"Old death, where are you now?
You've left me behind somehow,
Drank deeply from your cup,
Now see what I've become,"
— This Old Death
Ben Nichols
For an indeterminate amount of time after the ghoul left him, Charles Deetz stared at the unlocked door. When he could no longer contain himself, reasoning that surely by now he would be able to catch them off guard, maybe keep the element of surprise on his side, he dared venture to the other side. What he saw almost made him turn right back around.
This was a torture chamber. It was used recently. There was a blackened portion of the floor beneath a set of flayed-man shackles, the room itself still carrying the scent of barbecued human flesh.
"Make it slow. Make it painful. You owe my daughter that much."
A spark of sick satisfaction burned through overwhelming disgust and fear, but Charles still made to move along quickly, having no desire to stay where he was. That his rehab nook was connected to a room like this didn't convey anything encouraging.
It was cold out. A thick blanket of gently falling snow coated the ground. Charles was disturbed and amazed to find that it didn't affect him at all. He was up to his knees in the white stuff, wearing only the thin, plain cotton PJ's Betelgeuse permitted him to wear, and still, he felt just fine. No frostbite or sharp numbness as he trudged through, following the brick wall along to the main house.
He didn't know where he was going or what he would do when he got there, but he was going damnit. Eventually, he turned the corner, gaping at the enormous frozen solid pool he saw as well as the equally impressive bubbling, steaming hot tub. Surely, the inside couldn't be as lux as all this. Carefully and quietly, he undid the latch to the patio doors and crept inside, biting his tongue to muffle a shout once he turned around.
Two enormous dogs were staring at him from different entryways. One resembled an oversized, thickly muscled Rottweiler with pitch black fur, his docked ears pinned back to display suspicion and curiosity. The other was as white as the snow he'd just fought through to get in here, slightly larger than the giant Rottweiler, impossibly so— like a fabled direwolf.
Their fur wasn't raised. They didn't growl or bark or run up to him like normal dogs, which was oodles more unsettling than anything else they could have done.
"Goooood puppies," he placated shakily, holding up his hands flat to show that they were empty and he meant no harm. The white one tilted her head, sniffed the air in his direction, and then sent the black one a look. They were communicating. What manner of beasts were these? After several more heart-stopping beats of silence, the beasts deemed him unworthy of any further attention than some curious sniffs before walking away to mind their own business.
When they didn't seem to mind, he followed them. They were walking towards sound and light; a grand Christmas tree lit up and gleaming in the middle of a beautifully furnished, festively decorated living room. A Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire film was playing on the large flat screen mounted above the fireplace. The dogs settled themselves at the foot of the tree around… something…
A closer look made him gasp and reel back in wonder, unprepared for the heavenly sight. His grandbabies. They were wide awake in their Christmas bassinet, settled beneath the bows of the tree like precious little gifts. Paying no heed to the couch or its inhabitant, he immediately knelt before them, going as far as to gift both dogs with placating pats. They were good dogs. He could tell.
"Hi," he whispered to the infants, in awe of them. "I'm your grandpa. Jesus…"
Who was watching them? Why hadn't he been discovered yet? This was too easy. Suddenly suspicious, he paid closer attention to his surroundings only to narrowly escape a second death at the sight of an enormous, human-sized snoring spider on the couch.
Terrified, not thinking clearly, he gathered both girls up in his arms and made to disappear as far away from the predator as possible. How could they have left something like that in charge of watching after his grandbabies safety? No doubt, the horrendous evil poltergeist had made that decision.
When Betelgeuse appeared in the living room, all he found was a sobbing Ginger and an empty bassinet. He rounded on her, panicked. "What the hell happened?"
Ginger tried to speak through the crying but couldn't get the words out. He growled and popped to the bedroom he'd locked Charles in and was shocked to find the door open. That motherfucker.
Footsteps sounded upstairs and in a flash, the giant snake from their first meeting was breaking in the door to the nursery, fangs bared. Sure enough, there was his father-in-law, holding his crying daughters.
"Yoooou basssstarrrd! Whoooo dooo yoooou think you aaaaaare?"
Charles didn't know what he was doing. It was only a matter of time until he was discovered; by the poltergeist, by the spider, by his daughter. He hoped it was the last. She would show more mercy than any of them. That the nursery was the room he ended up in was mere coincidence. It was the first door he tried that wasn't locked, and once he stepped foot inside he couldn't think of anywhere else in the house that could possibly offer more solace.
