Gravity Falls and its characters were created by Alex Hirsch and owned by Disney. Belle Sterling is an original character owned by MaryPSue. All credit goes to their respective creators.
Orrie walked down the east wing of the manor with his strip of paper in hand. He passed several doors with names written on them. "Sarkozy…Jans…oh, Keller." His room was second from the end on the left side. Turning the knob, Orrie stepped inside.
The room was fit for royalty. The ceiling was high with a pretty crystalline chandelier hanging in the center. The king-size bed was lined with white, fluffy pillows and framed with silky light-brown curtains. On the other side of the fairly large room were a small walk-in closet and a tiny washroom. Around the room were other pieces of furniture, a dresser and full-length mirror to name a few. Orrie dropped his belongings by the side of his bed, taking a moment to let everything sink in.
He was actually at the Manor of Alcor, picked against all odds to solve its mystery. He managed to befriend (at least he hoped) three people already. Smiling widely to himself, Orrie pulled out a sketchbook and pencil from his backpack, flipping it to the first available page not filled with miscellaneous scribbles and doodles. Concentrating, he began to sketch an outline of the mansion, taking notes and adding details to the rooms already visited or seen. There was the parlor room, the foyer, and the east wing where the bedrooms were located. They passed several other rooms and halls, of course, but he hadn't yet seen where they led. There was still so much to explore– judging by the building's size and what he'd seen, he hadn't even covered a tenth of the whole area.
There was a knock at the door. Looking up from the last of his drawing, Orrie answered it. "Yes?"
"May I come in?" someone asked. Orrie put away his belongings and went to open the door. On the other side was Cliff, no Zahia in sight. "Hey there. Just wanted to know if you want to have lunch with us. Many of the others are heading out now to enjoy some barbecue."
"Oh. Yeah, I'd love to," Orrie answered, stepping outside. He followed Cliff down the hall. "But, um, aren't we supposed to be solving a mystery soon?"
Cliff waved off his words. "That can wait a bit, don't ya think? I mean, none of us really know each other very well, and this is the perfect opportunity to talk to one another. I'm sure afterwards we'll all go our own ways to solve the mystery, but until then we should all relax and enjoy ourselves." Orrie couldn't argue with that. They traversed through a few halls and a magnificent kitchen with a dining nook, spotting the old couple—the Tosettis, if what Orrie read on their envelope was correct—making their steady way to the back door. Cliff held the door open for them, which they were quite thankful for, and the four of them went into the yard where the housekeepers and some of the guests were all hanging about.
It was bright and sunny, and Orrie regretted not bringing along some swim trunks so he could enjoy the pool. If he really wanted to, though, he could always just dip his feet into the cool water like Zahia was doing, several white lotuses floating daintily around her legs. Belle, Dipper, and Dug were sitting at the table, watching some game show on an outdoor TV connected to the wall. Orrie looked around, noticing a few people missing.
"Where's Flynn? And Mr. Connolly?"
"Siegfried was busy looking for clues already," Cliff answered, taking a seat next to Dug. "I have no idea where Flynn is. Probably wandering around himself." While a bit disheartened he wouldn't be joining them, Orrie still enjoyed his time with the others through talk and games, even watching and cheering Dipper on as he, Dug, and Zahia took part in a grilled-burger eating contest. They heard the story of how the Tosettis met and saw the pictures of the Lionharts' wedding from two weeks ago. In return, Orrie showed them all photos of his family stored on his phone.
"Oh, you get your lovely hair from your father, I see," Mrs. Tosetti exclaimed, "When did you both decide to dye it?"
"What? Oh no, it's natural for us," Orrie said, subconsciously fingering his blond hair streaked with strands of royal blue. "We've got Kinnara or something like that on dad's side of the family. See? My cousin's is green."
"I wish my hair was blue," mused Belle, "Or– no, purple! No, I'd want it to have, like, a rainbow of streaks!" Dipper just smiled, rolling his eyes at his twin.
