( a fan fic based on the original game)
A candle burned in the darkness, its flame growing low and thin and the wind began to blow. Like a torment in time it wavered to one side as the wind blew there was a long silence that could numb the thoughts of any grown man and then..
CLANG! Bump.
Thomas sat up in the car seat unsure of where he was. The dream lay heavy on his mind and he slowly began to gather his thoughts. The landscape sped by and he began to grumble at the horrible transporation he had aquired. He focused his eyes on the antique car and muttered under his breath.
"Is there something wrong Mr Hartwood?" The driver intoned.
"No, I just dozed off, thats all." Jonathan remarked.
The car like the bump in the road had been one of many on this trip of circumstance. His uncle Jeremy Hartwood had died, reportedly of suicide and its occurance had caused a quiet uproar in the local community. Aparently the family mansion ,if you could call it that, was something of a rumor mill. The locals had a long standing belief that it was home to demons and ghost and the Harwood name went along with it.
So when it came to hailing a taxi to check out the old place it was a nightmare in itself. There were only two taxi companies in the small town and most of the drivers didn't want to bother with driving out to the old estate. The roads consisting of back roads, some crossing a few wet areas, made the treck difficult to find a driver. Let alone a car that could handle it. Eventually he headed back to the local lawyer who was the executor of the will. Mr Green, the lawyer had offered to have the city's taxi service take Jonathan to the mansion but he intially declined believing that the lawyer would rip him off. Finally taking advantage of Mr Green's offer Jonathan was suprised at the car that awaited him. It was a rebuilt model-T ford in excelent condition. However the car was anything but excelent. The engine was of a modern make and it reved and hummed like a firecracker inside an empty oil drum. It wasnt the engine, just how it sounded in the frame. The car had no shocks and the seats were almost as hard on Jeremy's back. It was a bastard car that looked good, performed ok, but felt lousy as hell.
In a miserable attempt to break the ice the driver quiped.
"It's not really the heat Mr Hartwood, its the humidity. You'll get used to it."
The driver was right but Jonathan could care less. He had previously met the driver in one of his attempts to secure a taxi and was on less than kind terms with him.
"I'm not planning to stay, I'm just checking the place out."
Though the driver might have felt better talking to his passenger but Jonathan was not going to let their previous encouter go forgotten.
"I understand. Who could stand to live in a place like THAT. Whew!" He glanced back to guage Jon's expression. "I mean what with all the rumors about the place being haunted, it could get on a persons nerve living there. Way out in the middle of nowhere and all." He added in an attempt to make his pervious comment seem less than noteworthy.
The car rattled along as the wet grass overgrown lands began to give way to a more solid foundation of earth and soil. Jonathan sighed as the garden lines of the property came into view. Long ago it had been well a simple but well cut lawn with rows of azelias and bushes. What had once been the outer reaches of the property were ignored completely, left to become overgrown with tall weeds, saplings, and dreadfull masses of vines that were once bushes. As the inner thicket was reached it gave way to the overall illusion of having been kept up but even that was false enough to see through. Hedges were left overgrown too long and the atempt in trying to reign them in ended up with massive holes where dead branches were removed, surfaces undulateing as if mimicking a treeline instead of the once square time garden state it once was. Even the lawn was spared no decency. Cut unusually high, rows of once freshly cut grass lay rotting on the ground in long heaps. Weeds having taken over at some point forced areas of the lawn into darkness as the lower house walls were spattered with their remenants. Chips, blades, & hunks of grass stuck to the lower sideing and brick as if violently thrown from a weed eater and left with no concious thought of their final destination. It was no doubt the bang slopy job of a real estate agent or Mr Green feeling that the place needed 'some' decent appearance. Though thoughtfull it may have been it only ground in the fact that the house was doomed as a real estate nightmare.
