Author's Note: Dearest readers, thank you so much for all of your kindness and support. It is my honor and pleasure to entertain you with another spooky story. Thank you for showing "Haunted Arendelle" so much love last year. As a Frozen lover, I was very excited to announce a sequel for this season! As a point of reference, my Halloween Specials actually started with my Tangled fanfic: "Violet Venom." While these spooky tales continue, I'd like you to keep in mind that they all take place in the same universe. This being said, I hope you enjoy "Haunted Arendelle 2!"
Long Live Imagination,
~ Michael
For my wife, the queen of jump-scaring me in the house when I least expect it. And for my grandfather, who's adventured through more horror movies with me than I can count.
Chapter: 1 The Lost
Innocence is in the eyes of the beholder. For some, the boisterous laughter of youth heralds tranquility. For others, it is a cacophonous mess of mischief. Taunts and cheers echo throughout an expansive forest. The high trees are so thick with foliage, that the summer sun can hardly peek through. Leaves crunch and bushes rustle as a group of children scurries by. Their energetic silhouettes race through the woods and dart between shadows. What little sunlight emerges from the trees can barely reach the boys. It occasionally glistens against their various tresses and finely-pressed uniforms. Stomps ring out as they wrestle and leap around. While their ventures carry on, a woodland sparrow flutters by. The pudgy bird bounces atop a branch, spreads its wings, and basks in what little sunlight it can find. It chirps with delight and preens its chestnut, speckled plumage.
All but one of the boys ignores the songbird's melody. Its chirps are earnestly a relief to his ringing ears as he tries to catch his breath. While keeping up with his twelve older brothers has always been a challenge, it doesn't stop this young prince from trying. Nevertheless, he gives himself a moment to rest and leans against a nearby tree. He peers up at the sparrow as it glows in the sunlight. Whatever shimmer remains finds its way to him and sets his auburn locks ablaze. The boy's emerald gaze is wide with curiosity as he observes the sparrow lounging about. His lightly-freckled cheeks rise with a blissful smile and he remains enamored by the bird.
"Hans!" a voice calls out from the shadows. "Hans!" Such a strident tone is enough to startle the sparrow and snap Hans out of his trance-like state.
"Huh?" Hans bumbles and turns toward a shifting bush.
He flinches as a mop of disheveled, blonde hair pops out from the shadows. A pair of white-gloved hands part the loose locks and reveal bright blue eyes. "There you are!" Hans' older sibling huffs. "I thought we'd lost you already. Damian's telling the others that a wolf ate you." He tumbles out of the bush and rolls beside Hans. "What are you doing back here anyway?"
"Oh you know, Ben." Hans quips and jokingly feels the grassy ground. "Just searching for the rest of your mustache. No luck yet."
"Hey!" Ben chortles and playfully tousles his little brother's hair. "It's growing in!" He nervously dabs his fingers against a trio of whiskers on his upper lip. "I think..."
With the sparrow scared off by Ben's arrival, Hans realizes that his moment's rest is over. "Thanks for checking on me," he says as they hike towards the others. "I was fine, but I appreciate the thought."
Ben dramatically flips his hair and nods to Hans. "Someone's got to keep an eye on you, lucky number thirteen," he says.
"Thanks, twelve." Hans teases back.
"Okay, but for the record..." Ben boasts and withdraws a slingshot from his back pocket. "If a wolf was attacking you, I would've definitely killed it. One shot between the eyes. Wham!"
"Yeah okay," Hans chuckles. His pleasant demeanor fades as they trek deeper into the dark forest. The sounds of his spirited brothers echo beneath a massive oak tree. While some of Hans' siblings scale its grandiose trunk, others race each other under its shadows.
"Benjamin!" one of their oldest siblings snarks. Ben and Hans watch as a black-haired teen slides down from a branch. He twirls a pair of sticks in his hands and says, "Still think you're the better duelist?"
"Pft," Ben scoffs. "I know I am, Rowan."
"You gonna take that, big guy?" the third eldest sibling teases.
"Shut up, Damian." Rowan grumbles. "And you!" he snaps and tosses a stick to Ben. "Think you're all that, blondie? Come prove it!"
Ben flashes a daring smirk and flourishes his stick like a sword. "With pleasure," he decrees.
"Let's take him together," Hans suggests.
"Ah ah ah," Ben intones with a wave of his hand. "This is my moment, little brother. I have to be the one to shut him up. Go have an adventure with this or something," he mumbles and tosses his slingshot into Hans' hands.
"Right," Hans sulks as Ben leaps into action. While their duel commences, Hans is left where he typically is: on the sidelines. At eleven years of age, the prince can't remember ever fully being included. Sure, Ben checks up on him...but it always seems to be out of obligation. Like a typical prince of the Southern Isles, status is everything and they all have something to prove. Hans feels more like his brothers' stray pet than their actual sibling. Still, he sees today as yet another opportunity to make himself known to them.
With Ben occupied, Hans looks for a chance among his other older brothers. Much to his to predictable dismay, the rest of them are where they always are. Hans understands that Anton gets his own special privileges. But while he might be the first born, it doesn't seem necessary to worship the ground he walks on. Yet still, all of Hans' brothers hang on every word Anton utters. Hans might not admit it outloud, but Anton is everything he wants to be when he gets older. The first born has well-groomed, auburn locks just as he does and a set of green eyes that command respect. Unlike Ben's futile whiskers, Anton's scruff is robust and regal. If Hans' parents passed away within the hour, Anton looks as though he could easily rise to the throne and protect the Southern Isles. Big Brother Anton is a stoic hero in Hans' eyes. One who's always been an inspiration...yet has never given him the time of day.
Even after so many years, Hans continues to blame himself for Anton's neglect. He tells himself that he just has to do something remarkable to get noticed. What is it that Father's always lecturing us to do? Hans thinks. Right. Strategize...Analyze your target. Get to know them. Then strike.
