Chapter 35
Treehouse of Hor- uh, Terror
or
Take it Away, Gerald
Mighty Pete
-HELGA-
A.N.: For the purpose of not over-cluttering the story, I'm just going to list everyone's costumes right now.
Helga: The grim reaper
Gerald: Frankenstein's Monster
Phoebe: The Bride of Frankenstein
Rhonda: Samara (the creepy well girl from The Ring)
Stinky: Dracula
Nadine: A parasitic wasp
Sid: a mummy
Wolfgang: Jason Voorhees
Lila: The evil nun from The Conjuring
Brainy: The Cryptkeeper
Curly: A mad scientist
Sheena: a zombie
Rani: a she-devil
Eugene: Igor
Scott: Slender Man
It was a dark and stormy night…
Well, not stormy, no, but it was chilly, and foggy, and just gloomy in general. The perfect ambience for the perfect night.
October 31st. The best day of any year. Horror movies on every channel, free candy, the opportunity to turn yourself into a living nightmare… what could be better? Of course, at our current age, trick-or-treating was looked down upon (with the exception of Rhonda, who conveniently had a little sister she could escort). Even without legalized candy begging, however, there was still plenty of fun to be had on this night of nights. Most of the time, there would be a huge costume party, usually at Rhonda's r Arnold's; this year, the gang had opted for a more intimate get-together. It was a cool but clear night, and there was one location that provided the perfect ambience for a Halloween gathering; the treehouse nestled among Mighty Pete's branches. We had everything we needed… costumes, snacks, eerie lighting, a laptop setup for scary movies and the annual ritual viewing of "Treehouse of Horror", and, of course, scary stories.
Although, not everyone's definition of scary lines up…
"An' they say that, on cold October nights, if you listen to the wind real close, you can hear the plaintive, haunting howl of… Monkeycat."
Stinky waited for the reaction to the conclusion of his, let's be kind, horror story, flashlight still held under his chin (or where his chin should have been), but was rewarded only with silence and eye rolls.
"I must say that when you're right, you're right, Sid," Rani finally spoke up. "That was the lamest story ever."
"It weren't lame!" protested Stinky. "It was a nightmarish cautionary tale of science gone horribly, horribly wrong!"
"Well," I said, "after this and Sheena's riveting tale of the haunted chicken coop, we're 0 for 2 so far."
"I still say there's nothing more terrifying than factory farming," maintained Sheena.
"Right, so anyone else got any ripping yarns? Or can we just get to tonight's screening of Die Laughing III? You know, something actually scary?
"I have something," Curly replied eagerly. "Something that'll make you wish you all wore diapers."
"Nobody cares about your weird fetishes, Curly," Rani interjected.
"No, because it's so scary you'll pee yourselves!"
"Hey, if you're into that sort of thing, I'm not judging, I just don't wanna hear about it."
"I'm not into – and you're just winding me up, aren't you," he realized. "Anyway… this tale's called –"
"…the Ghost Bride?" I interrupted. Poor twisted freak's been trying to tell this one every year since we started.
"…no, it's… it's called… The Phantom Groom…"
"…Curly, just… stop. It's just sad at this point." Gerald advised.
"C'mon… it's been seven years! You guys can't still be mad about that one time…"
Ignoring him, I continued, "Someone's gotta have something. What about you, Geraldo? C'mon. You're like the king of creepy shit."
"Mmm… it's true. I am the master. But it's been a long time. I'm out of practice."
"Aw, c'mon…" insisted Sid. "It's been forever, man."
"Well…" Gerald considered. "There has been something I've been saving for just the right occasion. And, as it just so happens… it happened right at this very location." Cue gasps. One thing I will always give Gerald credit for; the guy knows how to hook an audience. "Play me in, Sid."
"The legend of… actually, I legit have no idea where this is going, but, apparently, there's a tale, and our own Gerald is the keeper of that tale. Take it away, Gerald."
"Friends, many are the hours we have whiled away in the arms of Mighty Pete. But have you ever stopped to ask yourselves, just where this majestic oak got its name? Our story begins in the year 1834, when the city that would one day come to be known as Hillwood was nothing more than a humble fishing village. A tiny settlement of less than a hundred people, eking out their modest living from the bounty of the sea. And among those intrepid men of the briny, none were more renowned than the one called Mighty Pete. While other fishermen were content to bring home the small fry, Mighty Pete went after only the giants of the sea.
