welcome! As mentioned in the summary, this is a story about the three skeletons Percy, Annabeth, Rachel, Grover, and Tyson encounter in the Labyrinth. We'll go chronologically, as they are mentioned in the book itself. These will be quite short, but hopefully enjoyable! I suppose all the extra time I have because of my area's quarantine must be put towards something useful, so let the skeletons commence!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Percy Jackson series, I am simply a writer doing this for the entertainment of others and the enriching of my own skills. I do not profit from any of this.
Appearance in book: "Then we found our first skeleton. He was dressed in whote clothes, like some sort of uniform. A wooden crate of glass bottles sat next to him. "A milkman," Annabeth said." -Riordan
CHAPTER 1:
It had been a long day, and the weary milkman pottered home on his equally weary horse. Lester, our tired milkman had broken one of the axes on his carriage two days prior, and delivering milk had been much more difficult. First he had to convince his ever stubborn brother to let Lester borrow his wagon, and then had to go back for a suitable saddle. The repairman had come over to his house, but Lester unfortunately then found out "fixes everything" didn't cover carriages.
Lovely.
So here he was, saddle sore and hungry, clip-clopping home with crates of empty bottles rattling in the wagon behind him.
Then a thump. And a crack. And a shatter.
Lester sighed, slid off his horse, and stumbled over to the back of the wagon. His shoulders slumped in defeat. Sure enough, one of his older milk crates had split open, and two of the six bottles lay broken on the ground. The rest were rolling haphazardly around the uneven wood planked wagon bottom. Lester quickly stuck out a calloused hand and caught one before it destroyed itself on the dusty dirt road like it's counterparts.
Collecting the rest of the bottles he slipped them into his worn canvas messenger bag and looked wearily down at the glass shards scattered on the ground.
"Well, there ain't nothing I can so 'bout it now," he told the empty countryside. "Best get on 'fore dinner gets cold." One more house. Then he could go home and rest. Just one more.
Lester and Charlotte -his faithful old bay- continued on, until a large homestead appeared. The Carter's, if he recalled correctly. They were a large three generation family, and lived far out from the rest of the town. But Lester didn't mind, he got paid for his service, and a little more time on the road never hurt anybody. The milkman walked up to the empty milk bottles nestled in their crate. He lifted them off the creaking porch and carried them to the back of the wagon, where he made sure no more crates or bottles would fall out. Messenger back clinking, Lester hoisted himself onto Charlotte and carefully turned the wagon around. They started up again, eager to get home before the evening set.
-o-
"Lester!" Ah, the wife was home. "Lester!"
A short, stocky woman with salt and pepper hair hurried down the front porch and hugged her husband. She held the weary milkman at arm's length and observed him with the eye of an experienced mother.
"Lester, you look half-dead you're so dusty! No husband of mine is allowed in the house like that!" She wrung her apron and started to walk back inside. "Put the empty bottles back in the cellar and dust yourself off. I have supper inside, piping hot!"
It was certainly hot, Lester could smell it from his position outside the house. Dinner seemed like a thick chicken stew, and he nearly drooled with anticipation. Hurrying as fast as his sore bones would allow, he moved the crates of glass bottles from the wagon to the cellar on the side of the house.
Finally, there was one crate left. The broken one, with only a few bottles remaining. Lester grabbed it, and clumped down to the stairs of the cellar. Navigating his way through stacks of crates, the milkman made his way to the back, where a little workshop dwelled. Lester was often prized for his ability to build and carve things, especially elaborate little wooden toys with dozens of working and moving pieces, which he gave to his nieces and nephews for Christmas, Easter, and birthdays. This is what the broken milk crate was for.
It wasn't fixable as the wood had splintered, but the wood was good, and Hank could turn it into something really special. His nephew Andrew's ninth birthday was nearing, and Lester had a few months to come up with an idea and make it physical.
Before he could put it on his work bench, the ground rumbled and shook. He cried out, but tripped and landed on one of the cellar's cool stone walls. Lester's hands scrabbled against the bricks, trying to find a hold.
Instead he found a slightly protruding tile. It turned, a strange symbol glowed softly, and sank into the wall.
Lester was thrown across the room by the swinging stone slab, rotating on a hidden axis.
Then the rumbling ceased.
Qiet.
-o-
Shattered glass overtook the floor, forming a grotesque pattern around the tumbled boxes. The prone body splayed across the ground shifted and slowly sat up. Lester groaned and rubbed his forehead. Everything hurt, His head throbbed, and everytime he shifted ,his body painfully protested. But despite all that, his attention was drawn towards one thing only. The dark passageway that had opened up in his cellar.
An entire six feet of wall had spun, leaving a doorway into who knows what. THe air had stilled, almost as if holding its breath. Lester took a tentative step forward. This was a work of architectural beauty. How did it turn so smoothly? He rubbed the side, and it came back dirty. No oil? Impossible. He could incorporate this technique into Andrew's gift! A hidden pocket, only opened with a tap in the right place. What could it hold, a peppermint? A quarter?
Curiosity overcame his common sense, and Lester took a step into the inky blackness of the tunnel with the milk crate of bottles still in his hand. Nothing happened, so he took a few more. A dry, hot breeze blew through the tunnel and shifted a tuft of hair on his head. The stone wall slammed shut with a thump and Lester froze in his track.
"No, NO!" He pounded the now unmovable wall. "M-Maggie! Maggie! Can you hear me!" Lester pounded the door for what seemed like hours, but nothing came of it. He felt it for gaps, but just like on the other side, the seams were flawlessly cut. An idea sparked, and for another hour (or so it felt) Lester fruitlessly searched for a sinking tile. After what felt like an eternity, he gave up, and slowly slid down onto the cold dirt floor. He started to sob, tears making dark wet tracks down his dusty wrinkled cheeks.
All hope was lost.
-o-
Lester slowly opened his eyes, and swallowed another sob. Every second he spent in
the godforsaken place felt like an eternity in hell. No, hell was a sauna compared to this. His stomach gave another sharp jab of hunger, and he contracted with the pain. If only the useless bottles he had brought with him contained milk. Now, he gripped the handle of the broken crate with slowly fading strength, the man's only connection to the outside world.
As he thought of his past life, Lester let out a dry sob. His tears had stopped coming a while ago. He thought of Margaret, his wife, and how she must be so worried about him. Oh Maggie, if only… He struggled his uncooperating body into a kneel, and painfully hoisted himself into a standing position. Sanity gave way to delirium. Maybe, maybe she was in the cellar, maybe-
"MAGGIE! MAGGIE CAN YOU HEAR ME?I'M HERE MAGGIE I WON'T I-" Lester's voice gave out and struggled to even speak. He hoarsely screamed, pounding the wall with all the force left in his frail, dehydrated body. With a rage only known to some ,he slammed his body onto it, again and again, until his legs gave out, and Lester crumpled to the ground. His head hit the wall with a sickening crack. Unconsciousness took over
Perhaps the Gods mercied him, for Lester Greenwood would die without knowing, lost in his dreams. His body would join the other lost, tortured souls, left to haunt the passages of the labyrinth forever more, warning every foolhardy traveler and hero with their eerie remains.
And there you go! The first installment in a three part story. Well my friends, what did you think? Remember… Reviews are always welcome and practically begged for at this point.
- Chaos