Hans has watched Anton for years. He just needs to appeal to him. The rest of his brothers look like disciples gathered around a messiah as Anton speaks from a tree branch. "When I'm king," he says. "I'm gonna travel the world and share Southern Isles greatness everywhere!"
His words garner applause as Hans struggles to speak up. While a whirlwind of doubts urge the youngest prince to stay silent, he resists them all. "That sounds amazing!" he blurts and his body instantly stiffens. Hans swallows hard as Anton suddenly pauses.
Rather than look at Hans, his oldest brother peers upward instead. His eyes list through the trees as if searching for some kind of specter. "Did...did you hear something?" he asks, already getting snickers out of the others. "I can't quite figure out what it was." Hans' heart races as Anton's spiteful words continue to claw at him. "It sounded like some kind of desperate sniveling or something," Anton concludes.
Wasting his final shred of dignity, Hans dares to raise his voice. "I said that sounds amazing, Anton!"
"There it is again!" Anton shouts. "My lord. It...sounds just like a person!" Hans' face reddens as his brother's commentary sparks uproarious laughter.
"A useless one," Damian adds and spurs even more chortles.
A person can only take so much neglect as Hans clenches his fists. He feels the wooden handle shake in his palm and glances down at Ben's slingshot. Determined to prove his worth and make himself seen, Hans angrily scoops a stone from the ground. His hateful eyes notice a hollow spot in the tree just above Anton's head and he furiously takes aim. "Look at me," Hans hisses between gritted teeth. "I said...LOOK AT ME!" he roars and launches the stone. The slingshot twangs and fires its projectile over his siblings. Anton ducks as the stone darts into the hollow and a daunting screech sounds.
The agonizing shriek is enough to have all of Hans' brothers freezing. Even Ben and Rowan halt their duel and turn towards the excruciating sound. Hans gets what he wants as all eyes briefly look at him. His brothers then turn to Anton as he examines the tree's hollow. Whatever his oldest brother finds inside is enough to sicken him to the core. He purses his lips, drops back down, and actually looks at his youngest sibling. "Hans," he utters. "What have you done?"
Hans is at a loss for words as his brothers take turns checking the hollow. He's never been this noticed before, and now each prince looks upon him with disgust in their eyes. Anxiety gets the best of Hans as he scrambles towards the tree. "I don't understand," he frets. "What did I-" Hans' stomach drops as he peeks within the hollow and gasps. Gone is the sunlight that once set the sparrow's speckled plumage aglow. Its petite feet twitch beside a bloodstained stone. Every painful squeak it emits has Hans shrinking back. "N-...no," he whispers as sweat drenches his brows. It splatters as he repeatedly shakes his head towards the others. "It, it was an accident! I swear!"
And just like that, none of Hans' words matter again. His brothers' cacophonous jeers become a blur as they all talk over one another.
"You sick, twisted little-"
"What the hell is wrong with-"
"Why would you-"
"Shame on you for-"
Anton looms closest to Hans amidst the verbal barrage. The youngest prince hugs himself for comfort and utters, "I'm sorry. I just wanted you to see me."
"Well...we see you!" Damian scoffs. "Happy?"
Hans tries to ignore his comment and focuses on Anton. The young man looks down at him and says, "Unforgivable, Hans." Those words alone shake the prince to his core. As Anton departs, so too do the rest of the princes. While Hans hangs his head, he notices a pair of boots lingering beside him. Ben stays behind, but is left at a complete loss for words. He's about to reach down to Hans when the second eldest brother stomps over.
"Benjamin," he intones and the blonde hesitates. "Leave him. He got himself into this mess. He can deal with it."
"But Marcus," Ben pleads.
As the second born, Marcus' steely blue eyes command nearly as much authority as Anton's. "I said...leave him," he demands.
"Ben?" Hans worries. "Please don't go. You said you'd keep an eye on me."
"I-" Ben chokes while Marcus remains imposing. With a resigned sigh, the twelfth brother makes his choice. "I'm sorry, Hans." He recovers his slingshot and departs with Marcus.
"Ben!" Hans shouts haplessly. Panic sets in as Hans is left alone in the dark. Unwilling to leave the wounded sparrow, he ascends back towards the hollow. "Um," he worries. "Um..." His heart thunders as he observes the ailing songbird. Lost and desperate, Hans resorts to whimpering while he scoops the bird into his hands. Holding it close, he flees the forest while screaming, "Mother! Help! Please! Mother!"
A summer sea breeze blows across grandiose sets of blossoming, floral decor. The castle gardens are truly a sight to behold for any guest of the royal family. Servants usher freshly-baked pastries over to a jewel-encrusted table. Elegant dresses glimmer and gleam while glasses clink from their cheery wearers. Despite the vast array of headdresses and formalwear, no one garners more attention than Queen Briella of the Southern Isles. Her navy blue gown flows like the waves along her kingdom's coast. Dark red curls dangle from her bun while a regal tiara resides atop it. Her vibrantly green eyes squint with her chuckle as another one of her jokes lands flawlessly. Briella has every maiden at her table giggling and snorting. She takes a pink handkerchief to her scarlet lips and wipes them free of cookie crumbs. With a snap of her fingers, the queen has one of her servants scurrying to fetch more wine. Briella's about to share another story when she notices one of her guests looking concerned. At first, she thinks she's missed a spot of crumbs on her face. But her brows furrow when the woman across from her gasps.
Without losing the slightest ounce of composure, Briella slides in her chair. She glances over her shoulder and sees her youngest son hobbling into the garden. He's a sweaty mess and is hunched over with bloodied gloves. Briella doesn't waste a moment and turns to her guests. She might be smiling, but her cheery demeanor is long gone. "Leave us," is all she has to say and every maiden at the table practically flies. Glasses rattle as they hurriedly scramble to depart. Even servants take those two, dreadful words to heart and flee the scene. Briella watches those around her, and only drops her twitching smile once she's sure they're gone.
