Chapter 13 (*crying profusely* …You guys…*sniff*…over 100 reviews…*sniff* *sniff*…I love you guys so much… You all rock. I can never offer you enough dessert food to thank you for all your support and kind words. Thank you all!

TFR (The French Reviewer): Thank you! I'm glad you liked it! Hahaha. I'm glad I hit a good enough point of suspense/emotional pitch that you were almost crying. (yes, I know it sounds mean, but it means I'm doing a good job at writing.) DING DING DING DING! You get the prize of the week! Yes, it is a quote from Dune! You're the first one to notice, congratulations! Hope this is up soon enough for you! Thanks, I'm glad you like my writing!

Anna Banana: Hahaha, I'm glad it was scary for you! I was going for horror, so I'm glad the Black Widow at least creeped you out. Thank you! I take inspiration from a lot of sources. Books, movies, video-games, anime…yeah, you get the gist. :O That's a first! No one's ever tipped their hat at me before!

Thank you! I'm glad that the idea is interesting to you! Like I said, it's not a legitimate symptom of PTSD, and I don't think there's any real condition out there like it, but it seemed plausible enough to me that I could use it in a fanfic. Psychology? That sounds like an interesting study choice. Seems like it'd be very hard. Thank you! I thought it was a cool idea too! Horror is a fun genre, both to write and experience.

Good. Well, I mean it's good that you thought it was realistic enough that it seemed real. Hahaha. I think some other readers out there are with you on that one. XD Thank you! Hahahahaha. Yeah. Well, they thought the Black Widow was really dead and that's why they turned away. I'm glad! That means my descriptions are vivid enough, which is definitely a good thing!

No problem! I'm glad you enjoyed it, and I hope this next chapter is out soon enough for you!

Anonymous reviewer who didn't leave a name, just an emoticon that I don't know how to make: Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter so much! The Black Widow is supposed to be scary. I'm glad I got that across through my descriptions. :) Aww, don't have nightmares! You don't have a Marco there to comfort you!

Ace…I'm so horribly mean to him…Yeah. If all the things from his mind started appearing all at once…it would suck for everyone. I'm glad it's dark enough! Psychologically disturbing/creepy stuff is the scariest kind of horror to me, so that's what I've been writing. C: Hahahahahaha. No, I still haven't revealed what happened in Ace's past that gave him PTSD. Don't die of suspense or else you'll never know!

I'll try! Hope this chapter is out soon enough for you!

Anonymous reviewer with no name or signature: I'm glad you love it! I hope you enjoy this chapter too!)

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Thatch sighed.

"How much longer is this going to take?" He was currently standing in the infirmary with a worried Selma examining his arms and chest. The burns from the Black Widow's blood weren't too serious, but there were rather a lot of them. To his right, Marco sat on one of the infirmary's cots, a nurse checking his breathing and bruised neck. Jozu was also present, arm now wrapped in clean white bandages with the instructions to not remove them under any circumstances unless asked to do so by medical staff. Selma didn't reply and dabbed some kind of cream onto a particularly nasty burn. Thatch looked around the room and sighed again.

"I'm bored." He sounded almost childish. Selma didn't look up from what she was doing, rubbing more cream onto another burn.

"Well suck it up, buttercup. You're going to be here for a while." Thatch gave a groan of dismay.

"But Selma…I have to go cook dinner! " Selma grit her teeth in annoyance. She looked up into Thatch's face.

"Do you want tissue necrosis? Would you prefer your skin to turn white, grey, or black?" She gestured to Thatch's right hand, which was more seriously burned than his left. "Do you want to lose that hand? Do you want to have trouble breathing or cough up blood? No? Then let me do my damn job." She went back to her work, Thatch staring at her in shock. Marco chuckled quietly from his position on the cot, shaking his head. He brought himself to his feet, rubbing his neck absently. His voice was a little hoarse from the abuse to his throat, and the nurse had told him to speak as little as possible. He crossed the room, smirking at Thatch as he passed. He stopped next to Ace's bed. He looked down at the boy, face clouding with confusion. How can what Serpent said be true? How could a monster like that be thought up by a 10-year-old boy? They had shut his eyes and now it looked like he was merely unconscious as opposed to just…gone.