It was no longer the pristine palace he once imagined it and he dwelled on how massive time had changed it since his childhood. The sky rumbled and began to darken with the signs of an unwelcomed storm. When he had agreed to Mr. Greens transport option it had been around 3 and was informed that it would take a good hour and a half to get to the mansion. The storm was easy to see at that time and Green had suggested that he wait untill the next day before inspecting the house for any value. With less than half an hour of light left before the storm decended upon him he began mulling over the idea of turning back, taking green up on his offer, but by then the card had stoped at the stone gate at the front of the house. The stop shook his mind free of the decision and he decided he might as well run in and get what he came here for. He got out of the car and walked over to the driver who was less than happy at his current situation.
"I'll only be 10 minuets. I'll be right back out."
The driver nodded and gave a blatantly false smile. Jon reguarded him for a moment giving him a long stare and wondered if the driver would auctually stay behind waiting for him. Neither driver or he wanted to be here out in the storm. He pulled out a twentie and handed it to the driver.
"Only 10 minuets. and youll get another 20. Ok?"
The driver turned the bill over in his hand and looked up at jon with an equal amount of suspicion. He shruged and his somewhat false demeanor droped away to an atypical expression of lazyness.
"Sure. But if lighting strikes im out of here. These back roads get flooded easily and I sure as hell ain't gona be stuck out here over night. Not even in this car with the meter running. It's not worth it."
Jon took a step away uneasy at the agreement.
"Hey." The driver quiped quietly.
"What's worth coming out here in the rain for? They cut off the electricity here last month. The phones wont work either. Don't think theres much food in there if you need it."
He knew he was going to be abandoned by the driver at this point. It was an unspoken truth as the sky grew darker. The driver could have left him in the dirt the moment he steped out of the door but he didnt. He had at least a little intregity.
He shruged and kicked the dirt.
"Answers. I knew my uncle once. But..." His gaze drifted up to the mansion.
"Yeah.. I understand." Finished the driver. "Had a cousin that did the same thing. Cept he left a note."
Jon looked at the driver who face suddenly lit up slightly.
"Ohhh...."
It didnt take but 5 steps before the driver sped off. Shouting over the engine "Pick you up tomorrow!"
Turning back to the old house jon sighed at what he saw. What had once been a pleasant spring green mansion edged with black and white had turned into a dull grey mass. Vines had begun to grow over part of the house but were either too thick or too tall for the hack-n-slash clean up job to take care of. A flash of lightening tore across the sky and for a moment he thought he saw a light up in the attic. Rain slowly began to fall on the ground with a light pitter pat, despeartely needed moisture raising a slight dust on the ground before pounding again. By the time he made it to the front door it had started a steady but gentle rain. opening the front door he remembered to his first visit to Decerto. It was long ago.
Jonnie as his mother had called him had only visted Descerto twice in his childhood. Once when he was 8 and then again at 12. The first time he was there to visit his dying grandfather who had fallen ill. The trip was moreso for his father and mother than it was for him. It was that first time that the mansion's "sprit" truely unerved him. He was young and his father never believed in holding the truth of life and death actions from him. It simply was a part of life. But visiting his grandfather dying a slow lonely death in that horrible mansion was too much. The mansion truely scared him.
His father had insisted that it was time for Jonnie to learn and continue a family tradition. A nightly drink. Often he had seen his own father up late taking a drink in solitude but now he realized how much it meant to him. From grandfather to son to granchild. The drink didn't matter, just the moment of reflection. They stayed up late that night. Jonnie didn't mind. the less sleep meant the less nightmares. He drank cherry soda with his father untill grandad began to smell all strange. Thats when he began talking about the house and the family duty, its 'honor'. Dad said granpop was lying. Granpop said that a demon was sealed beneath the house by a mountain of its own treasure. But even that didnt stop its evil from riseing like smoke from a fire. Dad said we built the house on an empty lot that there is no demon and that granpop was a liar and shouldnt tell him things like that. Thats when granpop slaped dad and said those horrible words.
"There is evil beneath this house and you can FEEL it and I'll be dammned to hell before I deny it."