Hans gulps as the queen's glower deepens amidst the silence of their garden. "What did you do?" she asks sternly. Her son can hardly find the breath to speak up. He feels as weak and frail as the sparrow in his hands. Hans' lips barely part and Briella already runs out of patience. "What did you do?" she yells and slams her hand on the table. Hans' body trembles like the delicate plates and silverware.
Although his legs feel cemented together, he forces himself to walk up to her. Hans gingerly unravels his fingers and reveals the wounded, writhing sparrow. "It was an accident," he says. "I swear."
Briella frowns at the ailing bird and directs that disgust to him. "It's dying," she says.
"Mother?" Hans inquires, trying to hold back tears. "Can't we get it medicine or-"
"You struck its chest, Hans." Briella intones and he winces. "Look at the gash. You've probably damaged its heart too."
"But we have to do something," Hans pleads.
"Not we," Briella huffs and clutches her handkerchief. "You." She shakes it free of cookie crumbs and offers it to him. His bewildered look irks her. "Well go on," she grumbles. "Finish it."
"W-...what?"
"For God's sake, Hans." Briella murmurs. "Wrap this on its head and break its neck." She rolls her eyes when Hans gasps. "Don't look so frightened. You started this creature's suffering, so finish what you started."
Hans' worried eyes dart between the cloth and the sparrow. "I-I can't."
"Don't be a coward, Hans." Briella asserts and forces the kerchief into one of his hands. "Do it."
The prince's hand shivers as he clutches the cloth. While he's able to lower it towards the sparrow's head, its painful squeaks keep him from going through with the deed. He hangs his head, shuts his eyes, and braces himself for Briella's response.
"Why am I not surprised?" his mother gripes. "Look at me," she demands and Hans immediately peers up. "Do you know why we have the kingdom that we have? Why you and your brothers get to frolic about in the woods in the finest coats money can buy?" She pinches his sleeve as she says so. "Because of me," she growls and jabs a polished nail at her chest. "Because I don't hesitate! Do you think your lack-witted father could've achieved anything without my ambition? The Southern Isles were dungheaps before I was married into the throne. Everything you own...everything you are...is because of me. The least you can do is stop hesitating. Because as long as you do, you'll never get anything that you want in life." The sparrow squeals and Hans looks down at it. Irritated by the distraction, Briella lunges forward. "Enough," she growls, taking the sparrow and her kerchief. In a swift motion, she smothers the bird and tightens her grip. She looks Hans in the eye, maintaining a straight face while quickly snapping the bird's neck. The tiny crunch is nauseating to her son as he flinches.
"I'm sorry," Hans sniffles and hunches forward.
"Oh stop with the 'I'm sorry' tripe," Briella scoffs. "No one wants to hear it." Tears roll down Hans' cheeks as he struggles hold them back. "And stop crying," Briella demands. When Hans keeps sobbing over the dead bird, Briella angrily slaps him across the face. Her open palm strikes the child with enough force to have him losing his footing. "I said stop it!" she scolds as if he's the castle pup. She seizes him by the chin and waves a finger in his face. "You're a prince of the Southern Isles. Act like it! You pathetic little-"
The nearby door creaks open as a servant worriedly peeks out. "Your majesty?" he mumbles.
"What?" Briella snaps.
"The guests are asking for you," the servant winces.
It's as if a switch has flipped within the queen as she straightens her posture. She forces Hans to stop slouching and pats his head, completely disregarding the handprint she's left on his cheek. A fraudulent, political smile returns to Briella's lips as she whispers. "Run along now, Hans. Mother has work to do."
As she departs, Hans is left alone in the royal garden. Fear keeps him from shedding another tear as he rubs his stinging cheek.
FIFTEEN YEARS LATER...
Winter's icy winds bring a chilly sting to Hans' cheek. Not even his scruffy, auburn beard can offer safety against the harsh climate. Yet still, Hans kneels before a snowy oasis. The forest around him is blanketed in layer upon layer of powdery wonder. He sighs deeply and lets the wind blow frigid fractals into his wavy locks. He's about to shut his eyes and embrace the coldness when a sudden chirp reaches his ears. That melodious sound amidst such bleakness is oddly comforting. As Hans peers up at a dead and frosted tree, he watches a sparrow bounce atop its branches. Fresh snow coats its plump body as it tilts its head downward. The creature's innocent, marble-like eyes shine atop the wintry scape. The sight should bring a smile to Hans' face...but how could it ever again? For when he looks upon a sparrow, all he can think of is-
Snap!
Hans' head swivels towards a crunching sound in the nearby clearing. While he initially shudders, he hardens his resolve with a deep breath. The sparrow flees as Hans creeps beneath the tree. A robust silhouette travels along the treeline and occasionally dips to meet the bushes. Propping himself up against the dead tree's trunk, Hans discreetly readies his bow. While his tense, gloved fingers steady themselves along its grip, he gently retrieves an arrow from his quiver. The arrow's pale feathers bunch up in his palm as he pulls back on the bowstring. Hans tries to keep his breaths as steady as his aim. The tip of his arrow traces an invisible path from him to the traveling silhouette and merely awaits his order. With a deepening glower and twitching eye, Hans releases the projectile. He holds his breath as the arrow zips through the air and a fearsome puncture sounds.
Hans lowers his bow as a painful bleating confirms his shot. He lowers his head and follows the sound towards his prey. His heavy boots shuffle through the snow until he reaches an ailing mass of fur. "Damn it," he whispers, hoping to have killed the creature in one shot. Its hoofed legs kick up snow while it writhes and squirms. A majestic set of antlers now scrapes against the ice while the rest of the deer remains pinned. Hans kneels beside it and observes the arrow piercing its chest cavity. Blood seeps from its tan hide and forms a puddle close to his knees. As the deer wails again, Hans looks into its weary black eyes. Its stare is as innocent and helpless as the sparrow's.
