I Dream of Disney (Volume II)

Court of the Rogue [ Vlad Masters x Reader ] Part II

Part II: The Cult

There was a cluster of cars in the parking lot. That wouldn't have been unusual. But at that late time of night on this lot, which held nothing but a busted-down IHOP closed years ago due to pest infestation, (Y/n) couldn't help but be drawn there. It could have been suspicion or it could have been the spatter of music that reached where she stood. The cars were parked in an ovular formation with their lights turned on, framing the people inside of it in a bonfire made of metal.

(Y/n) didn't think about it when she crossed the lane; when multicoloured glass shards, lost things and fast food wrappers crunched underfoot. She didn't think about it as a choked breath clumped in her throat. Not even when she passed wraithlike into the lamp post light, yellowed like rotting teeth, did she think about it. But before she stepped out into the parking lot, she realised that she had known all along.

"Lurchbeat lane," (Y/n)'s lips tasted of bile, "I'm not supposed to be here."

In this part of town, she didn't feel safe. No one did. It was in part because of the stories told about this very lane, which looked harmless enough until you found yourself spread on the ground with your carotid artery gushing out as someone rifled through your pockets. The lane had become more than just a lane. It had become a dark fairy tale. Hushed voices in the streets were the dealmakers, who tempted the human soul. People went missing beneath the grove of arched lamp posts.

Right were (Y/n) was now standing.

"That doesn't mean anything," (Y/n) shivered, "It's just a silly ghost story."

There was a beeping, low and dull. The young woman glanced down at her phone, checking the time and the notifications. It was late enough that she could turn back, go home to her worried room mate, eat the steaming Thai takeout and ransack the hardy paperback novel she wanted to tuck into. Or she could even leap into bed, flick on the bedside lava lamp and pull the covers over her head until she was certain that it was all just a bad dream. Something that could be brushed back as "not real life" and forgotten.

(Y/n) chewed her lip. But she had a feeling that if she didn't find Danny tonight, she would never see him again.

"I need to do this," (Y/n) steeled herself.

It wasn't far now. From the location that the Foleys had provided from their son, Tucker's, tracked cellphone, the factory yard must have been close. But not too close that she didn't need directions on how to get there.

The dancing figures were frightening and disorderly. Lead by no light other than the gleam of headlights and the swelling fullmoon, they ravaged the air by punching it and swiping their fingers at the sky as if clawing for the stars. Whirling about them like pagan's robes, their clothes masked their features. They were only dancing.

But the problem was, she didn't know how to stop them. She yelled out above the music a few times and even dared to enter the circle of dancers, only to be rammed to the side or tripped by thoughtless teenage feet. After finally having enough, she went for a car. The car door was locked, so she slid across the glass on her belly and punched the horn.

"Hey!" (Y/n) yelled, "Listen up! I'm looking for Maitlands' Factory Yard. Can anyone take me there?"

The teenagers were so stunned that they just sat there, slack-jawed. The teens didn't look like how she expected them to look: some wore lace-up boots and sandals, denim jeans and skinny black pants, ponytails and comb-overs. They all looked like normal, high-school-age kids. Except. . .

"Is this. . . "(Y/n) hesitated, "A cult?"

"No, ma'am," Chirped a short, freckled boy, "This is the pep rally for the Green Bay Packers."