Hours later, when the mosquitoes proved to be too much, they went back inside. Not even one minute after the last person entered the kitchen a housekeeper walked up to them. "I'm sorry to bother you at this time," she apologized, "But Ms. Wheatly would very much like to speak with you all right now. She's in the parlor room. If you'd be so kind." And she bowed and left the kitchen. The group of eight made their way toward the parlor. Entering once more, Orrie spotted Flynn and Siegfried already inside. He split off from the others.
"Sorry you missed the gathering in the back yard. We were all outside hanging out. Cliff said he couldn't find you."
Flynn didn't seem perturbed. "I was in the library while you were all outside. Figured I might see if there was a clue hidden in one of the books there."
"Wouldn't that be a bit cliché if it were?"
"Perhaps." That was all he could say before Ms. Wheatly scuttled into the room, closing the doors behind her.
"Apologies for interrupting your activities, but may I be so bold in asking how committed you are in solving the mystery of this manor? The Master is growing a bit impatient that none of you has found the first clue yet."
"We're serious," assured Siegfried, crossing his arms, "Just some more than others. Besides, we only just arrived some hours ago. And some of us here don't know how to hunt for clues." Every time Siegfried spoke it was like he was in on the act. Which Orrie didn't mind at all because that meant he could hurry the process along for them learning what they needed to do. And indeed Ms. Wheatly nodded in agreement to his words.
"I see. So you don't know how to search for clues. In that case I'll tell you. Listen closely. In this mansion there are a total of seven clues you need to find to solve the mystery. For all but one of the clues you will first need to find a key. The locations of these clues and keys can be deduced through the numerous hints scattered around the house."
"What kind of hints?" Zahia asked, "They're not super hard puzzles, are they?"
"Nursery rhymes," Ms. Wheatly answered, "In the form of a riddle. Solve the riddle and you'll find the key or clue. But I must inform you that not all keys are in the same room as their corresponding clue. The same goes for hints."
The guests gave varying remarks of understanding. "So hints lead to clues or to keys that unlock clues," Dipper clarified.
"Correct. But finding the hint is no easy task. Here, I'll help you search for your first hint." And then she made quite a show looking around. Exaggerated motions of opening cabinet doors and gazing all around its interior, of ruffling pillows and examining every inch of them, or checking underneath every single piece of furniture. Silly as it looked it did tell Orrie one thing: the hints would not be in obvious places.
"Oh! What do you know?" As if to prove his theory, Ms. Wheatly, while moving aside some books on a shelf a little too enthusiastically, knocked a bust of an old man over. Beneath the marble statue was a hole– the bust was hollow. Ms. Wheatly reached inside and pulled out a tiny brown scroll, beckoning the guests over to her. Orrie was able to read it as she unfurled the paper:
"Buried atop Old Smoky."
He blinked. Old Smoky? Like 'On Top of Old Smoky'? So were all the hints based on classical Pre-Transcendence nursery rhymes? Depending on which rhymes were used this mystery might be a little harder to solve than he thought.
"What's Old Smoky?" Cliff asked, "Sounds like a volcano's name."
"Very close," Ms. Wheatly smiled as she put the scroll in her pocket. "A mountain. Based on the old nursery rhyme 'On Top of Old Smoky'. Does anyone know how the first part of the rhyme goes?" Orrie refrained from raising his hand, wanting to know if anyone else was familiar with the song. Nobody spoke up. "I'll tell you then. 'On top of Old Smoky, all covered in snow'. That's the line. Now where or what resembles a mountain with snow on top of it?"
She let the guests explore the room themselves. Orrie saw from the corner of his eye Siegfried step away from the party. To anyone who knew his little secret they'd perhaps assume he didn't want to give the answer right away, and to those who didn't he looked like someone who'd rather have others do the work. But the look in his eyes implied otherwise. He was watching them. Judging them in their ability to deduce. Orrie hadn't solved the hint yet, but there was no way he was going to let the man assume he was on to him, so he opted to look around a lamp with a white lampshade over it.