Hans would apologize, but what he's done is unforgivable anyway. Still, the words nearly escape his lips as he reaches for his hunting knife. With a resigned sigh, Hans unsheathes the blade and raises it high. The sound of pulling his knife out triggers a memory, one of which he can't seem to forget. The knife rattles in his trembling hand as he listens to the deer's mewls. Its agonizing whimpers remind Hans...of her whimpers.
"Your sister is dead," he'd told the Queen of Arendelle. "Because of you."
She'd fallen before him and broken down in tears...all over a despicable lie he'd forged. And as Queen Elsa lay there drowning in her own sorrow, he had the audacity to unsheathe his sword and raise it to her. To strike from the back like the coward he was.
This deer is no different in Hans' eyes. He'd fired at it from a distance and now stands over its suffering body. It's flailing, innocent body.
"You started this creature's suffering, so finish what you started."
There's his mother's voice again. Gone from the physical world but never departed from his mind. It feels like Queen Briella lives on Hans' shoulder, hissing in his ear and reminding him of every failure he's achieved. Her voice is at its loudest today as Hans' hand shakes. Sweat trickles down his temples and he winces, as if actually hearing Briella scolding him.
"Do it! You pathetic coward. You're a prince of the Southern Isles. Act like it!"
"I-" Hans utters.
"You failed to kill the queen. You failed to kill the princess. You are failure after failure after-"
"Hans?" a voice beckons betwixt the winds. A real voice. One with enough strength to quiet the prince's mind, even if only for a moment. The snow crunches behind him as a fur-clad woman approaches. She sets her bow down and pulls up her hood. Wavy black tresses cascade against her shoulders and vividly contrast against the snow. The huntress stands beside Hans and worriedly rubs his back. There is care in her soft, emerald eyes as she observes his shaking hand. "Hans," she calls again in a softer tone.
"I-...I can't do it," he whispers while staring at the deer.
"You can," she assures. A jeweled ring twinkles on her finger as she shifts her hand to relax his shoulder. "You must. The deer is pain and it would be unfair to leave it like this." Hans swallows hard and it's as if the huntress already knows his response. She sighs sympathetically and unsheathes her own knife. Hans has to look away as she descends on the deer and puts it out of its misery. Even as he averts his gaze, Hans still watches the deer's hooves go limp.
"Don't beat yourself up about it, my love," the huntress says while wiping her knife. "After everything you've seen...all you've been through...We'll get there eventually."
All of her remarks make Hans feel worse and yet he answers with a "Yeah." He looks to the huntress and mumbles, "Thank you, Lynn."
"Of course." Lynn faintly smiles and grabs their kill by the antlers. "On the bright side, this is one hell of a buck. It could feed us for a week or longer if we conserve it properly." Hans huffs while helping Lynn heave their kill. "Do you ever miss all that prim and proper castle food?" she asks between pulls.
"Not at all," Hans begins. "Too clean and perfect. That life was never for me."
"And all it took to see the other side was getting exiled," Lynn quips. She furrows her brows amidst Hans' ensuing silence. "Oh come on. I'm kidding. Mostly. But it's just another reason that I love you. You're not one of them."
"Well I love you too," Hans replies.
"I'm serious," Lynn continues and takes a break from pulling. "Hans, I know you aren't perfect. But isn't everyone a cracked plate in one way or another? If your family couldn't see you the way I do, then you're better off out here. Their loss." A familiar whinny catches the couple's attention as their horses appear in the snow. "Sitron! Athena!" Lynn hollers and the horses snort. "We're back with dinner!"
"For us anyway," Hans snarks and Lynn playfully nudges him. They load the deer atop Lynn's bulky, chestnut mare. Once it's secure, Hans makes his way over to Sitron. "Hey boy," he whispers. The stallion shakes snow off of his black and white mane before leaning into Hans. Despite all that's happened over the years, Hans has always found comfort in stroking Sitron's dun-colored hide. "Let's go home, hm?" Hans mutters and his horse snorts in agreement.
"Race you back!" Lynn teases while Hans is still mounting up.
"Does everything have to be 'go, go, go' with you?" Hans huffs. "Can't we just enjoy the ride?"
"We could...if that was even possible for you," Lynn says and spurs Athena into a canter. "You're always so tense, dear. I'm still trying to help you lighten up. What's getting at you?"
"Nothing," Hans replies and instantly winces. He peers ahead to see Lynn giving him 'the look' from over her shoulder.
"Just because your family's full of deplorables doesn't mean you aren't allowed to miss them," Lynn considers. "It's been what? Three years since you stood up to them?"
"Almost four," Hans murmurs and guides Sitron onward.
"That would mess anyone up. Well I've said it once and I'll say it again. I'm proud of you for standing your ground. You don't need them, Hans. And I don't know about you, but I'll take the silence of our island over the bustling capital any day."
"You and me both," Hans replies as they traverse a babbling stream. Their horses' hooves kick up chilly droplets until they reach the opposite side. Once they pass through a forested slope, the duo glimpses a snow-covered cabin.
Lynn picks up the pace and eagerly guides Athena into a cozy stable. She and Hans look upon the structures with prideful eyes, having built them together from scratch. Noticing Hans' extra unease, Lynn dismounts and pats their kill. "Why don't I skin the deer?" she suggests. "You just go inside and rest."
"Are you sure?" Hans queries while getting Sitron inside. "Because I can-"
Lynn lunges over and steals a kiss against his lips. She's gone before he can fully savor her touch and says, "I'm not asking. Now go rest." Hans smirks at her and reluctantly obliges. "And Hans," she adds and he stops in his tracks. "Never forget that you did the right thing and that I admire you for it. Don't ever doubt yourself."
