TITLE: Entropique
AUTHOR: Jack Absinthe
SUMMARY: Buffy the Vampire Slayer meets Clive Barker's 'Hellraiser' movies.
A/N: This is my second Buffy fic ever. This also takes place after Willow's
arrival back to Sunnydale from England. Joss, don't be a pussy and sue.
That goes for you too, Clive. I know they're not mine. Oh, and thanks to
-
history.html for their contributions.
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Prologue: Deformography_________________________________________
A man dressed in all black ran thru one of the numerous cemeteries of Sunnydale, California. He was anxious, in a hurry for something. Finally, he spotted an old abandoned church, dilapidated and rustic, and fled for shelter. He had a large black satchel that he threw upon the old altar as he removed his clothing. He was a muscular man, young, sweaty, ripe. The satchel had knocked off the statue of the Virgin Mary from off the altar. He took 4 black candles and placed them strategically around him, in a square, using the black wax as an outline. He sat in the middle, clothed in nothing but dirty underwear, with a golden box in his hand. He began to caress it with his sweaty, hang nailed fingers, frustrated but seemingly aroused by the anticipation. Suddenly, the box flew out of his hands and in front of him. It began to unfold itself, as if it were solving itself. It stopped and the floor boards began to shake, as all light diminished as a mysterious blue light peeked thru the cracks of the building. The Catholic statues began to burst, as the candles burst into flames. A hole at the top of the box opened, and s horde of black hooked chains emerged, tearing into the boys flesh. He wailed with pain and excitement, as the hooks pulled his flesh into the box. The altar began to break open, revealing another world behind this one. "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" The boy's screaming body was drug into the box, like a cantaloupe being squeezed down a straw. Then, the box shut, and things returned to normal, with the puzzle unraveling, waiting for someone else to play. Laughter and screams of agony and elation could faintly be heard in the midst, while the blood and flesh lay there upon the church floor.
Chapter One: Stranger in Familiar Land________________________________________
Willow woke up and watched the rays of sun enter her room-once Joyce Summers' room. She climbed out of the bed in the outfit she'd worn on the trip back to Sunnydale. She'd not changed yet. She opened her suitcase and pulled out an emerald green peasant top and worn denim skirt with black leather granny boots. She walked downstairs to the kitchen and opened the fridge to find that it was close to empty. She shut it in defeat, knowing in the back of her head she could summon up a sumptuous feast. But that was not her anymore. She was going straight, no magicks unless they were necessary. And even then she would be reluctant. Willow decided not to wake Buffy or the others and entered the Dining Room, to the computer. She logged on, checked her mail; there wasn't much but SPAM concerning Wicca and lesbian pornography. She rubbed her tired green eyes and began to browse the net. Something caught her attention as she browsed through various museum sites. Not her physical attention, but something deeper, more mystical. She journeyed back until she recovered the article that'd given her this sensation. Something about an artifact having been missing, a puzzle box, the Lament Configuration. The writer explained that the puzzle box had been stolen early last week from the Sunnydale Museum of History and Artifacts. It was one of Willow's favorite digs. Something drew her to it. It was as if the picture of the box was calling to her. But it was just a picture, of a small golden box with esoteric carvings and intricate symbols and designs. She wondered if Giles knew anything about it. She glanced over at him, laying there on the couch, snoring and muttering something about nothing. She continued to look in on this mysterious box... Suddenly, there was a playful knock at the Summers' front door. She could tell it was Xander. It must've been for Dawn. Ever since Willow and Giles had arrived back in Sunnydale, Dawn had been giving Willow the cold shoulder. But, Willow did not fault her for it. After all, she had tried to kill everyone she loved and then some. The knocking continued. Willow wanted to answer, but as soon as her eyes turned to the living room, they were immediately drawn back to the computer screen. Giles awoke in mid-snore, adjusting himself to the morning. He looked around and realized the noise was coming from the outside. Before he could get up, Dawn rushed down the steps, dressed in a sweater and hip hugger jeans. She didn't acknowledge Willow's presence, but opened the door and let Xander inside. Willow looked up from the computer, glancing at Xander and Dawn. "So, Dawn, time for another thrilling day at the new improved Sunnydale High." Xander joked.