It was Dug who finally figured it out. And by complete accident too. "Whoops! Didn't mean to!" he hurriedly said, grabbing the fishtank in the corner he nudged off its stand. He straightened the box up before all its contents, inhabitants, and the items on top of it could spill over onto the floor. He sighed with relief before blinking his eye at the tank. "Wait…is that Old Smoky?" He pointed to one of the little plastic decorations inside. Orrie had already seen the aquarium that was designed like multiple biomes had merged into one, but even he overlooked the small toy that looked exactly like a snow-capped mountain.
"Buried atop Old Smoky you say?" Dug shuffled through the items resting on top of the tank, most of them folded newspapers. It was between two newspapers that a piece of a third slipped out. Dug caught it before it landed on the floor. The piece of paper was significantly older than the rest, browner and far more wrinkled. Dug had to squint to read its faded text.
Ms. Wheatly stepped over to him. "Would you like me to read it for you?"
"Yeah please." He handed her the paper. She cleared her throat, and everyone paid close attention as she read the article:
"Six Found Dead, Suspect At Large
Police responded to a silent alarm early Friday morning. The bodies of six victims were found scattered inside an unaddressed mansion miles outside the city limits. Investigators believe the victims were all members of an illegal cult as only two of the victims had visible injuries. It is presumed a seventh cult member was the perpetrator and fled the scene. The identities of the victims have not yet been revealed at this time."
Dipper crossed his arms. "That wasn't very helpful as a clue. But I can't say this exercise wasn't informative. Thanks for showing us the ropes on how to look for hints."
"And who to keep an eye out for," Belle teased, pushing Dug gently, "We may have ourselves a Sherlock in our midst." Dug blushed faintly.
"I'm so happy to have helped," Ms. Wheatly said, beaming. "Now you only have six more clues to find. I'll leave this one right here in case any of you wish to read it again. If you need any more help just come find me. But first I must help prepare dinner." She guided everyone to the doors, closing them shut behind them once they left.
A sudden grumble made them all look around. "Hrm, I'm still hungry," Dug moaned, patting his belly.
"But you ate twelve hamburgers," said Zahia, eying him incredulously, "I couldn't even eat half that and I still feel a bit nauseous."
Dug shrugged. "Can't be helped. I guess I'll check to see if there're any leftovers I can have."
"I wouldn't mind a quick bite to eat myself," said Flynn, "May I join you?"
"Sure. Don't see why not?"
"I'd like to get started looking for the clues," Dipper stated, turning toward his sister. She nodded in agreement.
"I think I'm going to take a quick rest before dinner, dear," Mr. Tosetti said to his wife.
"I want to relax a bit too," Zahia wrapped an arm around Cliff's waist. Her husband hugged her back with one arm.
"Yeah. We've got all the rest of the day to find hints. Let's enjoy our honeymoon a little longer." He playfully bopped her on the nose before leading them toward the stairs. After quick deliberation, Orrie decided to follow them and the Tosettis. He was not, however, expecting Siegfried to come along.
"Are you taking a break too, Mr. Connolly?"
"I may as well. The remaining hints, keys, and clues won't be hidden until tomorrow."
"Tomorrow? So the rest of the day is just for us to, I don't know, relax?" Let us familiarize ourselves with our environment is what he wanted to say, but the less he made Siegfried suspicious of how serious he was in solving the mystery the less he'd have to worry about him. There was just something off about the man. Siegfried nodded.
"Precisely. Also, I wouldn't get very comfortable with the idea of Ms. Wheatly helping us on the case." Orrie looked ahead to make sure the Lionharts and Tosettis weren't listening in before slowing his pace to walk beside Siegfried.
"Why not?" he whispered. Siegfried gave him a curious glance before opting to reveal his knowledge to the boy.
"Alcor is going to get a little impatient with us tonight and eliminate her as a means to encourage us to search faster." Orrie looked up at him, horrified, but Siegfried chuckled. "Don't worry; it's all an act. The scene will be very convincing, though."