Hans swallows hard, feigns a smile, and nods. While she readies her knife to skin the deer, he heads into their humble cabin. He seals the door behind him to keep out the howling winds. Hans takes a moment to observe the lounge. Pristine pelts have been fashioned into carpets, blankets, and seat cushions. Each serves as a constant reminder of how resourceful Hans' fiancé has always been. They also remind Hans of the lie he's been living every single day.
"Never forget that you did the right thing and that I admire you for it. Don't ever doubt yourself."
Each of her words is like a dagger tearing him apart from the inside. He opens the door to their bedroom and feels oddly cold. This freezing sensation has his hand trembling as he struggles to release the doorknob. Why? he asks. Why is everything so...cold?
"You won't get away with this!" a voice echoes within his mind. It's as youthful as it is aching.
"Oh," Hans reiterates. "I already have."
He stares down at the doorknob as it locks into place. Gone is the warmth of his cabin as he stands in the halls of a foreign, yet familiar castle. His coat has been replaced by a princely uniform. Hans steps away from the door and stands in darkness as someone approaches from the other side. "No please," a weakening voice begs as the knob jingles. "Somebody...help."
Hans just stands there, waiting for the knob to stop moving as whoever's trapped keeps suffering. His heart sinks when another voice asks, "Hans?"
His eyes widen when he turns and sees his fiancé standing in the hall. "L-...Lynn?" he chokes and staggers back.
"What's behind that door?" Lynn asks. "Is everything okay?"
Hans stammers and struggles to find a proper answer. "Yes...of-of course it is. There's nothing even in there."
Lynn suspiciously tilts her head until he steps past her. "What's going on?" she queries. "Please tell me."
"Everything's fine!" he fires back, matching her desperate tone. He runs a white-gloved hand through his disheveled locks. "Just...stop. Trust me. I have to do this."
"Hans?" she calls to him as he storms down the halls of Arendelle castle. "Hans! Where are you going?" He refuses to answer and quickens his pace until her shouts fade away. He's descending towards the dungeon now and eyeing the furthest cell.
Hans glances at the frost-coated windows and huffs. With a furious twist, he opens the cell door and finds a frightened blonde. The chains on her shackled hands rattle and her ice dress shifts with her rapid breaths. Queen Elsa's bright eyes widen as Hans unsheathes a sword and stares her down. "No," she utters. "Please...don't do this."
"Finish it, my son." Queen Briella's whispering voice is like a hissing viper in Hans' ear. "Don't hesitate this time. Make your mother proud."
Even as ice creeps across her chains, Elsa remains trapped in her shackles. She tugs in desperation as Hans closes in. "No," she pleads and collapses into the corner of her cell. Hans raises his sword and Elsa's helpless expression reflects off the blade. The queen's ensuing scream is blood-curdling.
Hans' reddened, groggy eyes shoot open as he unleashes a blood-curdling scream. He awakens from his nightmare and can hardly feel his body. All is numbed as he flails and roars atop a cabin couch. His hysteric glare sways across the blurred room and he feels like he could faint. Hearing his distress, Lynn nearly spills her stewpot and comes running over to him.
"Hans!" she calls and tries to steady his body. She gently grips his shoulders even as he tumbles to the floor. "You're safe," she assures. "It's just me. Look at me." His wild eyes find her amidst his panic as she caresses his sweat-soaked beard. "Shhh." Hans' breaths slow while Lynn speaks softly. "Just a bad dream. No one can hurt you." Being no stranger to Hans' panic attacks, Lynn follows a routine of stroking his hair and helping him sit up. "That's it," she reassures. "Slow, deep breaths."
Hans wants to tell her that he's sorry, but he wouldn't even know where to start. Sorry for the bad dream...or for so much more? As if any apology would ever matter, he thinks and leans into Lynn's touch. "Thank you," he whispers to her as she kisses his forehead.
"I've got you, my dear. Just take your time and it will be alright." Hans whiffs a smoky scent and eyes Lynn's stewpot. "Dinner's just about ready," she tells him. "Why don't you try eating a little?"
Hans subtly nods and she helps him up. He slouches into a rickety seat while she pours him some venison stew. An assortment of vegetables swirl around chunks of shredded meat and get Hans' stomach growling. Lynn chuckles at the sound while he takes the first bite of her masterpiece. The stew is like warm medicine on his dried throat. He's only started to savor each unique flavor when a series of gallops echoes from outside. Hans lowers his spoon and turns towards the nearest window.
The gallops louden as Lynn peeks out from one of their curtains. "What is it?" Hans asks her, leaning from the dining table.
Several riders trot out of view while a white stallion is hitched to a nearby tree. Lynn's eyes narrow on the winged, Southern Isles emblem embroidered on its saddle. "Royal horses," she whispers. Her eyes widen at the sight of footprints trailing away from the stallion and towards their cabin. Snow crunches near the door as the rider swiftly approaches. "Stay down," Lynn tells Hans. "I'll handle this." Lynn grits her teeth while strapping a quiver of arrows to her back. Gripping her bow, she opens the door and aims it before a white-gloved hand can even knock.
The rider slowly retracts his hand and raises it in surrender. "Woah," he chuckles nervously. "Is that anyway to treat a future brother-in-law?"
"You tell me, Benjamin." Lynn murmurs and tightens her grip on the arrow.
"So formal," her guest retorts. "You know you can call me, Ben." His thick, curly mustache quivers when Lynn doesn't relax. His curious, blue gaze lists over her shoulders and spots Hans at the table. "You picked a good one, Hans."
"Hey," Lynn snaps. "Leave him out of this. He's done serving the crown, so if you think he's going back to the capital-"
"Relax, Lynn." Ben insists and angers her further. "We're not here to end our little brother's...vacation." Lynn starts to lower her bow, but keeps an eye on Hans' older brothers in the distance. "But we do need his help. May we come in, please?"
While Lynn is hesitant, she hears Hans rise from his chair. "Sure," her fiancé says. "But only you, Ben."