"Gee" Dawn began sarcastically. "I can't keep it all in. I might explode from all this glee." "Hey, Dawnie." Willow said timidly, unsure of what Dawn's response would be. "Oh, hey Will." It was a courtesy response from Dawn, but at least Willow got her speaking to her again. "Hey, Xander, let's go." "Um, sure thing. The Xandermobile should be unlocked and awaiting your entry, and yes, I realize the innuendo in that last sentence." Dawn grabbed her book bag from beside the couch and waved goodbye to Giles. "Oh, um, goodbye, Dawn. " Giles groggily replied. He sat up, and before Xander could exit, Giles spoke, rubbing his English face. "Please return her in one piece, Xander." "Always do, Giles." "Yes, well, I've seen you drive." Xander turned towards Willow's direction. "Bye, Will." Before Willow could respond, Xander was out of the door, shutting it behind him, depleting the sunlight. "Bye, Xander." Willow muttered. The shutting of the door left the house in silence. All was quiet except for Giles moans and groans as he stretched, trying to wake. Things were so different now, and as much as Willow had expected them to be, she never anticipated the distance she'd be feeling between the other Scoobies. But there seemed to be a connection being made between her and this mysterious puzzle box. But what was it. Willow decided to break to air of quiet. "Giles? Do you know what the Lament Configuration is?" "Not off hand. Why?" "Oh. Um, nothing, I was just reading this article about it being stolen last week. It's nothing." "Oh. Well.alright." Upstairs, Buffy was awake. She could not sleep, nor had been sleeping for the past few days. Uneasiness was settling into her and depriving her of sleep. She lay on her side, away from the door, on top of her covers. She was feeling hungry, but too tired to move. Nevertheless, she slipped into her white pajama pants with little pigs and a white baby doll t-shirt and slowly headed downstairs. "Morning, Will. Good morning, Giles." "Good morning, Buffy" they both replied. Buffy looked around, rustling through her hair. "Did Xander get Dawn?" "Um, yes. He did, about 5 minutes ago." Giles responded. "Buffy, are.are you alright?" "Why do you say that? "It's.it's just that, that you've been, well, you seem rather.well, what I mean to say, have you been feeling alright." "Giles, I'm fine. I.I've just been having a little sleep trouble. That's it." "Oh." "Is there anything to eat?" "Not really, no. Except if you want a lovely banana and relish booster." Willow said. "Ew, call a rain check on that one. " Buffy then began to move over to the end of the dinner table, and pulled up a chair beside Willow. "Whatcha lookin' at?" "Oh, um, nothing, jus.just something on." "The Lament Configuration?" "Yeah." "Oh. Well, I didn't know you were into puzzles." "Well, I'm not, I mean, well, this box, this puzzle box got stolen from the museum last week." "Does it have anything mystical about it?" "See, that's what I'm checking. All I'm really finding is stuff about French toy making. " Willow continued to stare at the screen, with Buffy looking over her shoulder. The glare of images covered their eyes. "Oh!" Willow exclaimed in discovery. "I.I think I found something!" Giles took up his glasses from the coffee table and placed them on his face as he walked to further inspect Willow's announcement. "What is it?" Buffy asked. "I.I'm not sure. It's about the man who made the puzzle box. Some Frenchman named Phillip LeMarchand. It says here he was born in 1717 and was originally an architect, but his music boxes made him all the rage in Europe. "Yet, despite his notoriety, little is actually known about the man himself. Almost all of the information we have is based on rumor and speculation. Nearly all of his architectural creations were destroyed during World War II, and very few records remain documenting the events in his life. We do know that he was educated at the Academie Royale de Pienture et Sculpture in Paris in the early seventeen hundreds, that he was a freemason, that he moved to New York to pursue "more loftier pursuits than the mundane and oppressive tedium of a drafting table," that he later entered a competition to design the President's House, and that he had a devoted interest in the occult. It is this last association of Philip LeMarchand, that has resulted in his infamy. It was LeMarchand's interest in the supernatural which directly influenced the creation of his multitude of highly sought after puzzle boxes, which are rumored to either reveal great secrets and pleasures when solved, or death and the atrocities of Hell, depending on who you listen to.