Thatch gave another dismayed sigh as Selma started wrapping his arms and torso in clean white bandages. Gah…this is taking so long. Selma finished and stepped back. Thatch moved his arms experimentally, pleased to see that despite the bandages he retained a full range of motion. He grinned at Selma.

"Thanks Doc!" She sighed, feigning annoyance, but Thatch saw her smile. She loved it when people referred to her as doctor. Thatch turned towards the door, intending to head down to the kitchens to begin preparing dinner, but he saw Marco standing completely still, head turned to the side, a look of deep concentration on his face. Thatch walked up to him, confused.

"…What's the matter, Marco?" Marco raised his hand, palm towards Thatch.

"Quiet. Do you hear that?" Everyone in the room fell silent. After a moment, Thatch did hear it and his eyes widened. Barely audible, but there nonetheless. It was muted, as if coming from far away, but Thatch could still hear every note. Echoing from somewhere on the ship, a barrel organ was playing. Thatch's brows furrowed.

"I know that song…" London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down. London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady. "But where's it coming from?" Marco turned to him, face serious.

"Let's find out." He glanced at Ace. "The last time I checked, nobody on this ship was in possession of a barrel organ." He looked at Thatch meaningfully. Thatch swallowed and nodded, face set.

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Thatch and Marco walked cautiously down the hallway, following the sound of the music. London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down.

London Bridge is falling down, on my shoulders.

The bone beneath will bend and break, bend and break, bend and break.

The bone beneath will bend and break, and what comes after?

Marco stopped for an instant and shook his head. Those aren't the lyrics. Where did those come from? Marco listened intently for any other sound. But besides the growing music, there were none. Marco and Thatch headed down hallway after hallway, searching for the source of the sound. Finally they stopped at the end of one corridor. Thatch's face was dead serious.

"Whatever it is, it's in the galley." They walked down this hallway even slower, senses attuned to any flicker of movement or hint of any sound besides the music.

The double doors to the galley were wide open.

Marco and Thatch carefully looked into the room. Both were shocked into stillness by what they saw. Inside the galley were over 100 people. All were dressed as if for a grand ball. The women wore hoop skirts that shone with color and the men elegant tailcoats of deep blue or black. The tables of the galley had been pushed to the sides of the room, arranged in long rows. Plates and silverware had been set out elegantly, all polished to a shine. Candelabras rested on the table, giving simple illumination over the pure white tablecloth. Hanging above the room was a grand crystal chandelier, casing the whole room in a yellow-gold light. Minute gemstones twinkled on the ladies dresses. The center of the room was clear, but for the people. They all moved dreamily, all in synchronization. They were all waltzing. There was one man who was not dancing, standing near the edge of the room. He was dressed nicely, though not as grandly as the dancers. He looked more like a butler or footman. He saw Marco and Thatch looking in the door and approached with a warm smile on his face. When he reached them, he bowed elegantly.

"Good evening, gentlemen. You're running very close to late. But Mr. Savage shouldn't mind, dinner hasn't been served yet. The party has already started, I hope you don't mind." Inside the room the music stopped. The man turned to face the room, smile on his face. "Ladies, gentlemen! Please." The dancers had stopped moving the instant the music had stopped, freezing in their waltz positions, halfway through a step. Each smiled, turning to look at the man. They then turned back to look straight at their partners, resuming their earlier positions. Still moving in perfect synchronization, each raised a hand to their face.

And pulled it off.

Beneath the face, there was nothing but blackness. Each face retained its shape, like a porcelain doll's. The faces still smiled, and the eyes were still bright and alive. Each hand moved in perfect, unnatural unison, raising their own faces away from themselves, turning the faces to look at themselves. Still moving at a dreamy pace, smiles still present on the disembodied faces, they reached out towards their partner. Each placed their own face over the cavity of their partner. As soon as this was finished, the butler clapped his hands twice and the music restarted. The dancers resumed their waltzing, each smiling with their partner's face.

Marco and Thatch watched the whole thing with equal expressions of horror. The butler turned back to them, smiling.

"Please, do come in. I believe all the dancers have been paired with one another, but feel free to watch. Dinner will be served shortly." The man turned away and walked back to his earlier position against the wall. Marco and Thatch remained outside the door, still staring at the dancers. All of them were acting perfectly normal, all moving in perfect harmony. Each smile was as genuine as anything, and as the music played each continued spinning and looping in their partner's arms. Eventually the music stopped again, and again the dancers froze. The butler stepped forward, smiling.