"One day, a day like any other, Mighty Pete and his crew set out to sea, hoping to find that day's catch. The seas were rough that day. Mighty Pete's ship was continuously rocked by swells the size of a house. But through it all, he steered it strong and true, for he knew, that the tiny fishing town depended on his crew. And, so, onward, into the coming storm, he pressed, his ship buffeted left and right by squalls. His crew demanded they turn back, but Mighty Pete would have none of it. And so, the crew came to a sinister conclusion; to save their own lives, Mighty Pete had to go. The only question was, how would the heinous deed be done, and who would do it? The lot was cast, and the gruesome responsibility fell on First Mate Mitchell. The plan was settled upon; when storm was at its worst, when Pete was at his most distracted, First Mate Mitchell would push him overboard, and the vengeful sea would take care of the rest.
"The closer the fateful moment approached, however, the more Mitchell found his resolve beginning to fade. How could he do such a thing to his captain? And yet, as the storm raged on, and Pete refused to turn back, it became clear that his unbridled hubris would get them all killed. And so, as the storm reached its peak, Mitchell approached his Captain from behind, resolved to perform the horrible, but all-too-necessary act that would doom one, to save many."
"But fate had plans of its own that day. No sooner had Mitchell made up his mind, than a swell larger than any before struck the vessel. The boat rocked violently, and before Mitchell could complete his unspeakable task, Pete fell overboard all on his own. Mitchell could scarcely believe his own luck; the decision had been taken out of his hands, and neither he nor his crewmates would bear guilt for the Captain's death.
"Or so he thought. Having assumed that the sea had claimed his captain, Mitchell was surprised by a shout of 'Avast!' off the starboard hull. He looked down to see Mighty Pete, locked in a desperate struggle to remain afloat against the undertow. In his heart, Mitchell was unsurprised; he knew that Pete was so stubborn that even against the immortal, all-powerful sea, he wouldn't go down without a fight. But even he could not last against Poseidon's wrath forever. As their eyes locked, Mitchell could see that Pete's great strength was fading, and soon, he would be dragged down to Davy Jones's locker.
"And yet, there was still a chance that he could be saved. All that was needed was for Mitchell to throw Mighty Pete a rope and haul him back up. No one would face the blame for anything, and life would go on…
"Until the growing storm winds and Mighty Pete's unbridled overconfidence would seal all their fates permanently, he realized. And so, with the guilt gnawing at his soul, Mitchell turned his back on the captain for the last time.
"'Ye traitorous bilge rat!' called Mighty Pete. 'How dare ye turn yer back on yer captain! I'll see t'it that ye get yer foul reward, even if I have t'crawl back from the depths of Hell t'do it!' And with this final curse, Mighty Pete, his strength finally spent, sank deep down to a watery grave. And with the Captain finally dead, Mitchell gave the order to return to port, to the joyful shouts of his crew.
"And, that seemed as though it was the end to it. The residents of what would one day be Hillwood chalked Mighty Pete's death up to an unavoidable nautical accident, and in time all would be forgotten. The days wore on into weeks, then months, until finally a year had passed since the fateful day. Once more, it was time for the fishing vessel to go out to sea. Mitchell, now the Captain, set out to round up his crew. One by one, he sought them out, but the cook, Mr. Shenkarow, was nowhere to be found. They searched high and low for him, and were about to give up, until one of the deckhands caught an unpleasant odor coming from beneath the dock. There, Mr. Shenkarow was found, strangled, bits of seaweed still clinging to his neck, the unmistakable stench of decay mingled with the salty smell of brine.
"Over the next several days, one by one, the members of crew were found in similar fashion. First, the rigger, McAfee, was found, hung from his own yardarm. Then, ship's carpenter Hack, bludgeoned to death with an oar. And so on, until the only one eft was Mitchell, who knew he had to get as far away from the village, and the sea, as he could. And so he ran, deep into the woods, hoping whatever curse was stalking the crew of the ship wouldn't follow.
"He ran for a full day, not stopping, until he reached a clearing in the middle of the woods. It was then, exhausted, that he finally allowed himself the luxury of rest; in truth, he could go no farther, for in his fear, he had not eaten or slept since the death of Mr. Shenkarow, and it had taken its toll.