He was cracking. Every time one of them aimed a tiny toothless smile in his direction his heart fractured to pieces. Little Ivy in particular made him want to die all over again. She was the spitting image of her mother, except for her pointed ears and claws. The tears started flowing and they didn't stop while he sat on the plush carpet and awaited his doom.
It came eventually, in the worst possible form. The snake, the source of decades worth of nightmares for miserable Charles Deetz. His grandbabies were eerily delighted at the sight of their scaly father, shrieking laughter up at the gargantuan beast while Charles held them closer in abject terror. Logically, he knew the serpent meant them no harm, but instinct demanded he protect his legacy.
"I— I didn't—"
Didn't think. Didn't hurt them. Didn't mean any harm. Stammering, fearful of getting strung up in that dungeon just like Gregory Green was, he overcame protective urges to very gently lay the girls down on the carpet between them; a precious peace offering to a terrible monster.
"… the door was unlocked…"
As soon as their backs touched the ground, Betelgeuse coiled around his daughters, wiggling his serpentine muscles until they were cradled in a coil of thick scaled flesh, still huddled together.
"And yooou thoughtttt ssssstealing my daughterssss wasss a goooood idea?" The end of his tail came slamming the offending grandfather into the wall roughly.
"Getttt oooout! Leeeave and dooon't come back. Unlesss I calll for yoooou. You DON'T get to seeeee Lydiaaaa. You DON'T get to seeee my giirlsss. Get ooout!"
Holly started to cry, sensing her father's distress, and the snake's head turned to her.
"Ssssshhhhh baaaaaby. Daddy's heeeeere."
There was no room for debate here. It would only end in horror and heartache. Without another word, Charles scrambled from the room, down the stairs two steps at a time, and past the distraught spider; out into the frozen unknown.
In the penthouse suite across town, Lydia was in shambles. One moment everything in her life was perfect, and the next it was all falling apart. They never should have left. What were they thinking? The girls weren't even two weeks old yet and they were off gallivanting like fucking teenagers. How could they?!
Sobbing inconsolably, Lydia paced the room at a mad, erratic pace, begging aloud to whatever forces were out there to please let them be okay. Never before had Lydia lamented her lack of powers as deeply as she did at this moment. She didn't dare call for her husband by his cursed name, well aware that to do so would be to impede his vital interference in whatever was going on.
"They're okay," she talked to herself insanely, scarcely believing her own reassurances. "They're just fine. Everything is fine. Please please please let everything be fine."
Once Charles left the room, Betel set the dogs on following him, ensuring that he left the property. He didn't bother with transforming back, simply sliding through time and space to get to his wife.
In a flash, he was back in the hotel room. The sight of his wife's disheveled appearance made his heart break. Her carefully applied makeup had run down her cheeks with her tears and she was wrapped in the bedsheets, just as she had been their first morning together when she was nearly too anxious to look at him.
He carefully approached her, settling the babies beside her on the bed. "They're okay. Ssssomeone got into the house while Ginger was asleep. The dogsss were patrolling." He watched her closely for any sign of lingering panic. Telling her the truth behind the kidnapping wouldn't help her now.
"I got there in time. I got our girlssss, they... they're fine. I'm ssso ssssorry, baby... this whole night out wassss my idea. Clearly, it was a fuckin' sssstupid one."
He moved so quietly as a serpent that Lydia didn't notice his arrival, not until his intimidating, gargantuan form was right next to her, sliding their babies onto the bed as gently and lovingly as ever. She stifled a scream, first at the alarming sight of him, and then at their girls, diving down onto the mattress to pull them against her and weep over their tiny bodies in relief.
"I thought— I thought—"
She choked on a sob, unable and unwilling to put words to her gruesome imaginings. Lydia had an active imagination. His story, however, put a new, different kind of panic in his distraught wife. An intruder? Who? How?! They lived out in the middle of fucking nowhere!
The image she held of her husband was that of an invincible deity. Who would dare cross him in such a disrespectful, low-down way?
"Who?" She questioned, eyes wide, her worldview tilting. "Why? What did you do to them? What did they want?"
As if the nameless, faceless intruder was somehow here with them and lurking about the shadows, Lydia shielded her babies bodily, wrapping them up in the sheet snug with her. Holly and Ivy appeared for all the world content and at peace, if somewhat perturbed by all the excitement.
She sure asked a lot of questions. "I took care of it. We ain't gotta worry no more. I'm gonna ssssecure our property when we get home, but I thought you'd rather not wait to ssseeee the girlssss."
