Six Feet Under Chapter 17: The Attic Confession, a don't starve fanfic

Chapter 17, everybody, and happy Mischief Night! I know my computer has certainly been causing me mischief—first my Cintiq refuses to work, and then the documents I've been working on the past couple of days on my thumb drive all corrupted. Fortunately, I have backup copies, but it does mean I lost about a dozen pages if I can't get them back. T-T

"So let me see if I have this correct," Wendy said, eyeing the man evenly as he sedately paced back and forth. "You get my flower and the handbook, and I get to see my sister."

"Ding ding ding! Tell her what she's won!" the guy crowed, flopping back into the armchair and propping his feet up onto the horrid orange ottoman. "One free trip to see her erstwhile sister. And all you trade off are two useless items."

"I wouldn't call them useless," Wendy protested.

"Please," the guy said, dragging on the cigar. "Flowers like that come a dime a dozen, and that handbook reads like stereo instructions. And besides, why hang on to a memento of your sister when giving it up takes you to see her? Seems pointless to me."

This—this guy…had a point, actually.

"All right," she said, carefully detaching the flower from her hair and holding it out.

The guy gave it a cursory glance, one that she found she recognized—from of all places, her dead mother: he wanted it terribly, but didn't want to seem too eager. "And the handbook?"

"Up here somewhere," she said, shrugging—and gently tightening her grip on her flower.

"Uh-huh—no. I've already looked around up here: the handbook isn't here."

"Maybe they hid it," Wendy said, shrugging again as she pulled her hands back—no reason to part with her flower any sooner than she had to. "Unless—" that moment—when she had thought that Otho pocketed something—"Oh no, he took it."

"What?" the guy asked flatly, leaning forward in his seat and eyeing her.

"I—uh, can't…get you the handbook right this minute," she said. "But—give me a day or two, all right?"

"Uh-huh. Right. Do I look like the perfect picture of patience to you!?" the guy thundered, suddenly on his feet and looming. "I don't care how that stupid thing reads—you don't just misplace something like that! It's not in the house, is it? And it's not the sort of thing you loan…."

Wendy had backed up several steps, was now frantically trying to back up to the door as the guy resumed pacing, looking angrily thoughtful—he had lost control of the situation and knew it. Now he was trying to figure out how to get what he wanted without bothering with the diplomacy.

"A day or two," he spat, still pacing. "If it's in the house, you would have ran and gotten it. Those kooks didn't have time to take it—and you'd have stolen it from your parents…." The guy rounded on her suddenly. "That fat tub of lard—he took it, didn't he? Well!?"

Wendy gaped, quaking against the wall—

When something clicked.

"Wait," she said, voice returning to its usual even keel. "How do you know about Otho? I haven't seen you around, and Wilson and Willow never mentioned you…."

"'Otho'? What kind of stupid name is—"

"It was you. You were the dragon last night, and those weird shadow things—you attacked me! You attacked my parents! You could have killed my father last night!"

"So what?" the guy asked, waving her off. "You're obsessed with dead people, remember? Seeing as how it's two deadbeats that take up most of your time nowadays."

"And how would you know that?" she hissed. "H-have you been spying on me?"

The grin he gave her was awful—a decided got you pinned look that would have fit well on a predator. "I don't have to, pal—it's as plain as the look on your face. And coming up here, looking for those two? When they were the ones to ask me to do all that in the first place?"

She didn't know what was worse—that he copped to it without any show of remorse, or that Wilson and Willow had asked him to do that…."You liar."

"Oh really? You think I'd be caught dead in this dump otherwise? They've really let the place go."

There was a moment—he sounded like Wilson and Willow complaining about the house—"Do Wilson and Willow know you plan to steal the house out from under them?"

The laugh the guy gave had no mirth. "Oh, aren't you cute. That, my dear little pal, is what we in the business like to call a stupid question. And what do you care what I do with them? I have the thing you want most—the way to see your sister again. Tell me, what's more important than that? Two ghosts who were planning to stab you in the back while grinning to your face? With friends like those…."

She hated the fact that he made sense—if Wilson and Willow were planning on doing that…they had said point-blank they wanted her family out of the house….And that—that thing Wilson had turned into….

"So what's it going to be, pal—play ball with me, or take your chances with people you know lie to your face?"

Wendy didn't—she didn't—

And then the sound of a door being banged violently open—

"NO!"

Willow and Wilson were suddenly there, Willow moving to put herself bodily between Wendy and the guy, Wilson diving right for him—

And then the guy was gone. Poof, gone.

Wilson, unfortunately, had absolutely committed to the charge, and ended up slamming into the far wall, bouncing off and crashing to the floor flat on his back before it registered.

