The Haunted Mansion

Chapter 4: Welcome the Dark

~Zyvea POV~

   The downpour never let up for even a moment, although I no longer care to evade the water falling. Coming around the corner, I see the house that has apparently driven both my father and soon to be I to an early grave of madness. 'Was I going mad?' I ask myself as though my opinion on the subject matters. The people of this idiotic place had made that decision for me the day I told about what I saw. The better question is, 'Exactly, how mad am I?' The front double doors stand like two fun house mirrors laughing at the stupid child who thought she could outrun their taunts. I find the spare key nudged between the dirt of the fake ficus plant that I'm almost sure predates me. 

  I normally cherish the scent of old books, but the scent of books, dust, old drugs, and smoke residue made for a combination that could rival even the strongest stomach. The grandfather clock still stands in the center of the foyer ahead of the dining room. It ticks the same far too quick rhythm it did when I was a girl. I kick the front panel of the clock in, and reach my arm inside. I poke around until my right hand finds something hard, and I can't help the smile that covers my face. I grab and pull out the private stash bottle of whiskey my father kept there. He'd say, "Only take this out if I'm dead or I cheated death, and I get the first pour." I think I might be the only person to know about this being here because MiMi would tear him a new one for 'defiling' her eldest family relic. The cover read Chernobog's Malt Whiskey 1935. 'How in hell did my strung-out father afford a bottle of liquor that could've funded my entire academic career?' I gaped at the bottle until I noticed a hot pink sticky note on the back, "Break this before He breaks you." 

    What the hell was that supposed to mean?! Unsticking the note, I realize the sticky note is mine. It was from a pack of pink, heartbeat sticky notes I received as a Christmas gift when I was 10. MiMi had only bought them because I wouldn't stop talking about wanting to be doctor, so she got me a kiddie doctor set and those came with. It went missing in dad's house about 2 months after I got it. Despite the crudeness of the scenario, I can't stifle the laugh rising from my throat at the thought of my father taking my bubblegum pink doctor set. "Cheers to this, you old bastard," I murmur to myself before unscrewing the cap and taking a huge swig of the dark liquor. 

   About 2 seconds passed before, I feel the familiar burn of alcohol adding more heat to my body. I have another couple mouthfuls just for good measure. The grandfather clock rang its hourly song causing my shoulders to tense as I move through the house. I haven't heard that off-key tune in years, and it still makes me wince to hear the tune of Für Elise crooning around the house in a manner that would make Beethoven weep in agony. 'Seven o'clock is my new least favorite hour of the day,' I thought plunging myself into the den's lazy boy. I've made a decision that this bottle of malt liquor is going to keep me company before I head back to the church. The windows facing the forest are covered in grime and mildew from abandonment, but the forest that rests behind the house was still the same.

  Thrusting myself out of the chair, I take a few gulps of whiskey before heading for the door. The sun had set now, leaving an afterglow of pinks and oranges far away on the edge of the horizon.  The brazen nature of alcohol starts coursing through my body, a boldness I would never have normally powers me to yell out towards the forest. "I know you can hear me, you don't scare me! I won't let you torment my dreams anymore or my waking mind either, SO COME AT ME!" My voice broke, before walking to the church, I face the forest again. "GIVE ME ALL YOU GOT!" Finally, turning my back, I drink more whiskey before beginning to pray mentally. 'God, I know your power is infinitely greater than whatever haunts me, please give me that assurance in my heart. Amen.' With anger in my steps, I set off to see the Pastor nursing malt the whole way. 

~~

   By the time I saw the old church steeple, the alcohol scourging through my blood made my temperature start to rise. Pinpricks of sweat touching my brow as the sun starts to crash toward its final descent over the horizon to begin the night. 'That pastor better have the best damn cure for this bullshit,' my thoughts sputter. The grey cement stairs feel narrower now, an abandoned island that stands before God and nothing else. "Pastor Ostarius, where could we talk?" My drunken slurring worse than expected, I asks the Lord to forgive me for my stupor in His house. "In the kitchen of the clergy house!" The pastor's booming voice came sweeping through the Sanctuary, constant practice in the pulpit is the only possible explanation for it. Walking past the altar on the right side, I duck my head below the doorframe going down a short staircase that opens up to a modest creme and beige living room.