Back home his father sat down with him and slowly explained the "evil" of the house. There was no curse, no evil, nothing. The house was just... differnt. Somehow his grandfather began the a story when the house was built. It was true that it was built ontop of the foundations of an old civil war erra house but there was not goast, nothing. That his grandfathers had lied to make the house more 'important' or 'entertaining' to his guest. That it was nothing more than make believe. The house was harmless and the family honor to 'guard' the evil from ever escapeing was a lie. Even though he knew it to be true, he didnt feel it was true. There was something .. not right about the house. Reguardless it only took a story to drive away his family and so only the owner would ever feel the 'test of willpower' of the curse. Wether or not it was true or false.
He stood there for a moment on the threshold of the house. That strange air of decerto flowed out of the house and around him. He didn't like this It felt like a trap and yet. He had to go in and look for that letter and he knew where it would be. He steped in and gave a shout
"Hello? Anyone there?
Though remote he had no doubts that homeless might have made their way to the house for a place to stay.
Seconds passed as he waited for a reply from the empty main hall untill..
"BANG!"
He jumped and turned quickly to watch the second front door slowly increase speed untill it repeated the gunshot like sound that reverberated off the hard tile floor. His mind began to race about the 'haunting' of the house untill he rembered how it was built. Like the civil war house that once stood on the same spot, many old homes had slightly tilted doors. In this manner they would close themselves slowly by the force of gravity. No springs, no weights, just gravity plain and simple. He sighed for a moment pushing this tidbit of information out of his mind and set it to thinking about the attic. He had to go there, he had to find the note. Despite the rumors about the house and its current lack of electricity he knew that the night would test his nerves. A week ago he had vowed to find that note and he wasn't going to let some tilted doors disuade him.
The house had been prepared for winter. Most of the doors had been shut and locked. He guessed that Mr Green had the same suspicions about bums moving in. Though the first floor was locked up the second almost seemed wide open. The main library, which was in the center of the house, was wide open. He steped through and stoped at the doors bordering the front gallery. The gallery was worth the view. He could sell the house on that view alone. For a brief moment in the distant was sunlight and a bright blue sky, like a candle it lit the treetops between the house and there with a tint of orange. Then it was gone. The storm of finally taken over the sky and any trace of sunlight began to deminish quickly.
He sighed and closed the doors on both sides of the library and began to trudge up the steps. It had been a long time since he had seen the third floor. It was on the night of his grandfather's death that he and his parents had tried sleeping there. It was better said that they were offered the rooms but didnt sleep in them. On that night everyone in the house suffered terrible nightmares. If jonnie wasn't having them himself he was hearing the moans and disturbing muffled cries of the others in the house trying just as hard to get peacefull sleep. To jonnie this was it, the proof that there was evil in the house. He didn't know where, or why, but that it was there. His uncle Jeremy was not so easily convinced. Or at least not untill it was too late.
When Jonnie had turned 15 his uncle Jeremey had decided to throw him a Holloween/birthday party for him. He took his time prepareing it way in advance. Putting up posters in the local town and several nearby. The promise of free beer and music tended to bring most of the local youth out of the woodwork. Wether it was to ignore the stories about decerto or to make their parents angry, who knew. Whatever reason the party was packed and to the most part a huge success. Jeremy capatilized on the local myth that the civil war mansion was built by an ex pirate by dressing as one. Though more accurately like a broadway pirate instead of an actual one. He had a ball but always kept his cool. During a lull in the party, while someone was out getting more food, he took Jon to his study and showed him his plans for the future.
Jeremey had inherited the house when he was 16. Having lived most of his life near the North Carolina outer banks he didn't want to move. Neither did his mother but she had a plan. She had a lawyer draw up an iron contract to rent out the house. If it were broken by the renter then she would profiet highly from it. In this way the house paid for itself and any minor repairs.
But Jeremy now had bigger plans. He didn't want to rely on the old contract his mother had drawn up. He wanted to rent the house out to high society. His angle into doing this was to completely renovate the house to the original plans his father had envisioned. A historically accurate house but built with modern materials and a few modren anemities with a old time flair. Perhaps it was an abundance of caffine in his system but Jeremy became excited explaing the plan to Jon. He had shown him the new floorplans, buisness calculations, and pre written rental contracts. He even went so far as to pull out an envelope that had been stored in a hidden drawer in the player piano. In it was the deed to the house which had just been transfered from his mother to him. The plan was his pride and joy and it seemed as if he wanted to share it with Jon. Well that was the impression that Jon had from the party.