"Ladies, gentlemen. Dinner is served." Again each person turned their head to look at the man, smiling politely. Each man led each woman to a seat at one of the tables, pulling out her chair for her before she sat. Each man took his place beside his dancing partner, and there was no conflict over where someone should sit. All the women were seated at exactly the same time, everyone moving exactly the same way at exactly the same time. All the men sat at the same time, each pulling out their own chair and sitting at the same moment. Each hand grabbed a napkin and placed it on their lap. Each left hand grabbed an elegant silver fork, and each right hand lifted a smooth silver knife. The butler remained at the head of the room, smiling politely, watching the whole scene unfold. Thatch turned to Marco, speaking quietly so only he could hear.

"I don't like this. I really, really don't like this." Marco nodded, feeling his own trepidation and caution. He kept his eyes on the dancers, though. Each and every one of them was still smiling. Holding their forks and knives as if waiting for the cue to begin eating, but there was no food. The butler took a few steps forward so he was in the middle of the dance floor and snapped his fingers. Again all of the dancer's faces turned towards him and smiled. They faced forwards again, still smiling, and each raised their right hand, turning the knife so that it pointed towards them. Still moving with dreamy slowness, still smiling, each slowly stabbed themselves in the chest. Marco and Thatch gasped.

Each person continued moving, none flinched or responded as if they felt pain. Each right hand proceeded, moving downwards and opening their own chest cavity with the knife. Blood stained the white dress shirts and colorful dresses, dowsing the tablecloth red as well. But each kept their small, elegant smile. And all moved in perfect synchronization. Once the opening had been made, blood dribbling down the chest, each right hand set down its knife on the blood-covered tablecloth. Moving with dreamy slowness, all of them again lifted their now empty right hand, moving it towards their chests. They reached inside the gaping hole up to their wrists. Each hand slowly drew out, each holding something in their hands. Marco felt sick. Thatch gagged. The butler turned to them, still smiling.

"What's wrong? I told you, dinner is served." Still moving at their dreamy pace, each hand set a bloody heart on their plate, the hearts still beating sluggishly. The hands again picked up their knives. They turned the blades in their hands so that they were pointing downwards out of the bottom of the closed hands. Once more they raised the knives. The butler continued smiling, staring at Marco and Thatch. He too raised his right hand, and snapped his fingers again. In unison the knives moved, no longer at a hypnotically slow pace. There was a loud sound of metal meeting glass as each knife stabbed through each heart and collided with the plate beneath. The dancers went still. All were in exactly the same position. The hearts beat one last time, and finally lay still. The butler looked around the room, smile still on his face. There was a moment of terrible silence.

"…I suppose it's my turn now." He walked towards one of the tables, but stopped suddenly, smile falling from his face, eyes widening. "No. Wait. I don't want-" His body was tense and would twitch every now and again. He took a few halting steps forward, towards the table. He seemed to struggle against himself, again coming to a stop. "I don't want to die! Mr. Savage, why? You promised…you said there would be no more fear. But the face of death is terrifying!" His body, seemingly against his will, continued towards the table. He reached it and pulled one of the knives out of the still hearts. As his hand raised up his eyes widened. "No! No! Mr. Savage, I don't want to go there! The circus has ended and the animals lie starving in their cages, eyes rotted out of their heads! The darkness, the void, it scares me! I don't want-" Abruptly he fell silent. His struggling ceased and his body relaxed. Marco and Thatch looked at him from behind, not daring to move any closer.

His body moved, puppet-like, turning around to face Marco and Thatch. His eyes were hugely widened, white showing all the way around the iris. He gave them a grin. "But I forgot…how much fun the circus is." He took a step towards them. "The lions were always my favorite." Another step. "They had the most blood in them." Another step. "A girl fell off the trapeze. Broke her leg." The grin seemed to widen. "Couldn't get away in time, you know." He stopped about 10 feet away from them, raising the knife. "We all laughed like hyenas." He brought the knife down, carving open his chest like the others and bringing out his heart, holding it in his left hand. "Because, as you know, everyone's happy these days." As he said it his left hand closed slowly, crushing the heart in an iron grip. Blood poured from between his fingers and strips of flesh hung down. The man went still like the others, neither falling nor moving again. The grin remained frozen on his face, eyes staring sightlessly out of his head. Marco and Thatch stared at him for a moment, but he neither spoke nor moved. Thatch was the first to speak.