Orrie nodded. "Okay then…" He wasn't sure if he should feel impressed on how realistic the staff was going to make this an authentic murder mystery or unnerved. Maybe unnervingly impressed. He smiled at that silly musing before splitting from the group and heading into his room.
That evening—after dinner and while Orrie was lying content on his bed, drawing in his sketchbook—there was a loud shriek from downstairs. There were soon the sounds of footsteps racing down the hall and, while aware of what was probably going on, Orrie couldn't help peeking his head out in curiosity. Cliff followed closely by Zahia rushed down the stairs. Orrie hurried after them. He caught up with the couple quickly enough and wordlessly the trio burst through the doors to the parlor. Everyone save the Tosettis were already present. And everyone included 'Alcor'.
He was standing over a very realistic corpse of Ms. Wheatly, which was face-down in a growing pool of red liquid. Strips of clothing lay tattered beside it. Ripped pillows and bloody papers were strewn around, hinting of the struggle that transpired. Zahia gasped, hand over her mouth. Dipper and Belle stood frozen, barely able to believe what they were seeing. Dug looked ill, moving as far away from the body as possible. Siegfried seemed uncomfortable but stayed where he was at by the doors. Flynn was glaring at the perpetrator.
'Alcor' stared back, amused smile on his lips. "Y͟ou all ̴̢see̕m a̷ b̨it ups͠et͠." He spotted the latecomers. "I d̕idn̷'t̨́ th͟ink ̴s͢he'd caus͏e t͢hąt̨ m̢ucḩ of a̷ commo̕t̶ion͝." Flynn flashed a glance back at Orrie before clenching and unclenching his jaw. When he spoke, though, it was with collected calmness.
"Why did you feel the need to do this? You are aware there are children present." Orrie hoped Flynn wasn't insinuating he couldn't handle a little violence. Granted, murder wasn't 'a little' violent, but considering who the star of the attraction was and the fact they were supposed to be solving a murder mystery in the first place…
'Alcor' chuckled. "W̷hy? Be̡ca͠us͟e yơu̵'re͏ t̨aki͟n͡g to̧o long." He rose into the air, settling into a cross-legged sit. "D̛on't̡ t̴h̀ìnk I̶ h̨a̛d́n'͢t not̶iced M͠s. W̡hea͡t͠ly ̡hel͡p̢įn̵g y͝ou ơut̡ ea̧rlie͠r. He͝r͠ as͡s̀i̧st͢ance w͡as ͝no̶t par̵t̨ o͠f t̀he dea̢ļ. B̢utI dec͠ide͞d to ̀let it̡ s̢l͢idè…until͝ I notįc̨ed how littl̨e h͞e͢ad̢w̵a͠y̕ th̷e teǹ of̛ yo̡ų were ̡ma̷king. So̴ I͡ go̵t r̵id̵ o͏f h͠er."
"Wait, we were taking too long to solve the mystery with her help, so you decided to kill her?" Belle frowned. "What kind of sense does that make?"
"Why ̶do͠e͡s ̷ít̵͟ ha̢v͟e to̡ ḿake ̡s͢ęn̴s̛e?" asked 'Alcor', "I̷ expected ̛͠y͡ou to̷̢ t̢a͟k̵e t̀h̨e mys̷t̕er̡y͞ se͟riou͞sly, solv̶e it͏ q͠u̵ickĺy, and͠ yo̷u d͏i̛s͢app̕ointed m̶e. I̴s͞ i͏t͠ tha̡t muc̀h ̛a su̷rprise ́I too̷k̢ out̶ ḿy̡ f͏r̨ustra͢t͢íon on͡ o͟n̶e ́̕of m̀y s͠erv̡an͞t̶s wh̛o, in͡c͡idenţall̵y, h͠app͟en͠s t̕o̶ b̛e̴ th̵e ónly ̵o̷n̵e͏ he̶lping y̨o̡u al̕onģ?" He shook his head in mock disappointment. "Th̴is is ͏a͞ll y̧o͞ur f̡ault̨, y̧o̷u ͡k̡now. S̷he̢ c̷ou̢ld hav̴e liv̶ed. B̢ut, ąl̴as͡, yo͏u lo̧st́ y̴ou͠r̨ t̷r̛ue͏ ĺover͡ fo̡r̀ c̢ourtin͡g too̷ slow͠. My ͡s͞ug̨gestion? Hùr̀ry i͠t ̕ùp."