"So be it," his big brother answers and enters the cabin. As he steps in, Hans observes how much the twelfth Prince of the Southern Isles has grown. The wild tresses of Ben's youth have been tamed into a long ponytail.
"No haircut for you anytime soon, hm?" Hans mumbles.
"Are you kidding?" Ben chuckles. "As the only blonde prince of this nation, I must don these majestic locks with honor!" He dramatically swishes his ponytail before taking a seat at the dining table. His proud grin falters as the grievousness of his visit returns. "Now I know you're probably wondering why I'm out here with the 'Big Three'."
"To get in good with them?" Hans scoffs until Lynn stops him.
"I'm don't follow," the huntress says. "Big Three?"
"Marcus, Damian, and Rowan." Hans says. "The three oldest siblings after Anton. They practically worshipped him, becoming this egotistical triumvirate trying to replicate his success."
"Wait a minute, Hans." Lynn realizes and peers out the window. "Are those the three creeps who pretended you were invisible for two years?"
"Unfortunately," Hans replies and Lynn scoffs.
"Alright," she tells Ben. "If you're not here to drag Hans back into your venomous lifestyle but you're working with some of his abusers...you'd better start making sense or-"
"Anton's missing," Ben blurts. Lynn looks to Hans as he raises his brows. The twelfth prince solidifies his claim with a nod and says, "Whether you love or hate him, you cannot deny his results. Anton always sees things through, which is why this case is most peculiar."
"Where was he last seen?" Hans inquires.
"Anton was out on a diplomatic mission," Ben explains with a shrug. "Nothing he hadn't done before. Only this time, he returned to the Southern Isles sooner than expected. In fact, he'd aborted the mission entirely. His ship docked in the capital late one night and all we had were crew members to explain the situation." Ben shakes his head as he recalls the bizarre encounter. "They said he appeared ill. That he had a mad look in his eyes, but refused treatment. They said he mounted a horse and rode off into the night." Ben sighs. "That's not our calm and collected Prince Anton. He's not a runner."
"Any idea where he could've gone?" Lynn queries.
"Father had us scouring the capital and surrounding isles all week. Our soldiers are practically sleepless because of it. That's when a search party was established for the northernmost isle." He gestures to the snowy woodlands outside their window. "Initially, Father was only going to send the Big Three. But knowing you and Lynn were here, I didn't want them giving you a hard time. So I volunteered."
"How noble," Lynn murmurs.
"We hunt and travel out here every day," Hans says. "If you're asking about Anton, we haven't seen him."
"I figured," Ben laments as a furious knock comes to the door.
"Get on with it!" Marcus barks.
"Yeah, yeah!" Ben hollers back before calming himself. "Perhaps he was just flaunting his wealth, but Anton always had to give us something to aspire towards. He had a private estate built on every one of the Southern Isles, including this one. Have you been up to the mountain pass as of late?"
Hans and Lynn shake their heads at each other. "We stick to the woods," the latter answers.
A glimpse of hope twinkles in Ben's eyes. "Then there's still a chance that Anton could be here. Hans, I know he was a bully to us growing up." His younger brother glowers until Ben corrects his statement. "A bully to you. But we have to find him. Father is old and cannot handle anymore heartbreak. Not after Mother."
Before Hans can answer, Lynn places a soothing hand on his shoulder. She tilts her head over and brings her voice down to a whisper. "You don't owe them anything," she reminds him.
While Hans nods, he still chooses to rise from his seat. "I'll go with you," he tells Ben. "If our brother's lost, you'll need as much help as you can to find him."
"Hans?" Lynn asks, growing concerned.
"It's alright," he assures. "This is...the right thing to do."
His fiancé sighs and plucks a satchel from the nearby rack. "Well you're a fool if you think I'm not coming with you." She slams the satchel down and starts stuffing it with supplies.
The Big Three are as impatient as ever, spurring their horses beyond the woods and deep into the mountain pass. "Not even so much as a hello," Hans remarks while steering Sitron. "Some things really never change."
"Maybe you're still invisible to them," Ben quips. "Try not to take it personally, little brother." Hans' glower has Ben wincing. "At least not this time," he defends. "They're just worried about Anton. We all are."
"Are you?" Lynn whispers from Hans' right.
"Family's family," he huffs and rides onward.
As Hans flees the conversation, Lynn directs Athena towards Ben. "Even after everything-" she begins. "-he's still willing to stick his neck out for you people. The others might be too foolish to see the truth, but I hope you know what kind of brother you have."
Ben bites his lip at Lynn's comment. He fidgets with his mare's reins and ultimately answers, "Hans sure is an angel, isn't he?" Lynn leers at him before catching up with her fiancé. Ben shakes his head while watching them both. "You know," he whispers to his horse and scratches her neck. "Satan was an angel too."
Marcus leads the group up a winding passage. Snow clusters atop his auburn locks and heavy coat. In many ways, Marcus' clean-shaven visage reminds Hans of his earlier years. If it wasn't for those steely blue eyes and that prominent, aquiline nose...it may have even been hard to tell them apart. As the second oldest prince, he feels most responsible for finding his big brother and keeping the others in line.
The years have not been kind to third brother Rowan. Any bold black hair that he could boast of has receded. So much so, that Hans figures the snow is probably freezing Rowan's bald head, although no Southern Isles prince would dare show weakness. Rowan hides any discomfort behind a regal beard. It's as if all of his hair has fled that destructive mind of his in an effort to try and seal his troublesome lips.
Damian trails behind both of these brutes. The lanky royal knows that being fourth in line lacks the promise of a throne...but still lets him flaunt wealth. Dark circles plague Damian's sleepless eyes while his burgundy goatee still reeks of ale from his last party. He glances back at Lynn, offering her a flirtatious smirk.
"Pig," she scoffs.
