Halloween House

by Cotton The Clown September 24th 2009, 12:57 pm

{OOC Note}
{I just wanted to say a few things really quickly. First, this is kind of a concept piece. It's kind of like 'what if Cotton and Candy were still in highschool and went to a haunted house.'}
{Also, It is a dream, of course. When I write the only pre-writing or planning that I do is inside my own little head.}
{Which means that this could be important to Cotton and Candy's overall story or it could just be a dream. Who knows. Like I said I never know what I'm going to write until I put pen to paper. Or fingers to keyboard as it were. }
{I also realize that I asked you guys to help me decide what to write next. And I realize that you guys really could have cared less about the haunted house story. That matters to me. But, what also matters is the fact that I am terribly lazy and that I already had a large portion of this written. So here it is.}
{Thank you}
{CeeJay}
{PS. This one is fairly short. It's not a masterpiece like I feel that DOTD was. The Origin Story will be long. Hopefully it will be my magnum opus. I'm not sure when I will get to it. Maybe I'll start next week. It will be sad though. I just wanted to prepare you for that.}
{Post-PS. I need a really clever title for the origin story of Cotton and Candy. Please try and help me think of something.}
{Thanks again. -CeeJay clown

}

The plain, white envelope jutted out from the locker. Cotton Blaisdell shuffled through the crowd and all of their stares. Cotton, as he was called by friends, reached slowly for the paper. The assertive person he was, Cotton ripped the end off of the envelope.
A small, eggshell colored card trimmed with gold was contained within. It read as follows:

You are invited to
an experiment in human
sanity.
Those surviving the
night will receive a
prize of
one hundred thousand dollars.

. . .

Bring a friend!

Cotton flipped the card. The address was printed along with the time and date of the party:

Blaisdell House
555 Lake Shore Lane
Midnight
Halloween

A pretty blonde girl with an upturned nose moved towards him. She was so graceful that she seemed to float. Her blonde hair was layered and curved around her delicate face. It was dishwater blonde with highlights. She had a thin waist and round hips which she pressed against Cotton. "Hey, Sexy," she purred.
"Hi, Ash," He replied. He and Ashley had been dating for almost a year. She thought back. How he had disappeared almost all of Sophomore year and then suddenly reappeared. Without a word about it. That was before they started going out. Ashley had questioned Cotton many times on the subject. He just got a weird look in his eye and then shrugged it off.
"Here," Cotton pushed the card at Ashley and turned to open his locker.
"Ooooh. A Halloween party. Might be hot."
"Yeah, maybe."
About that time a blonde haired, blue-eyed jock strutted by. He turned his head and coughed, "Psycho." Cotton erupted from his spot. Shoving Ashley out of his way, Cotton jumped knee first into the jock's chest. Cotton fists flew so fast that he drew blood in no time. The jock, Kevin, was pinned to the ground with his arms under Cotton's knee.
Ashley thought: "There's that look." She shivered. Ash loved Cotton but she was so afraid of him when he is mad. She thought about all of the rumors of Cotton's disappearance. His father, Old Mr. Blaisdell, who lived in a big mansion out a winding, unpaved road by the lake; died the week that Cotton left. Rumor was Cotton killed him. And, he was in an institution for the time he was gone.
Ashley stood, unmoving and nonchalantly as twenty or so people pulled Cotton off of the jock. The principal had Cotton in a headlock. Ashley stared blankly as she held the gold trimmed card between her first two fingers.

On the other side of the school, a scrawny, pale senior stomped down the hall staring at his heavy boots. He was heading for his locker, but as he passed over the school's monogram he had a thought. The school was in Los Angeles. It's called Jonathan Johnson High. The logo is a blue, capital letter "A" with a yellow shadow and angel's wings.
"J.H. Angels, Hah, There's no angels here," he said to himself. A shiny metal ring protruded from his nose. His black hair was standing up in a Mohawk-type, shaved-under haircut. Damien, with his Marilyn Manson T-Shirt, made it to his locker. He receive many stares himself. And hears "Freak!" screamed by many of the cowboys rustling around his school. As he reached for the padlock the ominous white envelope looked at him. He opened it carefully, fearful of its contents.
Damien glanced up and noticed his sister passing by. Raegan held her books tightly to her chest. She was very shy and insecure. Raegan was a junior and just a tiny bit chubby. But, she had a beautiful face and the greatest pale blue eyes in the world.
"Hey sis," Damien jogged toward Raegan, "You're going."
He stuffed the card up under her nose. "No way," she muttered.
"Oh-ho yea-uh."