"Oh yeah? Then why don't you do it?" Dipper narrowed his eyes at the person above him, the challenge in his tone heavy. Orrie felt a chill in the air; the teen's anger was nearly tangible. "You're so all-knowing, huh? Why don't you use your omniscience to solve this stupid mystery yourself? I'm sure you could do it in an instant instead of toying with human lives." He looked down at Ms. Wheatly; his face was unreadable. Belle, clearly troubled by her brother's outburst, touched his arm.
"Dipper?"
His head whipped around toward her, his eyes widening slightly like he just remembered she was there. He again stared at the body on the ground before shaking his head. "Sorry. Forgot this was all an act. Just looked really…convincing." He directed his leer towards 'Alcor' who, for once, didn't look smug. "You know, I remember Alcor being someone who hated human sacrifices. Killing innocents because he was mildly upset was not his M.O. Only the worst of imposters would have gotten that tidbit wrong."
'Alcor's' eye twitched, indignation flashing in his sharp gaze. "P̷er̢h͡apş I ̢àm not ás al̡l-pow̶ęrful̶ as͠ yo̧u̕ l̨ik͝é to̷ be͠lieve," he growled. "Ńo͝r as̶ m̵agn̶a̡ni̵mous. Bưt…" He hovered closer to Dipper, nearly face-to-face with the boy. "I̴f you̢ k̵eep te͝s̵tíng m͡y pátįenc͝e, D̶ipper S͏t͟erl̨in̵g̛, o̡ne wo̴n't ne͝e̡d o͠mn̛isc͡i͏e͡n͠ce t̷o fi͢g͡ure ou̷t͏͏ wh͡o ki̴lle͞d ou̢r ņex̛t̢͠ p̧oten͠t͢ial͝ vìct́i͠m." He snapped his fingers and Dipper was lifted right off his feet. The teen, completely taken aback, was too bewildered to fight the invisible force holding him. Another snap and he was thrown across the room, crashing into the opposite wall with a heavy thump! Everyone stood shocked by the action; Belle was the only one with enough sense to run over and check on her twin.
"Dipper!"
Her shout stirred Orrie to face 'Alcor', to call him out on his trick that went way too far. But when he turned 'Alcor' was gone. Beside him he heard Flynn curse in a weird language. "Where did he go?" he heard the elf mutter lowly.
The doors flew open, and two housekeepers rushed inside, one of them carrying a tarp. Cliff grabbed one of them by the arm. "Hey! This is getting a little—"
"Please sir," the housekeeper interrupted, "We've got this under control."
"You've angered him enough," the other worker added, laying the tarp over the corpse. Orrie watched as the sheet's pure white was slowly consumed by the absorbing red. "Just do what the Master has asked. Please go and solve the mystery quickly. We'll take care of this."
"Come on, Orrie." Orrie felt strong hands pushing him out. Cliff stubbornly kept his sight away from the bloody mess as he guided the boy away. Zahia starred at her husband, worried.
Behind him, Orrie could hear Flynn speaking tersely with one of the housekeepers. "Quite graphic" were the only words he managed to overhear before being escorted outside. Siegfried and Cliff then herded everybody else upstairs.
"That looked scary real," Zahia mumbled to Cliff, who nodded.
"Thought this would be a bit more family-friendly," her husband agreed.
"Perhaps that's just how their script was written." The others looked at Siegfried. "That was almost the same scene they played out last time, and there weren't any children present then. I'll admit, though, they didn't use magic on the guests."
"Which was completely uncalled for," Belle angrily spoke. To her brother and with a lot more concern, "You alright?"