"Are you okay?" Willow was asking, checking Wendy over frantically. "He didn't hurt you, did he—"

"You lied to me!" Wendy finally managed, the accusation coming out in a choking sob. "He said you hired him to get rid of us—he nearly killed my dad!"

Willow at least had the decency to look apologetic at that. "We—that was before, and…and things got out of hand—"

"Getting out of hand shouldn't involve murder!"

"We didn't want you dead!" Willow yelled back, finally losing her composure. "We just wanted our house back! Was that such a horrible thing to want?"

"Yes!"

There was a moment—they both stepped back, Willow with a hand on her hip and to her face, Wendy trying to breathe evenly and failing. This was…she was….

"I'm sorry."

Wendy blinked at the sudden statement from Willow.

"I—we—I wasn't thinking," Willow said, gesturing helplessly, expression saying she didn't like the feeling. "It was just—everything was happening at once, and we never had the opportunity to come to grips with anything, and…I'm sorry." Here Willow's hands fell to her sides and her head drooped, before she tried offering a weak, watery smile. "But…if it makes you feel any better…we've gotten it over it, and…we can try the co-ownership thing."

Wendy sniffed, rubbed at her nose. "Huh?"

"No more scaring your parents, no more Maxwell, no more spooky stuff," Willow clarified. "But can you at least get them to bring some of our old furniture back? No offense, but your stepmother's taste in furniture is terrible."

Wendy coughed out a laugh, wiping at her eyes now. "Yeah. I'll try."

Willow smiled—

Noticed the piece of paper she was holding.

"What's this?" Willow asked, gently pulling it out of Wendy's grasp before she could react. Read it through….

And then giving Wendy a look—somewhere in the region of sad and sympathetic. "Wendy," she said slowly. "That wasn't the answer."

Wendy nodded, throat still hurting. "I thought…." She didn't know what she thought.

Willow hugged her—for a ghost, she had a very warm hug.

"Yeah, well, take it from me, being a ghost sucks," Willow said. "Oh wait, that's right—we're not dead. Right Wilson? Wilson?" She kicked Wilson's shoulder lightly. "Wilson, are you still with us?"

Wilson, meanwhile, had not moved from his fetal position, flat on his back, legs pulled up, hands plastered to his face. "I think I broke my face," he muttered. "My whole face. And I liked my face."

"Yes, it was a very good one," Willow agreed, prompting a weak laugh out of Wendy. "Now stop whining and help me out here—I need help with the comforting adult thing."

"I will as soon as my head stops throbbing."

"Fair enough," Willow said, patting Wendy on the head. "Feeling better?"

"A little," Wendy said. "Not much, but a little."

"I think that's one of those things where you have to take what you can get." Wendy nodded, leaning heavily against Willow.

"You know," she observed. "For ghosts, you're awfully solid."

"We're not ghosts," Wilson insisted, freeing one hand to gesticulate. "We're—we're untethered entities, yanked sideways through our dimension so we're slightly out of phase, or—or Twilight Zone victims, or guest stars on The Outer Limits…."

"To be fair, that theme song has been playing prominently in my mind as of late," Willow said, before directing her attention back to Wendy and jostling her shoulder a little. "So what do you say? Want to tell your folks that they can eat shrimp again?"

Wendy laughed—

And then they all started at the sound of footsteps and conversation on the attic steps. Wilson sat bolt upright—

"That's Dad," Wendy said. "And—and I don't know who else. I don't know the voices."

"Let's not," Wilson said, quickly ushering them away to hide behind the giant wood and metal machine. "Our luck, the Ghostbusters really do come this far north."

"I thought you said we weren't ghosts," Willow countered primly.

"We're not, but those proton packs would hurt anyway."

"Let's be honest—if the Ghostbusters did come through there, you'd completely geek out on them."

"I would," Wilson admitted, before cutting off sharply at the door opening. Wendy peeked—her dad, yes, followed by a couple of the dinner guests from before, and—

Otho.

"So how are we supposed to get this down?" one guy asked, examining Wilson's handmade town.

"We break it apart," her dad said, pointing. "See where it splits? Now—that's right, you grab that end—"

They watched in silence as the men left, absconding with the town.

"What was that all about?" Willow asked.

"They stole my town," Wilson said weakly, staring at the now-empty spot where it had stood.

"I—I don't know," Wendy said. "But—I think Otho stole the handbook the other night."

"So?" Willow asked, before grimacing. "Oh yeah—we have to get it back under pain of the Social Security Office."

"They stole my town," Wilson repeated, gesturing weakly at the empty spot.

"Yes, Wilson, we know—we watched them do it. What they want with it is anyone's guess."

"It is," Wendy said, feeling some of her old resolve coming back. "But we can find out soon enough. I'll be back."