"And then he heard them, shambling, uneven footsteps approaching. The footsteps… of the living dead. He struggled to look up, but knew exactly what he would see… there he was, his old Captain, risen from the depths, lurching forward slowly and unnaturally, covered in seaweed; his clothing tattered and soaked in seawater despite having chased his prey across dry land for a full day; his flesh, that which the denizens of the deep hadn't consumed, half hanging off his bones; his empty eye sockets seeking out his quarry through some arcane, supernatural form of sight, a sight that saw not light, but guilt.
"Mitchell knew if he'd been in peak condition, perhaps he could have outrun him, for a while. That's the thing about the dead; they don't get tired. The don't get hungry or thirsty. He knew that, eventually, the Captain would get him, because he was only driven by one hunger… a hunger for vengeance. As it was, he no longer had the strength to run or fight… He looked up to his stalker and begged 'Mercy…' with his last breath, but it was to no avail; the last thing Captain Mitchell saw was the weathered, decayed face of the late Mighty Pete as his bony fingers closed around his throat.
"Captain Mitchell was never seen again, but it's said that his body was buried on the very spot where this tree grew. What's more, it's said that on All Hallow's Eve, when the vel between the worlds of the dead and the living is at its weakest, you can see the ghost of the betrayed sea captain beneath this tree, this tree named after that very same Captain…. Mighty Pete. The end."
Cue applause. "Damn, you still got it, Gerald," I remarked.
"Yeah, that story had everything," added Wolfgang. "Murder… betrayal… um, boats…"
"All right, sweetie, you can uncover your ears now, it's over," Curly said, prodding Sheena, who had firmly clamped her hands over her ears and was humming softly to herself.
"Oh… uh… I guess everyone could see that," she said blushing.
"It… wasn't that bad," Lila added, despite looking almost as green as she did in her mutant form.
"Uh… I have a few questions," Nadine asked. "For one… it takes years and years for an oak to grow. By the time it would be grown, how would anyone remember what Mighty Pete looked like?"
"Yes, actually I'm a bit skeptical myself," added Phoebe. "If nobody saw Mitchell again and his body was never found, how dd anyone know this was where he was killed?"
"They do make some rather compelling points," Scott conceded. "Furthermore… if the entire crew was murdered, how does anyone know how Mighty Pete died in the first place?"
"Who caaaaares," I whined. "It's just a stupid urban legend. It doesn't have to make sense."
"It's actually kind of more of a tall tale," Brainy remarked. "Urban legends are more… well… urban."
"Regardless!" I said. "It's not like any of this crap ever actually happened!"
"I'm pretty sure Wheezin' Ed happened, considering we kind of, well, killed him."
"Technically, he was in the process of dying anyway," corrected Phoebe, "we merely accelerated the process by exhausting his stamina."
"Fine, exception that proves the rule. My point is: this whole thing was a bunch of made-up junk designed to give us all a cheap thrill on Halloween. Don't read too much into it."
"…wait, back up a minute," Scott asked. "You people killed a guy?"
"Ohh, crap… you weren't supposed to have heard that. It's hard to remember just who knows what in this group…" I mumbled taking a deep breath. "Okay… a bunch of us are mutants and part-time superheroes, we once fought Wheezin' Ed who it turns out was real, alive, and a monster, and we technically weren't the ones who killed him but he did die while fighting us, don't tell anyone. That's about the general gist of it. Anyway, on that note, I say we start the movie."
"But I have sooooo many questions…" protested Scott before he was cut off by a thumping on the treehouse's trap door.
"Who could that be?" mused Eugene. "I'm pretty sure we're all here…"
"Maybe Harold smelled the pizza from California and ran over," suggested Sid half-jokingly, It was always a possibility with him.
"Better check, then," I said, opening the trap door. A bunch of us looked down. In the gloom of the night, it was almost impossible to tell… other than it was green and covered in what looked like seaweed."
"AWP! The ghost of Mighty Pete! Or maybe his zombie! It's dark and hard to tell!" Sid exclaimed, slamming the trap door on the mystery interloper.
"What?" asked Rhonda. "What's going on? I can't see anything through this stupid wig! The sacrifices I make for authenticity…"
"You heard me!" Sid retorted. "It's a g-g-g-ghost zombie!"