"Well, I've been a whole lot worse," he chuckled humorlessly. But Orrie could still sense the resentment around him.
"I wouldn't worry too much about it, Dipper. I think it's illegal for them to actually hurt their guests. Perhaps they overdid it with the effects."
"Perhaps." Though Dipper didn't look convinced. "And maybe you're right. That was some low level magic he used. I really wasn't that hurt." Orrie sighed internally with relief. The party made it to the east wing. As they dispersed to their rooms, mostly gotten over what had happened, Orrie finally mustered the courage to ask the twins a question.
"Um…I know it's kind of in bad taste to ask this now after, well, you know…but can I team up with you? For the mystery?" Belle and Dipper stared at him, a bit confused.
"You mean after what that jerk did to my bro you still want to go through with this?" Belle wondered, though she at least didn't sound very offended. Orrie felt his face redden.
"Please don't take this the wrong way but yeah. I'm not interested in the prize and, to be honest, the acting is a bit over the top. I came here to have fun and enjoy myself. It's another piece of Alcor I can learn about, and that's exciting to me."
Dipper nodded, his expression finally brightening somewhat. "I know what you mean. That challenge you just can't ignore. Like a puzzle that needs to be solved and answers that need to be discovered." He smiled. "Yeah! Let's team up. We're here to have fun after all– to learn about Alcor and solve an unsolvable mystery." He held out his hand. Orrie took it, gripping firmly, his own smile broadening. Belle wrapped her arms around both of their necks.
"Alright! Nerds unite!"
Orrie laughed. "Well, we can start looking for clues in the morning. Siegfried secretly told me the hints won't be hidden until tomorrow."
"Oh! So that's how he knew what was going on," realized Belle, "He's been here before. Wait! Doesn't that mean he has the advantage? He knows where all the hints are!"
"I'm going to assume the hints change locations each time guests come," Dipper reasoned, and Orrie agreed. He bade them goodnight before entering his own room.
The sketchbook was still on his bed where he'd left it. He debated finishing the final details of what he could remember of the garden but ultimately decided against it, figuring he'd have plenty of time tomorrow. He changed out of his day clothes and grabbed something from his suitcase that was more comfortable to wear in the evening time. Sliding into bed, he looked around his room once more.
It was still just as beautiful as when he'd first entered. But…the space, the extravagance, the lingering amazement of being here…it was too foreign. Too lonesome. Orrie was familiar with it. A bit used to it. But that didn't mean he liked it. Didn't mean he'd admit to his new friends that he was scared to explore the entire manor all by himself. Because he liked their companionship; it was something he admittedly didn't have a lot of back home.
Orrie settled into the sheets, wondering briefly what tomorrow would bring. For now he was comfortable and safe and had companions nearby. And in two days time, when this was all over, he'd be ending one adventure as a pre-teen and starting another by officially becoming a teenager.
Pleased by the thought, Orrie drifted contently to sleep.
Deep in the lower levels of the mansion, the man in front of the monitors smiled. His staff had pulled off yet another spectacular performance today. Mr. Goodman leaned back and stretched. With his guests full of food, sound asleep, and certainly excited for tomorrow's mystery he could sit back and watch with ease, the greatest of the attraction's hurdles finally crossed. It's never easy to set a calming, relaxing air in a home blanketed with betrayal and death, but his dear employees were always up to the task of doing it, exceeding his expectations every year without fail.
He grabbed the cane by the side of his chair and used it to stand. Leaving the office, Mr. Goodman sighed to himself. Such a shame he only caught the tail end of Terry and Ms. Wheatly's act due to helping some crew members—the realism of her death scene always unnerved even the toughest of men—but he'd be sure to congratulate them nonetheless.
And speak of the devil…
"There you are. I've been meaning to talk to you, Terry." The star of the attraction was standing by the costume closet. Already he was unvested from his suit, most of his make-up gone, his voice modifying mic removed. Terry looked back, a light smile on his lips.
"Oh, hey there, Mr. Goodman. You need something?" he asked as Mr. Goodman hobbled up to him, his cane clacking loudly against the stone tiles.