Until now, the best references we had on LeMarchand and his works were two articles by Valentina Sprague ("Architect of the Damned," Peniacle, June 1967; "Leviathan's White House" Pentacle, February 1975) one of which posed the question of what would have happened had LeMarchand been commissioned as the architect of the White House, since this would have followed the creation of his puzzle boxes. The other article was an attempt to re-create the events which brought Leviathan's material into LeMarchand's possession. Beyond this the only major surviving references are a brief mention in Bolinger's Encyclopedia of the Occult (1946) and a chapter on his architecture in Kaufmann's French Architecture of the Eighteenth Century (1936), which reveals little biographical information about the man himself, but does contain numerous illustrations of LeMarchand's buildings which no longer exist themselves." The three sat their, taking everything in. Buffy spoke up. "Well, that sounded like a big bunch of boring." "Wait, there's more." Willow said. "Yay." Buffy responded with cynicism. "As to whether or not LeMarchand made his peace with God, that is the biggest enigma remaining. Who knows what the consequences of solving it will bring? We know that in order for LeMarchand to create his boxes, he needed human fat, lots of it, so therefore he had to murder a great deal. This he must have done quietly, taking only people whose absence would go unnoticed, for we have no records of any European manhunt during the time he returned to France."
"Fat?!" Buffy said with disgust. "Yes, fat and other bodily fluids and organs are said to contain powerful ingredients in many black rituals." Giles explained. "I've read AND seen worse I suppose."
"LeMarchand was 94 years old when he checked into L'Hotel D'Armais. He was never seen checking out. When the hotel management finally entered his room they found it empty except for the furnishings, and one of LeMarchand's own boxes which sat on the floor amongst a great deal of blood. LeMarchand's final exit. Or was it? For all we know, this could be the scene of another one of LeMarchand's offerings to the Cenobites. " "Cenobites?" Buffy asked. "Cenobites. It means like a religious order." Giles answered. "Yeah, but what religion?"
A man dressed in all black ran thru one of the numerous cemeteries of Sunnydale, California. He was anxious, in a hurry for something. Finally, he spotted an old abandoned church, dilapidated and rustic, and fled for shelter. He had a large black satchel that he threw upon the old altar as he removed his clothing. He was a muscular man, young, sweaty, ripe. The satchel had knocked off the statue of the Virgin Mary from off the altar. He took 4 black candles and placed them strategically around him, in a square, using the black wax as an outline. He sat in the middle, clothed in nothing but dirty underwear, with a golden box in his hand. He began to caress it with his sweaty, hang nailed fingers, frustrated but seemingly aroused by the anticipation. Suddenly, the box flew out of his hands and in front of him. It began to unfold itself, as if it were solving itself. It stopped and the floor boards began to shake, as all light diminished as a mysterious blue light peeked thru the cracks of the building. The Catholic statues began to burst, as the candles burst into flames. A hole at the top of the box opened, and s horde of black hooked chains emerged, tearing into the boys flesh. He wailed with pain and excitement, as the hooks pulled his flesh into the box. The altar began to break open, revealing another world behind this one. "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" The boy's screaming body was drug into the box, like a cantaloupe being squeezed down a straw. Then, the box shut, and things returned to normal, with the puzzle unraveling, waiting for someone else to play. Laughter and screams of agony and elation could faintly be heard in the midst, while the blood and flesh lay there upon the church floor.