It then occured to jon that the house COULD be haunted. Both his uncle and grandfather had died there.
In front of him, flicking with lamplight was the scene of his uncle's death. Over the years he had pieced things together little by little. Something's his father told him, others he picked up when calling his uncle. Aparently Jeremy's plans had fallen through. The hotell buisness boomed for the first 3 years before it began to struggle. After that he tried everything he could to salvage his plans. He first started by pitching the house for its isolation from modern society, then to civil war buffs, and then to the goth-victorian crowd. From there on it went from renting the house out as a meeting hall to anything else. By the sixth year failure lay heavy on his shoulders. With half a painting major he tried to make his way in earnings as an artist. By this time he should have cut the strings and sold the house but something kept him there. He figured out that if his uncle was smart enough to run a hotel that he'd know when to cut and run rather than to let it drag him down like moby dick. Something didn't seem right.
Eventually Jeremy started to sell the family heirlooms. All that expensive furniture that he had refnished when the house was renovated. Jon's father didnt let it go unoticed. Often he could be heard argueing loudly over the telephone on the topic. He grew so fearfull that Jeremey would sell everything that he took a weekend to visit the mansion. He then took everything in a u-haul that his father had been especially fond of. Strangely enough he would end up selling half of those for Jon's college degree.
Antiques was the second nature of his visit. Perhaps the house was a lost cause but not its contents. Half of the furniture were antiques when his grandfather had purchased them and now they were even more valuable over time. Jeremey's renovation of them keeping them in an even more valueable state. Then there was the matter of the piano's secret drawer. A piece of information that no one else may have ever suspected could be conatained within. Mr Green had mentioned Jeremy's arrest record. How he had been occasionally arested for drug use when he was found hallucinateing in public. Nothing was ever found in his bloodstream but it only made things worse. Ever since Jeremy's buisness fell out Derceto had become a public target once again. Mr. Green had told him that the locals had attempted to burn derceto on several occasions. Each time ending in failure as "unexplainable local rain storms" would hit the house each time. Douseing the flames or washing off the fuel from the house long before they could do any harm. With such an intense hatred of Decerto Jon suspected that the locals might have 'encouraged' jeremey's insanity.
That they would use cheap magic tricks, masks, and a vareity of parphenalia to throw jeremey's mind too close to the abyss. All the time with the plan to intstutionalize him and to legally repossess the mansion.
What would the drawer contain? That's why he was here. To see if there was a suicide note that proved he was driven to insanity by the townsfolk. That perhaps he had become involved with a loan shark of some sort. Or possibly the proof that as suspected that he truely was insane. Jon didn't like that last one though. He really didn't want both his grandfather's and uncle's mental state to depress him. After all... some things are inherited.
With a whispering howl the winds began to whip the house as the storm began to bury into its side. Even though the house had been repaired heavily it was rock solid strong and stood its ground. The winds whiped and sliced arounds its edges to create the most unpleasant whisteling and creakins sounds that Jon had ever heard in his life. Never had he heard this "voice" of Derceto. With most houses winds grew and weaken, ebb and flow, and create a semi recognizeable pattern with the strange creaking and moaning sounds of a setteleing home. Unfortunately that pattern was missing at Derceto. Like a fist slamming into a piano keyboard the sounds were always... off key.
The moaning of wind swept timbers echoed around him threatening to tear the roof from the simple attic. He followed the creaking of wood as the 'tug' of the wind flowed over the house and was gone. It left him looking across the room at the remains of a crime scene. Whoever Mr Green hired to tend to the house must have been local to leave such a nightmareish sight. There was police scene tape, or chalk written notes, just an arrow with letters beside it pointing to a bundle of rope tied across a support beam. The rope that had once been his uncle's noose. His eyes drifted down to the floor where the piano stool had lain knocked over. He grimiaced at this stark reminder of how his uncle had took his own life.