Despite the princes' vast array of successes, none of them have been married. Successfully anyway. From Anton to Ben, the brothers have actually made a competition out of who can ruin the most marriages. Hearing that Hans was engaged had sent them all into tizzies. Especially when they found out Lynn was real.
Marcus brings his horse to a stop and throws up a hand. The rest of the group halts behind him as they arrive at a grim and eerie scene. Icy winds pelt Anton's unkept, private estate. Curtains cover the already frosted windows while jagged icicles extend down from roof singles. A dead tree's branches barely stand amidst the winds, reaching out like a corpse's withering hands. There's a consistent and unsettling slamming in the air. Unlocked and nearly unhinged, the front door swings at the wind's mercy.
"Anton!" Marcus shouts, his voice going unanswered. "Anton!" The constantly slamming door prompts him to dismount. The others watch with bated breath as Marcus slowly steps towards the entrance. His boots crunch snow until he finally steadies the door, putting an end to its violent slams. As soon as Marcus pulls it open, an inky mass comes darting at his face. This small, feathery blur caws in Marcus' ear and has him stumbling back into the snow. "Damn it!" he blurts as a raven flees the premises.
"Nice one," Damian jests.
Marcus glares back at him before recomposing himself. He steps into the estate's vacant and shadowy foyer. Narrow and vacuous corridors lead towards even darker rooms. The others dismount and enter behind Marcus. "Spread out," he says. "Search for clues...anything."
"I'll check the kitchen," Damian volunteers with an exuberant snap of his fingers.
"Hans," Ben beckons and motions for him and Lynn to search upstairs. While they ascend a winding set of creaky stairs, the Big Three scour the lower levels.
"I hate to tell you this-" Lynn mumbles. "-but I doubt your brother's here. This place looks abandoned."
"All leads must be pursued," Ben replies. "Or else Father will have our heads."
"I'd laugh, but I don't know if you're joking." Lynn huffs. "Then again, those consequences sound right coming from your family."
Her remark has Ben pursing his lips. "Hans," he murmurs and scratches his head. "Can I talk to you...alone?"
"No," Lynn asserts and defensively grips her fiancé's arm. "Whatever you have to say, you can say to both of us."
"Lynn," Hans assures and sets her hands down. He steps aside with her and says, "It's okay. Trust me."
"I trust you," she intones. "It's them that I-"
"Let me hear him out," Hans says. "Look, you're probably right about this place being abandoned anyway. I'm going to see what Ben wants and then I'll keep searching with you, okay?"
Lynn sighs and looks into his deep, green eyes. "Okay," she relents. "Just be careful. I'm gonna search these bedrooms."
Hans takes his time and watches Lynn head down the hall. He watches her enter a bedroom until Ben guides him into the study. Once his big brother closes the door, it's as if a veil has been temporarily lifted. All he has to do is look at Hans and he feels like he might collapse. "How long are you going to keep this up?" Ben asks.
"What do you mean?" Hans retorts.
"Oh for God's sake, Hans." Ben whispers sharply. "You look terrible. When's the last time you got a full night's sleep?"
"I couldn't tell you. The night terrors still hit me in waves."
"But it wasn't always like that," Ben remarks. "Not this much. You've always been honest with me, little brother. You know that it's been worse since the engagement."
"Lynn loves me."
"Lynn doesn't even know you," Ben snaps, his voice straining as he tries to keep it down to a whisper. "The real you. I knew you were quite the thespian after that stunt you pulled three years ago, but good lord...you've got her good. You've got her wrapped around your-"
Hans suddenly snaps to match Ben's intensity. "Stop it," he growls. "Don't you dare act like the moral superior here. Father set the plan in order for the good of the Southern Isles. We all agreed to my exile, but don't blame me for doing what it takes to survive."
"What it takes to-" Ben can hardly find the words and merely shakes his head.
Hans sighs and sulks towards his brother. "This gave me a fresh start," he laments. "If I told her the truth...the unforgivable...I'd lose everything."
Ben places a gentle hand on Hans' shoulder. His mustache rises with a sympathetic smile as he says, "But even with this fresh start...concealing the truth...are you happy?" Hans swallows hard and remains unable to answer.
While Marcus and Rowan overturn illustrious lounges, Damian rummages through the kitchen. "Come on Anton," he gripes to himself. "Don't hold out on me." Damian glimpses a half empty bottle inside one of the cabinets. "Now we're talking," he rejoices and flashes a toothy grin. Caring little for the type of alcohol, he snatches the bottle and eagerly chugs it. Damian only gets two gulps in before noticing what's behind the beverage.
The crashing bottle sends Marcus and Rowan jogging into the kitchen. The former quickly notices Damian's wet lips and smacks him upside the head. He's about to scold him until his lanky sibling points towards the cabinet. The Big Three inch their way over and discover a cluster of rat corpses. Their mangled, furry bodies lay strewn atop one another in a malodorous heap.
Rowan scowls and dares to reach in. He plucks one of the rodents by its scraggly tail and drags it out. "Ugh, Rowan!" Damian groans. "You're so damn disgusting. What are you gonna do? Eat it?"
Rowan peers down at the rat and flips it over. "Something already did," he says and points towards a series of bite marks.
Marcus squints at the markings and observes their circular curvatures. "Or someone," he considers.
"What the hell?" Damian mutters and slowly backs away.
Lynn pushes open the door to the final upstairs bedroom. "Last one," she says to herself. "Glad Hans could come and help me...not." Although she's worried about him, she just wants to get the search over with so they can leave. She looses a resigned sigh and observes the grandiose bedroom. Tied, bulky curtains perpetuate the darkness while slivers of sunlight creep in. There's just enough light for Lynn to see herself as an ominous silhouette in the vanity mirror. "Well that's terrifying," she remarks and immediately goes to the curtains. "No thank you." With a mighty heave, Lynn liberates the drapes and coats the room in fresh sunlight. An antique grandfather clock ticks beside a dusty closet door. Lynn smiles at her now fully-visible self in the mirror and says, "Much better."
