Haunting Ground
By Abigail Black
Disclaimer: I don't own Haunting Ground. All characters and situations are accredited to Capcom, whom I am in no way affiliated with.
Warning: This story is rated for scenes of violence, course language and adult themes.
Summary: The sole survivor of a tragic car crash, eighteen year old Fiona Belli has awoken a prisoner in a castle kept by the sinister Riccardo and chased into exhaustion by the gardener, Debilitas. Her only chance of survival has arrived in the form of a white German Shepard, Hewie.
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He ambled down the stairs. It had been little less than an hour since his last journey into the underbelly of the castle and in that time, short as it may have been, the air had grown cold. Icy fingers clutched and stroked at his arms as he descended, one step at a time, pausing until both feet were planted firmly on the stone before continuing, emitting unconscious grunts as tiny eyes narrowed in shallow concentration.
The fire had gone out.
Perhaps the darkness that waited to greet him should have given this little fact away, but as Debilitas blundered with outstretched arms, knocking a rough wooden stool with one thick shin and bellowing in pain, he thought – no felt – that some great animal had passed before his eyes, blacking out the light.
This was not the first time such a thought had occurred to him. The possibility of monsters lurking, unseen and unheard, in the castle often fixed itself in his mind, nailing itself in firmly, sprouting a million roots that twisted and festered in the dank depths of the inside of his skull. Debilitas enjoyed this place, on the most part, simply because it held no sweeping hallways or blank doors. In nothing more then a squat, square underground chamber of grimy stone there could be no hidden secrets to accidentally uncover.
Presently a thin stream of yellow light, as the clouds briefly parted from the afternoon sun, flittered through the small, barred gap near the low ceiling. It fell across the table that occupied the prime central position, catching on a rotting and bloody carcass, passing over the dull glint of a knife, to circle a lumpy and disfigured mound of wax.
Debilitas let his small eyes rest on this, muddy pupils dilated wide in the absence of strong light. He didn't cock his head the way a dog might when faced with an interesting prospect. Rather he remained still, mouth slightly agape, staring fixedly at the make-shift candle. He grinned.
Stumbling over the uneven floor, he shuffled, flat footed, over to the table. Large hands fumbled with the delicate taper, crushing it as it was raised clumsily to the candle. A minute ticked by. His breath was coming out in heavy huffs, blowing onto the spitting flame before he turned his head slightly.
It sparked. The dungeon seemed to explode with the sudden illumination after the pressing darkness. The dancing flame spun and twirled on the end of the string wick, casting flickering shadows across the walls, throwing everything into a dim half-light. Debilitas let out a gaffing laugh. A sound too loud and too cracked. Child-like and combined with the blank eyes and slack mouth, giving away to a certain air of lumbering stupidity.
Pleased with the flame, Debilitas merrily seized the knife – the blade left spotted and browned from ancient blood – and, pulling the carcass remains towards him, sliced through the meat with a manner similar to cutting bread. He enjoyed the sound the butcher's knife made as it whistled through the rushing air, enjoyed the moment of tension when it seemed, at first, as though the tendons and tissue would not give way. He enjoyed the tiny moment of grace and power as rusted silver cut cleanly through red.
Of course Debilitas, as he swept the newly cut slice from the table, savouring the heavy splash as it landed in the prepared bucket of greasy water, couldn't comprehend that somehow his small and clouded mind understood the subtle delight of Being-In-Charge and Holding-The-Power-In-His-Hand. All he knew was the elated feeling of pure and simple fun.
Still grinning and laughing, he raised the knife again, preparing to chop until there was nothing else to be chopped. That was when, out of the corner of one slow-witted eye, he saw the cage.
Dropping the knife on the table, where it chimed once as metal hit wood before falling silent, he slowly shuffled over to a large cage just within the circle of flickering light. Inside a silken white shape rested against the flooring and Debilitas remembered the visit he had made here not that long ago, when the fire in the grate had still been lit. The almost weightless, sleeping figure of the girl he had carried down the stairs and locked up. And she was still here! Debilitas was momentarily overcome with glee as he realised that the girl he had put in the cage was still in the cage.
