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thebiggestfuckgiven · 6 months

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Ectoberweek 25: Will-o’-Wisps

Rating: T

Warnings: mentions of death, of being buried alive, descriptions of gore, brief mention of vivisection, true crime-esque horror, and general spooky vibes

A/N: I really wanted to do a lil something for the spooky month and what better to write than something for the fandom i’ve been sickeningly hyperfixated on for the past four months. Actual prompt had a two-sentence prompt as well, and i went with both <3

- 💜 -

October 2004

The things everybody tells you about small towns- everyone knows each other, ni things big happens, every day is a slow day, and the biggest local teen hotspots are the walmart parking lot or the big chain pharmacy/corner store —are true. The thing that everyone knows about small towns except for the majority of the people living in said town is that their minds are as small as the local post office.

This is especially true of the teens of Casper High in Amity Park, Illinois.

Sam’s black combat boots stomped against the warm pavement as she ran for the next block. Her breathing was ragged, coming out in harsh puffs of air in the autumn cold. She had gotten an SOS text message from Tucker seconds before the last bell rung.

Normally, she didn’t take the Foley kid very serious. They didn’t know each other that well and they barely hung out save for the couple of school projects they’ve worked on together and those rare lunch hour occasions where he’d sit at her table uninvited. Usually to avoid Dash, Kwan and the rest of their jock entourage.

She stumbled to a stop at a crossroads borderline wheezing. Running was so not her forte. Maybe it was cruel of her, but Same fully intended to ignore his SOS. That is, until she saw Tweedledumb (Dash) and Tweedledumber (Kwan) shove a screaming Tucker into their run-down jeep and speed off.

Hence, why Same was ruining her sickly goth pallor by chasing after them.

She glanced to her left just in time to see the run-down jeep screech to a halt. Christ, the stabbing in her sides was killing her. Sue her for walking. The jeep wasn’t going anywhere anymore. She stumbled a few steps, feet burning, as she held a hand to her sides like that would help her.

Dash jumped out from the passenger side, Kwan following shortly after, from the driver’s side. They opened the back doors on each side, where Tucker was. They cornered him. Dash reached in and was soon pulling Tucker out by his feet. Sam could hear his scream now.

“C’mon, guys, please just leave me alone! Let me go, Dash!”

The Wonder Jocks laughed in response. Kwan slammed his door shut, confident that Dash had Tucker handled now that he was out of the car. Kwan rushed to the sidewalk to roughly grab Tucker’s free arm.

“Guys, this isn’t funny!”

Sam was halfway down the street now and she dreaded the idea of having to run again to keep those two muscle-headed idiots from beating the crap out of the geek that for some reason imprinted on her. Ugh, caring for people was overrated anyways. She could still walk away. Save herself the hassle. No one care about her in this stupid town anyways. So, why should she care?

She slowed to a stop. Her feet ached.

Dash and Kwan were dragging Tucker towards the street corner, which just confused Sam, amidst her inner turmoil. Why even drag Tucker all the way out to his own neighborhood? His house was literally a street away, and there wasn’t even a bare-bones playground here. So what—

“No, no! Don’t put me in there, Dash, Kwan, please! Just let me go, guys, it’s not funny!”

Sam felt a sharp chill run down her spine. Something heavy dropped in the pit of her stomach at the sudden realization of where, exactly, they were.

“Shit.”

She broke off into a sprint as fast as she could.

Shithsitshitshit.

Another thing about small towns is that they all have a well-kept secret. A dark past, usually. Sam found that she thrives on such darkness; on those unwanted and discarded things. As it turned out, Amity Park had a surprising amount of those. She made it her personal business to grow intimate with her town’s buried gutter.

The things she learned were both shocking and, for all her boasting, a little horrifying. Things that would be permanently burned into her retinas. Unseeable and unforgettable. So, she scolded herself for not realizing sooner where they were dragging Tucker to. She would’ve run a little faster, cared a little more, if she had.

She zoomed past the jeep and turned the corner so sharply she nearly fell flat on her face.

Tucker wasn’t screaming anymore, but there were tears streaming down his face as he stared in terror at the behemoth of a house towering over them.

In all its abandoned, festering glory: the infamous Fenton House. Even in bright daylight, the house was obscured in awkward elongated shadows, made worse by the house’s freaky, Frankenstein-esque structure. As if imitating a child’s building blocks tower, there were partial structures jutting out of the house’s main body. They creaked in the cold wind, threatening to snap off and crush any trespassers. At the very top, there was a round dome of sorts with something resembling letters across it. They were black with rot now. Unreadable.

Sam wasn’t a fearful person, but she was a believer. The Fenton House was more than haunted. She’s read enough testimonies to not take it lightly. People have gone missing in that house. Hell, they’ve been found dead in there. She may not be friendly with Tucker, but that didn’t mean she was about to leave him to a tragic fate.