After the death of Mr. Blaisdell, the mansion on Lake Shore Lane was auctioned off to a grizzled, grey man. His name was Brenton Cyrus. A light hearted old man who had just retired. He started his career as a Carnival Barker for a sideshow and ended up designing the most thrilling rides for many major theme parks. Of course, that was on the side. He also produced, directed, and wrote many horror movies as well as doing special effects on hundreds of other films. He is credited with being "the father of modern horror" and a "Master of Fear." And he enjoys scaring the life out of young thrill seekers.
The only family he has is Dora, his niece. She is enrolled in the same school as Cotton, Ashley, Damien and Raegan. She also happens to be the only name after a long list of things and money to be given out after Brenton dies.

Five black limos lurched down a long stretch of country road. Gravel popped and jumped under the tires. Four of the limos were black and had bright chrome strips. The last limo was white. All of them had windows tinted so that no light was allowed in and no peek at the passengers was allowed out.
Cotton impatiently looked at his watch. His face pale and his eyes were staring a hole into the floor. Ashley watched the nervousness grow in Cotton's eyes. It was also plenty past dark and she could not make out the long trail of stretched cars behind them.
Finally, a break from all of the trees, hills, and curves came. A long stretch of gravel leading to heavy iron gates. Behind the iron and cement security fence rested the monstrous mansion. The menacing structure was illuminated by four gas lamps in the lush, green courtyard. Many years worth of neglected vines climbed the mansion and hugged the iron fence. The elegance of the house was matched in intensity only by the evil bat-like quality. Jagged edges and sharp points jutted out in every direction. Two towers, one on either side loomed above the house.
All of the limos parked close to a dirty, tan 1981 Volkswagen Jetta. A small weasel-looking man was sitting jittery behind the wheel. He was drumming nervously on the fake leather cover of the steering wheel.
Everyone piled out of their cars. Everyone except whoever resided on the limo parked farthest away. She was the last to slink out of her car and the only person riding by herself.
Two boys popped out of their white limo. One had bright red hair and freckles dotting his face. Jimmy, the boy who was widely considered a class clown and the funniest of J.H. High's Angels. His companion was lanky and lazy eyed. Not to mention he smelled strangely similar to the smoke of a commonly known controlled substance. It even rhymes with his name: Scott.
The limo next to them had just a few seconds earlier contained two of the sweetest people on Earth. Brandy and Candy Black, the tan skinned, nice, perfectly matched twins. They were dressed in matching emerald green business-type skirts. They were easygoing but not loud.
On the other side of Jimmy and Scott's limo another set of siblings piled out of theirs. Damien and Raegan propped silently against the limo.
The last passenger crept out of her limo. Dora. Her light brown hair rained down straight to her shoulder blades. She wore a glittery dress that was cut-out to show her chiseled stomach. She was so thin that her rib cage protruded through her skin. Her eyes were far apart and so dark brown that they were almost black. Her eyes were beady and her gaze piercing.
She immediately covered them with expensive oversized sunglasses. Dora pulled a shiny tin from a small black leather handbag. She flipped the lid and retrieved a cigarette. She ignited it with a pink disposable lighter that also came from the tin. Damien approached the girl timidly. They were the same age, but Dora seemed years away from him.
"Got the time, miss?"
Dora cocked her head toward Damien. She pulled the tangy smoke into her lungs and breathed it out into Damien's face. Damien turned his head hacking. "Quarter after eleven," she answered with a smirk on her boney face.
The mob grouped together close to the heavy iron barred gate. The weasel looking nervous guy stepped out of his Jetta and scampered toward the kids. His hands trembled as he reached to unlock the padlock. The key ring jingled with the nervousness of it master. "We really need to hurry."
"Why?" Ashley demanded, "What's wrong?"