"Mostly to congratulate you on another great performance. It's not natural to keep saying this but you are perhaps the best Alcor impersonator I've ever had the fortune to have." He laughed. "I bet even the real one would agree, don't you?"
"Thank you. That means a lot coming from you." Terry gestured for the elder man to follow; the latter did so slowly. "You probably didn't hear but the kitchen's a mess after Duglas Segal requested we make him a late-night snack. We're cancelling the staff dinner."
But Mr. Goodman shook his head at the news. "And miss out on your friends' cooking? For shame, Terry. You know better than to let that happen." He and his employee chuckled at the good-humored chiding. "But," he continued, his smile fading, "on a more serious note, Terry, I did not appreciate what you did to our guest." He stopped walking.
"Did to whom?" Terry's attempt to look innocently perplexed did not bode well with Mr. Goodman.
"Dipper Sterling. The one you used magic on to toss against the wall." He darkened his expression enough to tell Terry he messed up. The young man at least had the decency to look guilty. "Magic of any kind is expressively forbidden on these grounds, except in—"
"—In a case of emergency," Terry finished, interrupting the old man. "I know, I know. But that kid was so irritating. Made me look like a fool despite all the research I've done on the demon. And—" He paused, noticing the leer from his boss hadn't lessened. "And I shouldn't have retaliated like that."
"You shouldn't have retaliated at all," Mr. Goodman corrected.
A faint scowl. "…Right." Terry, after a silent moment, took a step forward. Mr. Goodman didn't follow. "Coming?"
"I'll meet you in the inner chamber in a short while. I first want to congratulate Ms. Wheatly. I wonder where she went off to."
"I heard in passing that she's already inside the chamber. If you want to catch up with her before she heads to sleep we should probably hurry." The other frowned. Why would she be there? She always came to see him first after her act.
"But why?" he voiced his concerns, to which Terry shrugged. So Mr. Goodman followed. He would have made it to the end of the hall, too, were it not for the muffled thump! of something heavy collapsing. Mr. Goodman stopped in his walk, turning his head slightly to the side. "You hear something?"
Terry didn't stop. "Like what?"
"Sounded like something fell." The sound of a door slowly creaking open sent his nerves tingling, sharp and echoing in the mostly empty hall. He spun around, noticing the closet door opening up to reveal a bunch of fallen costumes piling out.
Mr. Goodman hurried to the pile. "I'll get that!" Terry, just then noticing the old man's action, hastened over to him. But Mr. Goodman beat him, already bent and picking up the clothes. He froze when a hand caked in dried blood appeared from underneath a large shirt he'd lifted. Props had their own room, and besides he couldn't recall ever owning a prop like this. He started to pick it up when he saw it was connected to an arm. Confusion and unease growing, he shifted the costumes away to—
"What…Terry– Terry, what is going on here!?" That was Ms. Wheatly. Bloody and dead and buried beneath the clothing. A nasty wound was torn into her front side, chunks of clotted blood still seeping out. "H-how did Ms. Wheatly end up—" He happened to look to his side. Notice the black shoes of the person beside him. Spot the smudge of equally dried blood on their tips and edges. His increasingly frightened gaze slowly lifted.
The cold fury on Terry's normally calm face was intimidating enough for the old man. "I was hoping this'd go smoothly." He snapped his fingers, and Mr. Goodman was lifted off the floor against his will. Terry's scowl deepened, and with a swift flick of his fingers, the costumes and body of Ms. Wheatly were flung back into the closet. "Can't believe dumb luck of all things cost me my cover. Doesn't matter; I'll have the others move her when I'm ready."
"Others!?" Mr. Goodman's eyes widened. Was the rest of his staff in on this? Terry smirked.
"Oh, they aren't the ones you should be worried about. Now, why don't you come with me to the inner chamber, hm? I've got big plans for you." Mr. Goodman had no choice as he was levitated through the dark hallway, knowing full well they were too far underground for anyone to hear his cries for help.