    "Zyvea, I'm glad you could make it." He said walking toward me in a regular dark blue t-shirt and black sweatpants. Embracing me, he pulls back with a slight frown. "Oh you like? I'm trying out my father's fragrance," I taunt at him with a jestful grin. Ostiarius turns and pulls out a chair from his kitchen table, "Zy, drowning your problems won't make them go anywhere only gives them more guilt as ammunition against you." Why did he have to pick now to be profound? "Okay, the day you get to judge me on some liquor should also be the day you tell the truth to someone you know deserved to hear it a long time ago." Hanging his head is defeat, Ostarius stands from his chair and starts to make coffee. I take his seat before holding my head in my hands, the whiskey starting to weigh heavier on my balance than my resolve. 

   "What do you think happened, Ostarius?" His back muscles tighten, arms flexing at the question. Sighing, he turns while pouring some of the hot coffee into a mug and placing it before me. I hadn't noticed, when was Ostarius this...toned? The taught lines of his biceps wrap around, hugging him as he reaches for another mug from the cupboard above his head. Okay, I don't need anymore alcohol tonight. Placing the mug before me, he lets out a bereaved sigh. "From my understanding so far, Terrence made a deal with a powerful force belonging to the deepest four corners of Hell." The snorting laugh leaves my throat before I can stop it. It's only when his serious stare doesn't break that I understand he's serious. 

  "A deal to do what?!" I scream as mum father never gained anything except a harmful dependency on substances. Shaking his head, Ostarius says that he has no way of knowing the promises outlined in the 'deal'. "Well, if this curse is going to pass to me, there's gotta be a way for me to find out what's owed right?" Ostarius walks over to his papal bookcase, and gestures for me to follow him. 'Whatever old book he's about to pull better be better than prozac,' I laugh to myself. He reaches up to the first and tilts the top of a red book toward us. What happens next makes me move back to pick up the malt bottle again. The entire bookcase moves below us to give entry to a part of the church I never knew existed. 

  "What the hell is this Ostarius?!" He moves inside before answering me, and gently takes my hand to lead me down a pitch-black staircase. "During the Spanish Inquisition, it was thought that the church could take battles straight to the door of Hell. There were many attempts to eradicate the demonic presence in this world entirely. When the fighting projects were abandoned, the sites of their rituals still remained and become legendary." Nearing the bottom of the staircase, Ostarius lit a torch with a lighter, then lit every torch around us. Black stone speckled with red are a runway leading to a solid black altar with deep grooves, and before it"Okay, I understand the creepy church lore, but how does this tie into what happened to my dad?" Still holding a torch, Ostarius walks forward and kneels in front of the altar before mouthing a prayer. As he rose, Ostarius tosses the last torch onto the altar, its flame kissing the surface and spreading to its edges. He turns to me with an expression he's never had-- a look filled with a righteous malice. Pastor Ostarius begins to chant, "Inmundorum vita purgetur!" (Let the life of the impure be cleansed). The fire of the altar matched the urgency of his calls, and he produces a dagger from his jacket. 

  "Your father was once an altar boy, and a proud student of it. It wasn't until he learned of this place and became somewhat obsessed with the prospect of immortality. I tried to warm him that the site has been inactive for more than 200 years, but he was persistent. He opened a scourge on the Earth for Hell's evil to come as rest again." The dagger looks the same black as the altar, Ostarius raises it and he begins to lunge at me. I bring up the whiskey bottle to his temple with as much force drunk me will allow. He grunts as he stumbles to the ground cursing, " You are the product of an idiot and the Devil! Terrence would not understand that demons don't make fair deals, and they gifted him a form of immortality by birthing you."