Jeremey had doubts about his uncle, but he never believed that his uncle would commit suicide. He knew he was against it. So as the remaining heir to hartwood line he felt he had to make sure. He had called the county investigator that had done the follow up report on his uncles death. The report was fairly clear. Aside from the fingerprints of the morgatage collector who discovered the body there were no evidence that anyone else other than his uncle had been inside that attic at the time of his death. Despite jon's additional information about the secret drawer the investigator had considered he case closed and refused to do any snooping around the house. the only exception was for a verry 'modest' fee that could clearly be called highway robery. So in the end it left Jon standing here in the attic contemplateing the life and death of his estranged uncle.
With a swift kick of the piano stool Jon found the piano in the dim light and made a beeline straight for it. He stood in front of it for a moment and marveled at its finish. Shiney and spotless and almost like new. He lifted up the cover to the keyes and it dawned on him how dusty the rest of the attic was. Or more likely the lack of heavy dust. A few things in one corner were somewhat dust laden but most of the attic seemed.. cozy. Even inviteing. It was as if it had been transformed into a home or a studio. It didnt make sense to use the attic as a studio when the gallery had much more natural lighting. A chair sat beside the table where he had found the oil lamp and he could make out a fold out bed against the other wall. He sighed. It was as if his uncle had moved into the attic, isolateing himself from the rest of the world.
Jon slouched a little at this thought as his hip bumped against the piano. He turned his thoughts back to the old music piece and knelt on the floor next to it. The lever was behind the piano and it was too close too the wall. He tried moving it with his hands and found that a set of ancient casters had throughly glued themselves to the attic floor. He tried ramming his shoulder against it and eventually kicked it away from the wall after braceing his back against the side. With a rough click the side drawer poped out an inch. Grabbing the lip he pulled it all the way out and found nothing but a single piece of note book paper. Trying to brace himself against whatever the truth may be he sat down and unfolded the letter. It read..
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They are coming! I have freed hellish forces and now the price must be paid. Derceto is the prey of evil. The sun has set. They will find my body but will not have my soul. I can imagine the master's fury and the terrof in the hearts of his slaves. I hear their footsteps. Some may understand what I have done. May God forgive me.
Farewell. Jeremy Hartwood.
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Jonathan frownd deeply with a furrowed brow. He didn't want to hear this explanation. He turned the paper over to see if there was more to the short letter. then he held it up to the light as if to see any sort of watermark or pinholes provideing a code of some sort. But there was nothing. He thought about it for a moment, what it mean for his own future as well. He didn't want to end up like his grandfater, or his uncle. He didn't want to go insane as his body gave out to some frivolous disease that took a hidden root years earlier. He turned the paper over again and reread the letter. He thought about the words used and could see a civil war influence to the letter. Even worse was that it inplicated the townsfolks as a guilty party. Someone wanted to get him. Perhaps they were just trying to scare him. The end result was the same none the less. His uncle finally fliped and hung himself. Someone scared him to death. Now he knew why the locals were so unfriendly toward him. They were trying to force him away too. To keep him from discovering the truth. Damn it. Why didnt he pay the investigator to look for the note. then it would be all legal and in black and white and he wouldnt have to be stuck in this damned storm. He began to fume slowly at himself when he heard it.
At first it was a light scrapeing sound and then a shuddering thump as dust rose from wood groves of an old trap door that did not want to open. His mind was still foggy from reading the letter and not yet quite registering what the thumping trap door meant. Then with another thump the trap door bounced open an inch dislogeding years worth of dust and debries from the once clean edgeing. He blinked, his mind snapping back to attention as he realized that he was not alone. "So they've come to kick me out." He thought to himself. He smiled eager for a fight with the townsfolks; a fight to settle the murder of his uncle.
Whoever it was they were taking their time and the display of a gropeing gnarled hand, too distorted to be real seemed so inviting to stomp on.
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