He reached out, through the bars, thick fingers edging towards a carelessly placed foot. The girl stirred in her sleep, sending Debilitas lurching backwards in fright. Her movement stilled and he quickly chanced another outstretched reach.
A sudden fork of lightning, splitting the sky and bathing the dungeon in electrical light, followed by the crashing boom of thunder drove Debilitas away from the cage. He staggered, stunned by the unexpected noise, tripping over the bucket, sending grease and spoiled meat across the floor. Lightning flashed again. Debilitas howled with the thunder.
monstermonstermonstermonster!
Stumbling blindly, he fled up the stairs away from the underground room, away from the awful light and noise.
Fiona jolted awake. Sitting bolt upright, air flooding her lungs with the sharp intake of breath leaving a stinging pain in her chest. Eyes darted frantically, taking in her surroundings within a matter of seconds. She had a vague feeling that the dream had awoken her, but it could have easily been the quickly building storm.
With each flash of lightning the room revealed itself to her. She pressed her face against the bars, staring wide-eyed at the hanging remains of animals that adorned the far wall. Reeling back she clutched at the white sheet tangled around her legs. Her throat seized up. Her heart pounded as if she had held her breath too long underwater.
She was alone. Completely and utterly alone in this place, whatever it was, with only the sheet she was pressing tightly underneath her fingernails.
Fiona began to shake her head, feeling the bars of the cage closing in on her, a cold sweat broke, sending tiny beads glistening down her forehead and she closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry, not to cry. Immediately the dream flooded across her mind. She'd been in a car, in the backseat, staring out the window and then
(and then the screams)
something had happened. That much she was sure of. But what?
She scrunched up her face in concentration, forcing the next part of the dream to become clear. Staring out the window… then
(the screams)
the something and then…
An image flickered. Hesitantly Fiona grabbed at it. A man, his face in shadow, a hat pulled low over his head, framed by the broken window of the car, looking for her, looking at her. As quickly as it had come it left. Fiona opened her eyes. The storm seemed to have passed, the only light coming from a low burning candle.
Her eyes passed over an unsightly looking mound on the table before dropping to the cage door.
She gasped.
Scrambling over, scraping her knees on the rough metal, she grabbed at the lock. In her excitement it fumbled out of her hands before she managed to clutch it properly. It was an old fashioned looking padlock, a large opening in the centre where the key fit, and a hoop that slid through the slots on the cage.
Only this padlock hadn't been clipped.
It was open, unlocked.
Keeping her hands as steady as possible, Fiona unhooked it, letting it drop to the stone. The door swung forwards. Holding the sheet firmly against her she crawled out of the small prison. From outside the cage the room seemed bigger, darker. Fiona became aware that anything could be hiding in any of the shadows.
A chain swung ominously from the ceiling, creaking as the links clung together. Fiona darted around, head swivelling, searching for the noise. Behind her a steady drip, drip mingled with the soft sound of her breathing. Slowly she turned.
The surface of the table was covered in large ropes of dried blood, a loosely circular pound of raw meat sat a little too close to the edge. Fresh, oozing blood was trickling down, pattering to the ground where a puddle was forming. Her nostrils stung with the sickly stench and she gagged. About to turn away she caught sight of something underneath the table.
Edging forward, crouching slightly, she peered into the gloom. A low growl sounded and she caught a glimpse of two large paws before she was knocked backwards by a sudden leap. A flash of white fur darted past her and up the stairs, disappearing up into the unknown. Fighting the temptation to simply crawl back into the cage, Fiona scrambled to her feet. She looked to where the animal had just run, obviously that was the way out, then she turned meaning to cast one more glance at the frightening place she had awoken in.
Her foot snagged on something. It was a broken collar. The buckle had snapped almost cleanly off and was hanging limply by one last thread of leather. The silver plaque read 'Hewie'.
Fiona glanced back to the stairs. "Hewie," she whispered into the gloom. She set the collar down and silently made her way into the world beyond.
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A/N: I don't know if I'll continue with this. To me the game seems to be begging to be written! How could I refuse!