Just as Kyle before him, Stan stopped his motorcycle at the intersection and looked at the wooden sign in the middle. He saw the two separate signs for the same town that Kyle was heading for. Knowing that his friend would take the shorter route, Stan turned right and sped down the road.
The further he went down the road, swerving around potholes and downed trees, he began wondering if Kyle even took that route. Surely he would've turned around after a point, especially with his invention hitched to the back of his motorcycle. This road is insane, he thought as he swerved around yet another tree trunk.
A few minutes later, he stopped and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket to make sure Kyle hadn't tried to call him, but found that he had no bars out in that area. Stan narrowed his eyes. "Crap." He stuffed his cell phone back into his pocket. "Kyle, please be okay," he muttered as he kick-started the engine again.
He continued down the road, imagining every situation that could've happened and praying none of them were right. Before he could even get his bike up to speed, he spotted the small flat bed Kyle had hitched to the back of his bike and slowed to a stop next to the fallen tree he saw it next to.
Stan slipped his helmet off and swung his leg from around the other side of his motorcycle, putting the kickstand into place as he did. He rested his helmet on the seat and walked over to the abandoned black motorcycle. It was definitely Kyle's, even without the machine hitched onto it, he could tell from the wrench decal on the side. He knelt down next to the front tire, finding it completely and totally flat.
"Great," Stan said harshly at no one, "he crashed!" He looked around and saw a black helmet with the same wrench decal that decorated the bike resting in the mud Kyle had landed in the night before. He stood up and grabbed the helmet from the mud, inspecting it. Other than a few scratches that weren't there before, it looked unscathed. Maybe that meant he was okay too! Stan could only hope that he was right.
He ran back to his bike and slipped his helmet back on as he kick-started the engine once again. He slowly served around Kyle's motorcycle and continued down the road slowly, thinking that maybe he'd find Kyle on the side of the road somewhere further down. Seeing as he hadn't been contacted, that was the only thing that made sense to him.
"Kyle!" Stan yelled out through his helmet and over the sound of his bike. "Kyle, where are you?"
He pulled to a stop next to a large metal gate sitting in front of a black gothic castle. Leaving his helmet on the seat of his bike, he climbed over the gate when it wouldn't open and picked up Kyle's discarded green hat. "Kyle…" He looked up at the castle, a little afraid to go in but knowing that he had to look for his best friend anywhere he could possibly be.
Stan took a breath and walked forward to the large dark wood door, having to use most of his strength to push it open. He froze in the doorway, needing time to allow his eyes to adjust to the sudden dark. When they did, he saw a long red carpet running from the large double doors all the way up the black brick stairs, which split after a point, a set going one way and another going the other. Dark wood doors lined each side of the main hall behind spaced black brick pillars extending from the floor to the high ceiling.
"This isn't creepy at all," Stan muttered sarcastically. He took a step inside and let the door fall shut behind him with a loud, echoing noise. His heart beating out of fear and anxiety, he took a deep breath and walked forward. "Is anyone here? I'm looking for my friend Kyle! If anyone's here, it'd be great to know if you've seen him!"
"I think he could be the one," a deep voice said almost excitedly.
"Oh," another, higher pitched voice chimed in, "I don't know Eric, i-it's possible, but…"
Stan whipped around when he heard the voices. "Who said that? Is someone there?" He twisted his head around, but didn't see anything but a lit golden candelabra next to a small, brown, wooden old-fashioned clock. He shook his head and turned back to the staircase. "I'm hearing things," he muttered.
He whipped around to find himself facing a side staircase when he heard something metallic climbing them. A dim light danced on the black brick wall of the narrow staircase as it slowly made its way up. Though he didn't like the looks of anything in the castle, he ran after the light and noise. "Hey! Wait! Can you help me?" When he was near the top of the stairs, the light flickered out and he stopped, unable to see much since the only light came from the small amount of sunlight pouring in through a narrow window. He glanced out of it, seeing snow falling softly to the ground. "Damn."
"W-Who's there?" A familiar voice asked timidly from somewhere deeper into the room.
Stan looked forward, barely able to see the thick metal bars forming the front of a cell. "Kyle?"