Chapter One: Stranger in Familiar Land________________________________________
Willow woke up and watched the rays of sun enter her room-once Joyce Summers' room. She climbed out of the bed in the outfit she'd worn on the trip back to Sunnydale. She'd not changed yet. She opened her suitcase and pulled out an emerald green peasant top and worn denim skirt with black leather granny boots. She walked downstairs to the kitchen and opened the fridge to find that it was close to empty. She shut it in defeat, knowing in the back of her head she could summon up a sumptuous feast. But that was not her anymore. She was going straight, no magicks unless they were necessary. And even then she would be reluctant. Willow decided not to wake Buffy or the others and entered the Dining Room, to the computer. She logged on, checked her mail; there wasn't much but SPAM concerning Wicca and lesbian pornography. She rubbed her tired green eyes and began to browse the net. Something caught her attention as she browsed through various museum sites. Not her physical attention, but something deeper, more mystical. She journeyed back until she recovered the article that'd given her this sensation. Something about an artifact having been missing, a puzzle box, the Lament Configuration. The writer explained that the puzzle box had been stolen early last week from the Sunnydale Museum of History and Artifacts. It was one of Willow's favorite digs. Something drew her to it. It was as if the picture of the box was calling to her. But it was just a picture, of a small golden box with esoteric carvings and intricate symbols and designs. She wondered if Giles knew anything about it. She glanced over at him, laying there on the couch, snoring and muttering something about nothing. She continued to look in on this mysterious box... Suddenly, there was a playful knock at the Summers' front door. She could tell it was Xander. It must've been for Dawn. Ever since Willow and Giles had arrived back in Sunnydale, Dawn had been giving Willow the cold shoulder. But, Willow did not fault her for it. After all, she had tried to kill everyone she loved and then some. The knocking continued. Willow wanted to answer, but as soon as her eyes turned to the living room, they were immediately drawn back to the computer screen. Giles awoke in mid-snore, adjusting himself to the morning. He looked around and realized the noise was coming from the outside. Before he could get up, Dawn rushed down the steps, dressed in a sweater and hip hugger jeans. She didn't acknowledge Willow's presence, but opened the door and let Xander inside. Willow looked up from the computer, glancing at Xander and Dawn. "So, Dawn, time for another thrilling day at the new improved Sunnydale High." Xander joked.
"Gee" Dawn began sarcastically. "I can't keep it all in. I might explode from all this glee." "Hey, Dawnie." Willow said timidly, unsure of what Dawn's response would be. "Oh, hey Will." It was a courtesy response from Dawn, but at least Willow got her speaking to her again. "Hey, Xander, let's go." "Um, sure thing. The Xandermobile should be unlocked and awaiting your entry, and yes, I realize the innuendo in that last sentence." Dawn grabbed her book bag from beside the couch and waved goodbye to Giles. "Oh, um, goodbye, Dawn. " Giles groggily replied. He sat up, and before Xander could exit, Giles spoke, rubbing his English face. "Please return her in one piece, Xander." "Always do, Giles." "Yes, well, I've seen you drive." Xander turned towards Willow's direction. "Bye, Will." Before Willow could respond, Xander was out of the door, shutting it behind him, depleting the sunlight. "Bye, Xander." Willow muttered. The shutting of the door left the house in silence. All was quiet except for Giles moans and groans as he stretched, trying to wake. Things were so different now, and as much as Willow had expected them to be, she never anticipated the distance she'd be feeling between the other Scoobies. But there seemed to be a connection being made between her and this mysterious puzzle box. But what was it. Willow decided to break to air of quiet. "Giles? Do you know what the Lament Configuration is?" "Not off hand. Why?" "Oh. Um, nothing, I was just reading this article about it being stolen last week. It's nothing." "Oh. Well.alright." Upstairs, Buffy was awake. She could not sleep, nor had been sleeping for the past few days. Uneasiness was settling into her and depriving her of sleep. She lay on her side, away from the door, on top of her covers. She was feeling hungry, but too tired to move. Nevertheless, she slipped into her white pajama pants with little pigs and a white baby doll t-shirt and slowly headed downstairs. "Morning, Will. Good morning, Giles." "Good morning, Buffy" they both replied. Buffy looked around, rustling through her hair. "Did