"…I think it's over." Marco nodded, feeling nausea. Thatch swallowed, then took a step forward into the room. Abruptly the candles on the chandelier and candelabras went out. All of the heads turned to look at Thatch, some of them turning unnaturally far, accompanied by the sound of breaking bones. They all grinned at him, faces starved and dead looking. The skin hanging off the faces was grey, the bones showing through. All were unnaturally thin and their clothes no longer looked elegant but were in stages of decomposition, moth-eaten and faded. Their eyes were gone, leaving only black cavities as if they had rotted out. Thatch gasped and stepped back and abruptly everything in the room vanished. Marco blinked, shook his head, and looked around the room. The tables were back where they normally went, the chandelier was gone, as well as the blood-covered silverware and tablecloth. The figures were gone too. Marco and Thatch stared around the room for another minute, then cautiously walked through it, searching for any remaining horrors. There were none. Both breathed a sigh of relief. Marco turned to Thatch.

"We have to tell Oyaji what's going on. We also need to talk to Serpent, she's the only one that seems to have any clue as to what's going on with Ace right now. We're going to need her help to get him back as soon as possible before these nightmares really hurt anyone." Thatch nodded in agreement.

"I'll find the cat, you go talk to Oyaji." They headed off in separate directions, trying to push away the lingering horror of what they had seen.

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Fifteen minutes later, Serpent found herself seated in the infirmary with Marco, Thatch, Whitebeard, Selma, and as many other people as could comfortably fit into the room. She sighed. How is it possible that these people are so stupid? She had been trying to explain for the last half an hour about the various illusions now frequenting the Moby Dick.

"No, like I said, these things aren't real. Your mind, though, perceives them to be real. These things are a threat because if your mind thinks you've been killed, it'll stop telling your heart to beat and then you'll really die."

"That's possible?" Serpent searched for the speaker in the crowd and faced them to address them personally.

"Yes. It's basically the same premise as a dream. If you see yourself die in a dream your mind will shut down. Basically, by waking Ace, we'd also be stopping these creatures from appearing because his Haki would be back under control and not just throwing itself about." Serpent's eyes narrowed. "There's just one problem, though." Marco, who was leaning against a wall, turned to look at Serpent.

"And what would that be?" She looked to him

"Ace has been trying to come back all this time. But something is holding him prisoner inside his own mind." Everyone looked troubled. Serpent looked between Marco and Thatch. "You two have seen both of the apparitions since Ace left, can you tell me anything that might give us a clue as to who's holding him there?" Marco and Thatch exchanged a glance. Thatch spoke.

"The Black Widow was trying to kill us the entire time she was around, so I don't think that helps at all. With the last one…I don't know what to tell you. Is there anything in particular you're looking for?" Marco's face was troubled, deep in thought. Serpent looked to Thatch.

"Well, what can you tell me about the figures you saw in the galley? Was there anything strange about any of them?" Thatch quirked an eyebrow.

"You mean besides the fact that they all removed their own faces and then tore out their hearts?" Serpent rolled her eyes.

"Yes, Thatch. Besides that. And the sarcasm is my job, not yours." Marco blinked and looked up.

"Serpent, I don't know if this means anything to you, but both the Black Widow and the butler spoke of the fear of dying using exactly the same words. 'The face of death is terrifying'." He paused. Serpent was looking away, and she also seemed to be thinking, running the words through her mind. Marco thought back over the details of the two encounters. "Also, I don't know if it's important, but the butler mentioned someone named Mr. Savage." Serpent's eyes snapped back up onto him. Her voice was intense and she spoke quickly.

"Are you sure that's what he said?" Marco was startled, but nodded. Serpent exhaled slowly, blinking several times. "This is bad." Thatch was looking at her in concern.

"What does that mean?" Serpent took a deep breath.

"Mr. Savage is not one of the creations of Ace's imagination. He was planted there, and made to look so he would blend in with the others." Marco was confused.