Before Lynn can check the rest of the room, her eyes wander to a red-speckled and black laced journal on the vanity. "Is this...blood?" she wonders while examining the dried substance. She cracks open the journal and her heart sinks with each passing page. Entries range from wild ramblings to hardly coherent text that runs off the page. As she flips further into the notes, the inked entries start to dry and fade. Instead of stopping, whomever wrote in the journal had switched to a darker...crimson substance.
As Lynn reaches the final pages, she quietly reads them to herself. "Must see this through. Never give in. Complete the mission. Finish it." Lynn turns the page and finds a daunting body of text.
Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it.
Lynn flips to the next page, but all of the text is smudged and smeared. The odd scent of fresh blood makes its way to her nose. What's left of the bloody page drips to the floorboards, revealing a set of dark red footprints leading towards the closet. Lynn lifts her head and watches the closet's knob slowly turn in the mirror's reflection. Steadying her breaths, Lynn sets the journal down and slowly turns around. The closet door creaks open as she does so and the huntress is left staring into a shadowy void.
The light barely touches the closet at that angle, leaving much to her imagination. She's unsure whether or not she's actually seeing a figure standing in the doorway. Either way, Lynn eyes the exit and instantly decides to leave. She gets to take one step before a being comes sprinting out of the shadows. As the closet door swings open, the force sends the grandfather clock toppling over and blocking the exit shut. With arms stretched and scraggly hair obscuring its face, the figure is an insidious blur. It emits a belligerent roar and tackles Lynn into the vanity.
The mirror's ensuing crash has Hans and Ben dashing over from the study. "Lynn!" her fiancé worriedly shouts.
Lynn writhes as her savage assailant throws himself on top of her. The impact sends arrows spewing out of her quiver and clattering across the floor. Dried blood coats her attacker's beard while sweat trickles from his temple. His pupil-less, white eyes are almost otherworldly. Enough to have Lynn yelling and fighting to repel him.
"Lynn!" Hans yells as he and Ben reach the door. He tries to push it open, but the grandfather clock is obstructing the doorway. "It's stuck!" Desperation overwhelms Hans while his fiancé struggles inside. "Hold on!"
Finding an open spot between her assailant's legs, Lynn furiously knees him in the groin. He doesn't back down and she has to keep him at bay with one arm. Using her other hand, the huntress stretches with all of her might and snatches one of the fallen arrows. With a wild grunt, she thrusts the projectile into his shoulder and kicks him off.
"Together!" Ben urges as he and Hans rush the door. They smash through its frame and trip over the clock just as Lynn backs up. "Oh my God," Hans utters while pulling her into his arms. "Is that-"
"Anton?" Ben realizes as their big brother staggers back. The first born is like a twitching and cornered animal. His lower lip quivers as he alternates between growls and whimpers. "Brother?"
"Stay back!" Anton bellows and haplessly swipes at the air. "All of you! Get...get out! Out of my-" Ben and Hans exchange nervous glances as Anton tugs at his disheveled hairs. "Get out of my head!"
"Who?" Ben asks softly and takes a step forward. "Who's in your head, Anton?" The older prince drops to his knees and sobs hysterically. His broken and demented visage reflects in the various pieces of shattered glass. "I can help you," Ben insists and kneels beside him. "But you have to talk to me. What's-"
In that instant, Anton clasps a shard from the mirror and swipes it at Ben. Fabric tears and the younger prince drops with a hiss, clasping his bloodied bicep. "Ben!" Hans calls and runs to his aid. Lynn recovers her bow and aims an arrow. "No!" he tells her, only to narrowly avoid being stabbed. Hans backs up as Anton swings the shard again. Seeking only to protect her fiancé, Lynn fires a warning shot. Her arrow smashes the glass in Anton's hand and forces him back. "Don't kill him!" Hans warns while tending to Ben.
"That depends on his actions," Lynn says. She recovers and readies another arrow while the Big Three arrive.
"Anton!" Marcus gasps, horrified over his state.
With so many eyes on him, Anton's condition only worsens. His senses are a scrambled mess as he looks across the room. As his eyes flutter rapidly, Anton's knees buckle forward as if he's about to lunge. "F-...finish it," he whispers and snaps his head towards the window.
"No!" Marcus yells as Anton sprints for it. No matter how fast anyone runs, no one can stop the jump nor the deafening crash. The window shatters and snowy gusts bombard those inside. They shield their eyes until any spewing shards clear out. As the winds howl through a disturbing stillness, Marcus runs to the broken window. "Anton!" he yells and leans over the sill. His broad shoulders stiffen at the grim observation below. Marcus purses his lips, drops back down, and steps away to take a moment.
Hans is at a loss for words as his other siblings take turns checking the window. Anxiety gets the best of Hans as he scrambles towards the window. His stomach drops as he peers down and sees Anton's contorted body. The first Prince of the Southern Isles lays against a frosted rock as scarlet puddles soak the snow beneath him.
Ben lingers beside Hans, looking down in horror at their fallen sibling. They're still reeling from their encounter and trying to make sense of it. Lynn takes Hans' hand and hopes to grant him whatever comfort she possibly can. He remains frozen in shock, staring at Anton's body until a curious thought crosses his mind. "Ben," Hans murmurs. "You said Anton was out on a diplomatic mission before this happened." He turns to his big brother and asks, "Where?" Ben swallows hard and cautiously shakes his head. His eyes drift to Lynn and it's enough to make Hans let go of her hand. "Where was the diplomatic mission to?" Hans asks again, being much more aggressive this time.
Ben sulks and dreadfully raises his brows. With a resigned sigh, he looks up at Hans and answers, "Arendelle."
Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading the first chapter of this year's Halloween Special! I'm so excited to be back and sharing another haunting tale with you all. I'll see you next Sunday for the second installment.
Long Live Imagination and Happy Spooky Season!
~ Michael