"Stan?" Kyle's face, paler than usual, suddenly appeared from the other side of the bars. He was on his knees like he had been sitting and didn't want to stand up to greet his friend.
Stan dropped to his knees in front of his friend, his hands on the bars. "Kyle, are you okay?"
The redhead shook his head from side to side, he was visibly shaking. Whoever or whatever threw him in the cell scared him. "Stan, you have to get out of here!"
"Not without you." Stan saw Kyle's right arm, resting in a makeshift sling, then. "What happened to your arm?"
"I-It's broken, but please just go! Before it finds you here!"
"'It?' What're you talking about?"
"Stan, there's no time to explain! Just go!"
"No Kyle, not without you!"
Suddenly, a furry clawed hand latched onto Stan's shoulder and spun him around, causing his back to be against the bars of the cell. "What're you doing here?" A booming voice roared.
Stan's eyes widened, unable to see much else in the dim light except for angry blue eyes and what he could've sworn were large fangs. "I…I came for my friend! Let him go!"
"No," the voice roared, "he's my prisoner!"
"But his arm's broken! He needs to get to a doc–"
"NO!"
Stan pressed up against the bars of the cell as his eyes widened even further. He was absolutely terrified at this point, unsure if whatever was yelling was going to attack him. Behind him, he felt Kyle grip onto the back of his jacket with his one good hand. Shaking down to his core, Stan thought quickly, wondering if there was anything he could do to get his best friend out of the cell and to a doctor.
Suddenly, he got an idea. "Let me take his place!"
The blue eyes widened in surprise. "What?"
"I will take Kyle's place as your prisoner."
"Stan no," Kyle protested as he pulled on his friend's jacket, "you can't."
The blue eyes fell to the side for a moment before looking back at Stan and Kyle. "Fine. But you have to promise to never leave to castle grounds."
"…Okay, I promise."
He stalked across the small area, avoiding the light, and threw open the cell door.
Kyle quickly ran out of the cell and dropped down next to Stan on the floor, catching hands with him. "Stan, you don't have to do this."
Stan nodded. "I do Kyle, you need a doctor."
"But Stan–AH!" Kyle yelled out as the mysterious figure grabbed the back of his jacket and literally dragged him down the stairs. "Stan!"
"Kyle!" Stan turned to the narrow window the sunlight was coming through and watched as the figure, which looked furry and grotesque, almost like a gargoyle wearing a cape in a way, threw Kyle out of the gate and next to Stan's motorcycle, now lightly dusted in snow. Stan fell back down to his knees and pressed his forehead against the cold black brick wall as tears flooded his eyes. That was his best friend, someone he'd known and loved like a brother for years, and he didn't get to say goodbye.
The figure walked back into the room with his clawed feet making a light tapping sound as he did. He stopped in the doorway and just stared at the tormented man in front of him.
"Master," the golden candelabra lit up, "maybe you should offer him a room."
"A room?" He looked down at the candelabra.
"Of course. He should at least be comfy since he's gonna be here for a while."
The figure groaned. "Fine, whatever," he muttered and took a few steps into the room, still avoiding the light. "Come on," Stan turned his head to look at him, "I'll show you to your room."
Stan stood up and turned to the figure. "Step into the light. I wanna see your face," he said harshly. He was far angrier with whoever this stranger was than he had been with Craig only hours ago.
Hesitantly, the figure stepped into the light, showing a furry russet brown beast in an open torn red shirt, torn red pants, and a long purple cape. His sharp bottom teeth jutted out to overlap his upper lip, and his hands and feet were clawed. "Are you satisfied?" He asked when he saw Stan's eyes widen again. "Are you happy that you got to see the face of The Beast?"
Stan cast his eyes to the side, silent. He was still scared, but The Beast spoke more softly than he had earlier, almost gently. Before he could say anything, the room was filled with the sound of fabric being whipped around; Stan looked up and saw that The Beast had turned around.
"Come with me, I'll show you to your room." He picked up the candelabra from the floor and began walking.
After a moment of hesitation, Stan followed him down the stairs back to the main hall of the castle. As they walked, his thoughts swam back to Kyle, wondering if he would be okay getting back to town.
…
I know I've been updating this story really fast, but I'm really on a roll with it. ^.^ Anyway, please continue reviewing, it makes me happy.