Xander get Dawn?" "Um, yes. He did, about 5 minutes ago." Giles responded. "Buffy, are.are you alright?" "Why do you say that? "It's.it's just that, that you've been, well, you seem rather.well, what I mean to say, have you been feeling alright." "Giles, I'm fine. I.I've just been having a little sleep trouble. That's it." "Oh." "Is there anything to eat?" "Not really, no. Except if you want a lovely banana and relish booster." Willow said. "Ew, call a rain check on that one. " Buffy then began to move over to the end of the dinner table, and pulled up a chair beside Willow. "Whatcha lookin' at?" "Oh, um, nothing, jus.just something on." "The Lament Configuration?" "Yeah." "Oh. Well, I didn't know you were into puzzles." "Well, I'm not, I mean, well, this box, this puzzle box got stolen from the museum last week." "Does it have anything mystical about it?" "See, that's what I'm checking. All I'm really finding is stuff about French toy making. " Willow continued to stare at the screen, with Buffy looking over her shoulder. The glare of images covered their eyes. "Oh!" Willow exclaimed in discovery. "I.I think I found something!" Giles took up his glasses from the coffee table and placed them on his face as he walked to further inspect Willow's announcement. "What is it?" Buffy asked. "I.I'm not sure. It's about the man who made the puzzle box. Some Frenchman named Phillip LeMarchand. It says here he was born in 1717 and was originally an architect, but his music boxes made him all the rage in Europe. "Yet, despite his notoriety, little is actually known about the man himself. Almost all of the information we have is based on rumor and speculation. Nearly all of his architectural creations were destroyed during World War II, and very few records remain documenting the events in his life. We do know that he was educated at the Academie Royale de Pienture et Sculpture in Paris in the early seventeen hundreds, that he was a freemason, that he moved to New York to pursue "more loftier pursuits than the mundane and oppressive tedium of a drafting table," that he later entered a competition to design the President's House, and that he had a devoted interest in the occult. It is this last association of Philip LeMarchand, that has resulted in his infamy. It was LeMarchand's interest in the supernatural which directly influenced the creation of his multitude of highly sought after puzzle boxes, which are rumored to either reveal great secrets and pleasures when solved, or death and the atrocities of Hell, depending on who you listen to.
Until now, the best references we had on LeMarchand and his works were two articles by Valentina Sprague ("Architect of the Damned," Peniacle, June 1967; "Leviathan's White House" Pentacle, February 1975) one of which posed the question of what would have happened had LeMarchand been commissioned as the architect of the White House, since this would have followed the creation of his puzzle boxes. The other article was an attempt to re-create the events which brought Leviathan's material into LeMarchand's possession. Beyond this the only major surviving references are a brief mention in Bolinger's Encyclopedia of the Occult (1946) and a chapter on his architecture in Kaufmann's French Architecture of the Eighteenth Century (1936), which reveals little biographical information about the man himself, but does contain numerous illustrations of LeMarchand's buildings which no longer exist themselves." The three sat their, taking everything in. Buffy spoke up. "Well, that sounded like a big bunch of boring." "Wait, there's more." Willow said. "Yay." Buffy responded with cynicism. "As to whether or not LeMarchand made his peace with God, that is the biggest enigma remaining. Who knows what the consequences of solving it will bring? We know that in order for LeMarchand to create his boxes, he needed human fat, lots of it, so therefore he had to murder a great deal. This he must have done quietly, taking only people whose absence would go unnoticed, for we have no records of any European manhunt during the time he returned to France."
"Fat?!" Buffy said with disgust. "Yes, fat and other bodily fluids and organs are said to contain powerful ingredients in many black rituals." Giles explained. "I've read AND seen worse I suppose."
"LeMarchand was 94 years old when he checked into L'Hotel D'Armais. He was never seen checking out. When the hotel management finally entered his room they found it empty except for the furnishings, and one of LeMarchand's own boxes which sat on the floor amongst a great deal of blood. LeMarchand's final exit. Or was it? For all we know, this could be the scene of another one of LeMarchand's offerings to the Cenobites. " "Cenobites?" Buffy asked. "Cenobites. It means like a religious order." Giles answered. "Yeah, but what religion?"