"What do you mean 'planted?'" Serpent was pacing now.

"Mr. Savage isn't part of Ace's psyche. He's basically the accumulation of fear, violence, and hatred from when-" Serpent cut herself off, continuing to pace agitatedly. "The problem is that he's incredibly strong. Ace isn't going to be coming back without our help. Mr. Savage wants to take over Ace's mind. It's-" Selma shivered.

"Is it cold in here, or is it just me?" Serpent froze, looking about the room quickly. Her eyes locked on a certain point and she gasped, darting across the room. Everyone turned to see where she was going. Serpent stopped in front of the room's mirror. She was staring at it intently. Marco looked at the mirror itself and blinked. The mirror was no longer showing a reflection of the room, but was more like a window. Through the glass was a thick shroud of mist, and Marco couldn't see farther than 10 feet. The ground was black and rocky. Marco saw something moving in the mist, a hazy shape drawing nearer. His eyes widened and he moved closer to the mirror.

Ace ran at full force. Fear was like a brick in his chest, but he forced himself on. He was being led somewhere safe, he was told. He panted heavily as he was led through the mist, the cold air biting his lungs. Behind him he could hear the footsteps. His fear doubled. He pushed himself to run even faster. He looked ahead of him and blinked. Please let that be what I think it is. He drew closer and felt a touch of hope burn inside him. Yes. It really is a looking glass. His guide tried to lead him on, but he pulled the two of them to a stop just before it. Ace touched the mirror's surface, shutting his eyes and concentrating deeply for a moment. He looked back up at the mirror, still panting heavily. Through it he could see the infirmary of the Moby Dick. The people through the glass were staring at him in wonder and astonishment. Whitebeard moved towards the mirror, face showing deep concern. Ace pressed his hands up to the glass, and Whitebeard brought his own hands up opposite them. Ace looked up into the larger man's eyes, terror plain on his face. Ace looked over his shoulder, hearing the footsteps fast approaching. He felt his terror growing. His guide tugged at his wrist.

"We have to go. Now." Ace shook them off and blew on the mirror, fogging part of it over. He hastily brought his and up, writing quickly. The footsteps grew closer, moving incredibly fast. He spun around, turning to face his follower. It charged at him full force, and he threw himself to the side, barely dodging. It turned to look after Ace, about to follow him, but it seemed to sense the people watching it. It turned back to the mirror, glaring out at the people assembled in the infirmary and Whitebeard, who was still closest to the glass. It brought its hand up and slammed it forward, completely shattering the mirror.

Marco stared at the mirror in shock. Because of the fog and darkness, he hadn't been able to see what it was that was pursuing Ace. Ace's fear-filled face was frozen in Marco's head. His chest had been heaving, as if he'd been running hard. When whatever it was following Ace had smashed the mirror, the image had gone out, replaced by the mirror's usual reflection. Thatch turned to look at Serpent.

"What was that?" Serpent was staring at the mirror, shock written on her face.

"That…that was Mr. Savage."

Marco continued to stare at the mirror, eyes wide. He barely heard the conversation going on in the background. It seemed distant and unimportant. Ace's hasty handwriting was etched into his mind. That one word.

HELP!

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(A/N: This chapter was…meh. At least I thought it was. We'll see what you guys think. The cliffhanger at the end of this one definitely wasn't up to par with earlier chapters. I hope I got the creepiness of the dinner party across well enough. In my mind I can picture it really clearly and it even creeps me out sometimes… Oh! I forgot to say this at the beginning of this Author's Notes!

THE PLOT THICKENS!

Sorry, that's like my favorite expression ever. XD Anyway, let me know what you guys thought of this chapter! Anyone got any guesses on where the plot's going to go? I'm curious to see what you guys think is going to happen. Anyway, review! I do my best to respond to each and every one of you, so don't be shy! It really helps me to know if you guys are enjoying this as much as I am. All your kind words help move me to update this quickly. Want continued quick updates? Review! Also, I feel it's important to tell you this. My schedule is going to get super busy starting Monday, so it may be a while until the next chapter, assuming I don't get it out this weekend. Thanks for the 100+ reviews~! You all make writing so much more worthwhile I can't even tell you how important to me each and every review is! Love you all! ~Mountain97)