"Ah, for the love of- it's not a ghost or a zombie!" I stated. "It's probably some chump Gerald hired to dress up and scare us."
"Don't look at me," Gerald protested. "I just made all that crap up right now! I never had the time to hire anyone!"
"Then it's the real thing!" whimpered Sid.
"Jinkies!" exclaimed Phoebe.
"What? Don't tell me you buy into this, Pheebs? Also… you never say that!"
"I've been known to on occasion," huffed Phoebe. "Besides… given all the odd occurrences we've seen over the years, even my healthy skepticism has limits."
The thumping began again, more insistent this time.
"We've angered him," Wolfgang whined. "When we wouldn't let him in, we angered him! He won't go away until we're all dead!"
The thumping came again, harder, angrier. "Don't let him in!" pleaded Stinky. "He'll kill us all and drag our souls down to Davy Jones' locker!"
"Screw that," I said. "Zombie ghost or not, there's only one of him and over a dozen of us. I say we can take him. Now who's with me!"
Sheena shrugged. "I guess violence doesn't count if he's already dead."
"All right…. On three, I'm going to open the door, and we all dogpile the sucker! One, two… three!"
I flung open the door. "Finally!" the figure growled, scrambling in, only to be tackled by a dozen frightened teenagers.
"Please forgive us, o vengeful spirit, but it's either you or us," apologized Wolfgang.
"Hang on," Sheena pointed out. "This isn't seaweed. It's expired kale."
"How can you tell?" asked Rhonda.
"Trust me. I know kale when I see it," Sheena stated proudly.
Truth was, now that we could see it properly, the figure looked less like a vengeful spirit and more like a guy in a swamp monster costume.
"Get offa me, guys!" the "spirit" demaded, his mask making it hard to tell just who was under it.
"…maybe we did get a little carried away," admitted Curly.
"Now let's see who this guy really is," suggested Brainy. "What? Phoebe said 'jinkies'…"
"I have said it before…" insisted Phoebe.
"Just do it already," I interjected. "This s already stupid enough."
"All right…" Gerald replied, yanking off the mask. Everyone gasped except Rhonda.
"What? Who is it? I still can't see anything!" she complained.
"Iggy?"
Oh, right. I always forget he exists for some reason.
"Dudes, I said I'd be late! What's the matter with you?"
"Sorry, guy," Gerald apologized. "One of my urban legends –"
"Tall tales" corrected Brainy.
"-got a little too real, and I guess things got a little out of hand."
"You told an urban legend? Aw, man… I always miss the cool stuff," he complained.
"Well, I'm not sure any movie can top that." Eugene stated. I think I'm about ready to call it a night." A bunch of others agreed; apparently, they'd had enough scares for one night.
"Lightweights." I shivered. "But it's kinda getting a little too cold to hang out here. Anyone up for watching the movie back at my place?"
Rhonda shrugged. "As long as I can take this wig off." She removed it. "Oh, so that's what everyone's wearing."
"…yeah, about that… just what are you supposed to be anyway, Nadine?" Rani asked.
"Parasitic wasp," she stated. "They're the necromancers of the insect world."
"Bugs that make zombies. As if they weren't creepy enough…" I muttered.
The party went their separate ways, with a bunch of us making our way back to my apartment, carrying my laptop. Along the way, our path was blocked by a stray cat just sitting there, facing away.
"Hmm… I don't see a collar… must be a stray," Phoebe suggested.
"Well, I'm not taking it in. I just gave Olga's cat back, I don't need to deal with another one. Hey! Move it, bucko! Higher mammals coming through!"
"Are you?" the cat replied.
"…what the…" I muttered, as the cat slowly turned, revealing… it had the head of a rhesus monkey.
"Boo." It said, sending everyone running away, screaming.
"I told y'all it was scary," Stinky stated, vindicated.
A.N.: Happy Halloween! Yes, I actually got this chapter finished in time! What'd you all think?
Veganmama: Originally, Rhonda was going to be the one to score the winning touchdown, but I decided that would be cliché'd, and it would be more in keeping with the themes of the chapter to have her instead give up the chance for personal glory and finally get accepted as a team player. And doing it using the skill that was her weakest.
Jose: Yes, even though he's a malaprop machine, I wanted to show that when it came down to it, Jack can actually be a pretty good coach.
Next: The Final Temptation of Monkeyman