"Na-na-nothing." The man said in a shaky voice. He swung the gate open. "Okay, let's go." He trotted off down the path to the house. No one followed him. He stopped dead and spun around. "Quickly," he commanded. No one even moved. "Even quicker," he said impatiently.
Cotton stepped to the front of the crowd, "Who are you?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. Watson Pritchard," he said as he excitedly pumped Cotton's hand, "Now let's move, please!" This time the crowd followed more closely. The group ambled toward the house. Ashley made a quick glance at Cotton. She saw that scary, demented look in his eye. Once through the huge double wooden doors there was a long hallway. It seemed to stretch 300 feet in both directions with scarlet carpets.
Two massive picture windows were on each side and a large door straight ahead. Pritchard led them into the beautiful comfortable den. There were four huge fluffy couches in the center all facing each other. A coffee table with an intricately carved gothic design perched in the center of the sofas.
Pritchard became increasingly nervous and Cotton's eyes got more wild. Everyone sat quiet and motionless for several minutes. Finally, Damien spoke up, "Mr. Pritchard, what are you doing here?"
"I was hired as a guide because I know the house. I stayed here a coupla summers when Mr. Blaisdell lived here."
The grandfather clock on the wall showed about 11:45. "Where's the party?" Scott inquired.
"Looks like we're it," Raegan answered. It was the first thing that she had said all night.
"Me and y'all. Yee-haw, let's boogey." Jimmy blurted out. He got at least a smile out of Damien, Raegan, Brandy, Candy, Ashley, and Scott. He broke the silence and everyone except Watson, Cotton and Dora began making small talk.
At the first toll of the clock for midnight a man appeared at the top of the staircase. Then, on the sixth toll, the picture windows and several mirrors began vibrating. On the very last toll they shattered. Dagger like shards of glass darted toward the center of the room. The teens looked like frogs in formal wear diving and dodging behind sofas and tables. A shard from the mirror slashed across Cotton's eyebrow. Bright red blood surged from the wound and trickled down his cheek. A bloody tear it seemed. Cotton sat unmoving, staring into nothing. All of the rest of the glass daggers stabbed into table in the center of the room.
Everyone else was still laying in the floor with their hands covering the backs of their head. "What the fuck?" Jimmy asked slowly climbing to his knees.
"Cotton, baby, are you okay?" Ashley rushed toward him, "Snuggle-bear? Are you okay?"
Raegan snarled up her nose, "ewwww....." she muttered under her breath. The kids all slowly stood.
A booming thud was heard as the door slammed shut. "Oh god!" Watson shrieked as he made a mad dash to the door. He wiggled the knob and breathed a deep sigh of relief. Watson jerked on the wooden monster. It didn't even move. "Oh god," he moaned again. He kicked and heaved, pulled and punched, pushed and jerked the door. It still remained unmoving. "Stupid piece of shi...."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Easy trigger," Jimmy interrupted. He placed his hand on Pritchard's shoulder. "Calm down man." Pritchard swivelled around and shoved Jimmy flat on his behind. He jetted across the room and dove through the hole where the window once lived. Once through he shot to his feet and bolted to the outside door. It wouldn't budge, either. He screamed and moaned.
Then an unfamiliar voice broke in, "That'll be quite enough Mr. Pritchard." The old man at the top of the stairs was about fifty years of age. His slicked back hair was jet-black. He was dressed in a black suit with a blood red undershirt. He soberly stomped down the stairs. Every step echoed into the silence. No one moved. Once at the bottom of the stairs he cracked a small smile, "I'm Brenton Cyrus. Welcome to my party." His smile widened into a toothy grin. "And.... let the games begin."
"Haven't they already, Uncle Brent?" Dora remarked.
"That my dear niece is just one of tonight's mysteries," Cyrus replied. He slid a large envelope from his inside jacket pocket. "Here are eight big, fat, checks. All made out to 'Cash'."
"What just happened here?" Brandy asked looking from face to face. From Brenton to Pritchard to Dora to her sister and back to Brenton.
"This freakin' psychopath awoke the evil that was dormant here," Pritchard barked. He had crawled back through the window and was now shaking his finger in Cotton's face.
