Six Feet Under Chapter 5: The Door in the Wall, a don't starve fanfic

Chapter 5, everybody! In which Wilson and Willow visit the Social Security Office….I'm not kidding. I had to go there with Mom a few years back—without a doubt, the only difference between that office and the waiting room in the movie is that I'm reasonably sure no one was dead in there.

We also see a minor reference to one of my other Don't Starve rewrites….

"I like the idea of getting a professional," Willow declared.

"I don't think we ought to."

"Yes we should."

"No, we shouldn't—we can take care of ourselves. Come on," Wilson muttered, flipping through the stupid book again. "Let's see…emergencies…."

"Wilson!" she shrieked. "That thing isn't helping!"

"Here's something! 'Draw a door.' We have chalk up here, right?"

"Wilson, drawing a door isn't going to help—"

"Here we go!" he announced, holding a piece of chalk up. He hastily drew a tall rectangle on the brick wall and stepped back.

Willow allowed for a moment of silence. "See?" she asked.

"Wait, I forgot the doorknob."

"Draw a keyhole and a kickplate while you're at it."

"Ha ha. Okay," he noised, consulting the book again when nothing happened. "Here's something: 'knock three times.'"

"'On the ceiling if you want me….'"

"No, on the door," Wilson said, missing the joke. He rapped on the bricks and stepped back.

Willow allowed for another moment of silence. "I vote we burn that book," she said finally.

Wilson's response was cut off by a sickly green glow.

Impossibly, the chalked door was opening.

Willow finally tore her gaze away from the door to look at Wilson, with the book held tight to his chest. She could practically hear his scientific wiring blowing a fuse.

"Um," he noised finally. "That's…."

She grabbed his arm and dragged him forward; he put the book down on a nearby desk. "Come on," she said. "Let's see what you've done."

Wendy's eyes widened as a sickly green glow seeped out from under the door.

There really was something creepy going on! She wasn't being silly or seeing stuff that wasn't there! There really was something!

She waited until the glow died before trying the key again.

It worked this time.

She opened the door with baited breath….

She felt mild disappointment at the fact that it was pretty ordinary looking.

And then she looked further.

"Woah," she noised.

Right by the door was pretty normal, yes, with a settee and a cathedral radio…but further in, there was a scale model of the town, and beyond that….

A mad scientist's lab.

"Cool," Wendy said, smiling. She headed over to poke around—

When she spotted a book.

"Handbook for the Recently Deceased," she read.

Oh goodness—this was a dream come true! Verifiable mad scientist ghosts!

But where did they go?

She decided that they must have floated off, unwilling to be viewed by some mere mortal. Well, she'd wait until they came back. Besides, that would kept her out of Delia's hair for a while.

So she went back, shut the door and locked it, and settled into the recliner by the window.

She had some reading she intended to do anyways.

"Long dark tunnels with a light at the end of them. Not ominous at all."

"Must you play the cynic?" Wilson asked.

"I notice we keep flipping roles," Willow observed. "But I see why you like it—it's fun to be depressing."

"I am not depressing."

"You are."

"I'm not!"

"You are."

"I'm—actually, this right here is depressing."

They had reached the light at the end of the tunnel, which had turned out to be a waiting room of some sort.

"Wow," Willow observed. "We died and went to the Social Security office."

Wilson could understand the correlation. The cold seats, the impersonal art, the desk and glass separating the secretary from the rest, the Now Serving sign—all it was really missing was the TV spouting the benefits of Social Security and Medicare. Oh, there it was—it had a boot through it.

He decided there was nothing for it and went up to the secretary. She didn't look up from her book. "Excuse me," he said.

She still ignored him.

He glanced down, noticed a little bell, and tapped it. "Excuse me," he said, when she glanced up. "I'm sorry to interrupt what I am sure is scintillating reading—" he glanced at the cover—The Great Gatsby. Well, he wasn't far off. "But could you help us, please?"

"Take a number," she said, waving him off. He noticed dark lines across her wrist.

"Uh, Wilson," Willow noised.

He glanced around, noticed the other occupants of the room for the first time, and how unhealthy they looked—

"Ah….Is taking a number the only option?" he asked.

"What's your hurry?" the secretary asked. "You're dead! You've got time to kill!"

One guy who looked like he had been burnt to death coughed out a laugh.

Wilson saw no humor in the situation.

"I demand to speak to your manager at once!" he demanded.

"Can't," she said. "The last manager got eaten by a depth worm a while back, and we haven't gotten around to replacing him yet."

Wilson tried very hard not to scream. "Then how do you get anything done around here? Never mind—I want to see your superior then. Or did he get eaten as well?"

She actually took the time to look at him. "What do you want?" she sighed.

"I want to speak to someone who knows what they're doing and is willing to help us."

"And if I give you that, will you leave me alone?"

"I might."

"Hey!" some guy rasped—he looked like he had a bone stuck in his throat. "How come they get to go first? I've been here for….Uh…."

"When did you come in?" Wilson asked politely. "Maybe I can bring you up to the superior."

"Nineteen eighty-five."

Oi. "I'll see what I can do."

"Tell them to put a water machine in here too," a mummified person said.

"Okay," the secretary said, hanging up her phone. "Who's your caseworker?"

"We don't know," Willow said. "This is our first time here."

"Ugh!" the secretary noised, flinging her arms up. "You amateurs! You'll burn through all your case minutes, and they're supposed to last you for the next hundred years—I bet you haven't even finished reading your handbook yet!"

"Too late! You said you'd see us in," Wilson interposed. "Or do you want me to give you an unsatisfactory review on the customer service survey?"

"Out! Go! Now! Through that door!" she said quickly, gesturing. "Get out of my sight!"

Wilson grabbed Willow and hustled through the lopsided door—the rest of the listless room had suddenly been galvanized into action by their success, and now they were mobbing the desk.

"See what you did?" the secretary wailed. "Now I have to work!"