With confirmation that she wouldn't panic, Betelgeuse wound himself gently around his family, nuzzling his still-human-like face into Lydia's neck.
"I'm gonna keeeep my girlssss ssssaaafe. Sss'all I'm good for."
After all, if a man couldn't keep his family safe, what kind of man was he? He squeezed gently with his coils, a tiny infant palm coming to rest gently against his scales. He had been terrified, seeing their bassinet empty. All he wanted now was his family safe and secure, altogether within his hold. His serpentine form was best for that.
Last she had seen him like this, Lydia was convinced to the very core of her being that death was imminent. Now, he was a beacon of strength and safety; the monster she knew.
"It wasn't a stupid idea," she sniffled, then released an emotionally charged little whimper when he squeezed very gently, every inch of herself and their babies coiled up in ropes of thick, cord-like muscle. He was everywhere. This type of cuddling was new and exciting and strangely comforting in a way she didn't quite have words for.
"The date, I mean. It was a good idea. Having Ginger babysit was what was stupid. Should have gotten Adam and Barbara. I still don't understand… what happened? How could anyone get far enough to get in through the doors with Tilly and Bubby around? I thought it was safe. I thought we were safe. I thought…"
Again, she spared him her distressing thoughts, letting his scales soak up her residual tears.
"I've never been so scared in my life."
"I don't know... I don't know, baby, but it doessssn't matter because it won't happen again.."
He pressed gentle kisses over her neck, trying to bury his residual fears. "I adoooore you. And our babiessss. I won't let anythin' bad happen to you. Not on myyy watch."
He could feel the tears, but do nothing to comfort her other than squeeze gently and hope it was comforting in any way. Ivy and Holly seemed perfectly happy, already dozing in their mother's arms.
He could feel her abject horror still lingering in the room. It turned his stomach. He had nearly engulfed his family now, the only thing stopping him the steady rise and fall of her chest. She was here. She was safe. He could see the babies sleeping peacefully, both in one piece.
"Nexssst date night, we'll sssstay innn..."
"I don't need any of this anyway," Lydia agreed hastily to his assertion that they would be staying in for their next date. "It's nice, and I appreciate it… but I don't need fancy dinners and hotel rooms and nights on the town. We could have stayed at home in our PJ's… eaten popcorn… watched movies… I would love you just as much at the end of that date as I do now."
With time, her tears dried on his scales, the sweet sleeping sounds their babes were making swiftly killing what was left of any pain, fear, and anxiety inside her. On the streets below them, people were chanting, counting down the seconds to midnight. Her hearing wasn't sharp enough to make out which number they were on.
"It's almost time…" she hushed in a tired voice, almost as worn out from emotional trauma as she would have been physically had the night proceeded as planned. As it were, it looked as though they were about to spend the night in this beautiful, expensive, romantic penthouse suite together. As a family.
Jagged fangs brushed against her as he kissed over her neck, the dagger-like weaponry sticking past his unnaturally wide mouth no matter how he twisted his lips. Lydia didn't mind. One of the cardinal laws of their marriage was that he would never harm her— not unless she wanted it. The way his coils squeezed and released at a steady rhythm was quickly easing her toward sleep, her heartbeat already slowed to a calm pace.
When the chanters outside started mumbling in single digits, she found the wherewithal to turn her head toward his, lidded eyes puffy and messed with streaks of dried mascara.
"Kiss me," she demanded gently, unconcerned by the strange, foreign configuration of his beastly face. This was the part of the festivities she was looking forward to the most.
The things she asked him for never ceased to surprise him. She was so comfortable in his coils that he could feel her starting to fall asleep. Maybe they'd ring in the new year next year.
Just when he thought his whole family was asleep, his sweet, lax girl turned toward him and asked for a kiss. They were only at three counting outside, but he easily complied. His thin, scaled lips met her soft, lush ones, and he purred in a kind of strange hissing-growl.
"Happy New Yearssss, kitten…"
He returned to his nuzzling, careful of the fangs sliding over her flesh. She was so nonplussed. Maybe they could explore some things in this form later. For now, he was more than happy to act as the bed his family had fallen asleep on.
Gazing down at his all-too-human family, he mourned the life they may never have. His girls would likely never go to college unless they learned to change their appearance to look more human. Schools weren't exactly in high demand after people died. They'd need to make a plan for their education. But not tonight. Tonight they were still babies, his wife was still completely enamored with him, and he could finally close his eyes and rest a moment.