"Nah," Dora corrected, "It wasn't him." She cut her look toward Brenton. "Anyone else here make a living scaring the pants off of people?"
Candy looked up and said, " You're that Brenton Cyrus? As in No-Limit Entertainment?"
"The one and only!" Brenton exclaimed. "I shall return in a moment. Make yourselves at home."
"Where ya going? To check the wiring on the animatronic werewolves?" Dora inquired.
"Actually, I gotta tinkle," he replied sarcastically . He turned, jogged up the stairs, and disappeared to the right down a hall.
"Forget this," Watson said, "We gotta get out of here. I'll try to get out through the passage under the cellar."
"How do you know there's a passage?" Brandy asked.
"I told you I spent a few summers here," Pritchard replied.
Ashley walked over to Watson Pritchard and leaned over into his ear, "What do you mean 'that psychopath'?"
Watson put his hand on Ashley's shoulder and twirled her away from the rest. He whispered, "Let's just say that a few cats came up missing." Ashley looked at Pritchard, confused, with worry wrinkles on her forehead. He continued, "A few 'unexplained' fires broke out and some relatives 'slipped' and fell down the stairs"
Ashley understood him and showed it with a nod. "Go on," she requested.
"All of those bad things came from and added to the evil of the house." While Pritchard was talking , Cotton robotically stood and slowly vanished down a hallway. Ashley turned and started to speak, but she only saw the heel of his boot as he lumbered around a corner.
"I'm going with you," Ashley told Watson.
"Us, too," Brandy and Candy stated simultaneous.
Jimmy and Scott shuffled to Watson and the young girls circling him. "You're sure you know where it is?" Jimmy asked.
"Yeah..." Watson said uneasily, ".......I think."
Scott looked at Jimmy, then stated, "Man, I am like so creeped out that it's not even funny."
"If you don't even know where you are going, I'll find my own way out." Jimmy announced and took a step out of the circle.
Scott said, "I'm with you."
Damien slid across the floor to stand beside Jimmy. "Me, too," he stated.
Raegan stood up and walked to an outside window and peered through it. She thought that she saw the dark of night but upon closer inspection she realized: "We're boarded in!"
Watson squalled, "NO!!" and sprinted to the window and tried to lift it. It seemed to be nailed down. He rocked back, doubled up his fist, and slammed it into the window. It bounced off. "No, NO, NOO!!" A flurry of fists bounced off of the window. Watson charged across the floor, let out a primal raging trumpet, and lifted a large armchair. Then, he launched it at the window. The chair bounced off and sent reverberations through the window. It didn't crack at all.
Watson sat down in the floor and started rocking and crying. "We are so dead," he sobbed.
"What are you talking about?" Ashley asked, "Why do you keep saying that?"
Watson sniffed then he cleared his eyes up a bit. "I told you. I've been here before. Every-so-often the ghosts come out to play. That's not so bad. But, when little Cotton Blaisdell was in from boarding school..... whew..... oh boy. When he got mad the evil would come out. It would feed off of him and only him. I never saw it, until one night I saw a shadow. But, the shadow was so full of malice. It even hurt my eyes to see the shadow and all I saw was it going around a corner."
"But, why were you crying?" Raegan asked.
"When I was hired a week ago, everything was boarded up. Even the secret exit was sealed tight. I checked. Suddenly, all of it was gone. In fact the next day it was gone. I think the evil, the house, sealed us in."
Dora had been leaning in the corner since the glass started flying. She was listening quietly to everyone.
Then, Jimmy said, "I am gonna look for Mister Cyrus."
"Good idea." Damien said.
Raegan looked up and stated, "I'm going with Pritchard."
"Meet back here in an hour or so if you don't find anything." Pritchard said, pointing a finger at Jimmy.
"Aye-Aye, captain," Jimmy replied with a mock salute. He whirled around and marched toward the staircase. Scott and Dora followed him. So did Damien after a short good-bye to his sister. Dora told Jimmy, "I need to find my uncle." Jimmy nodded and continued to march.
Watson, Ashley, Raegan, Brandy, and Sara walked down one of the long corridors leading off of the den. Jimmy, Scott, Dora, and Damien thundered up the stairs.