On the Wings of an Angel Chapter 8: An Old Nightmare, a disney fanfic

ON THE WINGS OF AN ANGEL

Here you are, ladies and gents, a brand-new chapter to your favorite Pinocchio story! This one's considerably shorter than the others, but it sure packs a punch. I decided it was time to crank up the suspense another notch.

Characters (with exceptions) © Disney

Story © unicorn-skydancer08

Chapter 8: An Old Nightmare

Pinocchio dreamed he was back in his old house, the one he used to reside in with his old father before he died. Everything looked pretty much the way it had before; the only difference was that there was no one else around. All was quiet…too quiet for comfort. As Pinocchio searched the place, he came across a solitary figure standing by one of the windows. When the figure's face was revealed, Pinocchio saw—to his horror—it was Fabrizio.

The man was wearing the same clothes he'd worn on the night of his demise: a long, sleek black tailcoat, milky breeches, black boots that stretched to his knees, and of course, his characteristic top hat.

"Fabrizio!" the child cried out.

"Hello, Pinocchio," said Fabrizio, in a voice of ice and venom. "Miss me?"

Pinocchio would have fled on the spot, but he couldn't move. His whole body appeared to be paralyzed, as if held in place by some strange spell.

"I have been expecting you," Fabrizio continued. Although his face was half-shadowed by the brim of his hat, his black, soulless eyes shone with a malicious gleam.

"No!" Pinocchio wailed. "It's not possible! You're not real! You're dead!"

"Of course, I'm dead, you half-wit," Fabrizio told him vituperatively. "You should know; you're the one who killed me in the first place."

"No!" Pinocchio refuted again. "No, I didn't! I swear, I didn't!"

"Don't pretend innocence, boy. You are responsible for my death…and always will be. You know it."

"No—it was an accident!" Again, Pinocchio attempted to run, yet he still could not budge an inch in either direction.

"Had it not been for you," said Fabrizio, hovering over him like an unholy demon sent to claim his soul, "I would still be alive. Everything that happened that night was your fault. You—are—guilty."

"NO!" Now Pinocchio screamed so loudly that he woke himself up. His screaming also aroused Terence, who immediately bolted upright.

"Pinocchio!" gasped the young man. "Pinocchio, what is it? What happened?"

Pinocchio was not aware of his guardian, or of anything else for the time being.

Even wide awake, the boy could still see Fabrizio's face, as clearly and luridly as he ever had; he could still hear the dead man's voice whispering in his ear, accusing him, taunting him relentlessly: Murderer…betrayer…

Beating frantically at his head with his fists, as if by doing so he could actually knock out the horrid apparition, Pinocchio shouted with all his might, "Get out! Get out!"

"Pinocchio!" Terence shouted himself.

"Get out, get out, get out, get out, GET OUT!"

"Pinocchio!"

"Leave me alone!"

"PINOCCHIO!" This marked the very first time that Terence had yelled directly at Pinocchio, but there was no other way he could get the boy's attention.

After that, Pinocchio was still, though he trembled violently all over from head to toe, hardly able to get his breath. His face was soaking wet with mingled perspiration and tears, while his heart beat a mile a second. His stomach heaved, and for a dreadful moment he feared he would be sick on the spot. When Terence asked Pinocchio again, in a much softer tone, what had happened, if he was all right, the child took one look at his guardian and flung himself into his arms, where he dissolved at once into a puddle of tears. Though he never said a word—he couldn't speak even if he'd wished it—Terence guessed correctly what it was that had his son in this state.

For the time being, Terence was able to forget about Rhiella and his own pain as he enveloped his son in his strong, gentle arms and tried once more to soothe him. "Calm down, Pinocchio," he whispered. "Calm down. It's all right."

"Fabrizio," was all Pinocchio could gasp between sobs. "Fabrizio…Fabrizio…"

Terence's heart ached for his poor child as his assumption was verified. Not again, the young man groaned inwardly. When will this end? Why won't you leave us in peace, Fabrizio?

Was there no escape from this nightmare? Was there no relief from this pain? What could they do? Helpless to do anything else, Terence could only hold Pinocchio closer and let the boy cry, while he shed a few tears of his own.

Even after the tears had run dry, sleep was impossible. Terence allowed Pinocchio to curl up on his lap, and he dozed lightly himself now and again, but Pinocchio remained wide-awake until morning.