Body running on a sudden burst of adrenaline, she grabbed the nearest thing she could find (a sizable stick) and marched towards the two jocks.

“Hey!”

All three of the boys turned to look at her. She stood two steps below them, resolutely ignoring the way the house seemed to want to swallow them whole. Tucker’s terrified face shifted into one of pure relief. A new wave of tears was visibly threatening to spill over.

“Sam,” he croaked.

Dash barked out a laugh.

“Samantha Manson? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Hey, wanna help us lock this dweeb in the Fenton House?” Kwan smiled brightly, pointing at Tucker.

Sam scowled. People always confused her apathy for cruelty. She hated it.

“It’s Sam, and like hell I do. Drop the nerd, assholes, or else,” she said, pitching her voice lower in an attempt to sound intimidating.

Maybe she should’ve spent her time running thinking up a plan instead of hating on Tucker for making her run in the first place. She clutched the stick in her hand tightly.

Kwan scoffed.

“No way. I just said we’re gonna lock him in the house.”

“Yeah! We wanna know what happens when you put a techno dweeb with murder ghosts,” Dash said, smiling cruelly at a Tucker.

“He short-circuits. It’s not impressive. Let him go.”

Dash must’ve realized, finally, that Sam was being serious. He narrowed his eyes at her, the stick in her hand, and smiled.

“Or what? You’re gonna hit us with the creep stick? Ha. Last I checked, Sam, girls don’t have the balls to pull that off, so why don’t you get lost and forget you were ever here,” Dash said before adding to Kwan, “And Paulina says I’m not a gentleman.”

It was Sam’s turn to smile. She went up a step as she spoke.

“Like any girl would let you get that close, Dash. Besides, I promise mine are bigger than yours. Here, I’ll prove it.”

Before he even had time to blink, Sam jabbed the stick hard into Dash’s crotch. A gentlemanly oof broke past his lips and he let go of Tucker’s arm to clutch at his wounded pride.

“Augh, bitch.”

Kwan also let go of Tucker to check on his friend. Sam didn’t waste a second and grabbed Tucker’s hand.

“Run.”

They bolted down the stairs, Tucker nearly slamming into her from the sudden force.

“Sam, I didn’t think— I mean— shit, thank you. I thought- Ah!”

“Shit. Let me go, jackass!”

They had barely cleared the Fenton House’s shadow when a large, thick arm slammed into Sam and Tucker’s bellies as Kwan— just Kwan —grabbed them by the waist and lifted them up.

Note-to-self: never piss off a linebacker.

Sam knew Dahs and Kwan were big for their age, being football players and all, but jesus fuck this was insane.

She kicked and punched for her freedom, but either rage was a hell of a pain nullifier or her punches were child’s play.

Crap, and she dropped the stick when he grabbed them. Just her luck.

“You better let us go right now, Kwan!”

“Or what?”

He was effortlessly taking them up the stairs and— oh that’s the door.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, they— they can’t actually lock us in. There’s no key. We-we can just leave,” Tucker whispered, panicked.

“You don’t know much about the Fenton House, do you?”

Sam’s voice was small. She felt small.

They were about to be locked in a horror house.

Dash opened the door. Sam didn’t even see him get there.

“Sayonara, losers. Have fun in the Fenton House.”

The world tilted and blurred for a split second, Sam’s stomach lurching at the weightless sensation, before she and Tucker landed hard on the linoleum floor. Pain shot up her elbow and hip. Beside her, Tucker groaned.

“If you even make it the whole night! Ha!”

Bam!

Tucker scrambled up at once, but as soon as his hand touched the doorknob a sound like a lock sliding into place echoed throughout the empty house.

“Wha…”

Sam waited with bated breath. Then—

A low droning sound buzzed across the floor, seeping through Sam’s hands in an odd pins-and-needles sensation. Red emergency lights flickers throughout the house, bathing everything in muddy crimson, and the droning sound was replaced by the most horrifying screech of twenty-year-old rusted metal scraping against itself.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Thick sheets of metal began dropping over every conceivable entry. Including the windows and, of course, the door. Sam pulled Tucker back by the collar of his shirt just in time to keep his hand attached.

Tucker yelped, clutching his hand close.

“What the fuck—”

Warbled, distorted speech boomed from somewhere in the house, the voice and the words long ruined by time. It was like someone was trying to speak underwater. The message was only a few seconds long, but it was disgustingly haunting. Sam knew exactly what it said.

Ghost attack imminent. Fenton Security measure Christmas Ham activated.

If she remembered correctly, the measure lasted six hours. But the last time it was activated (that anyone knows of) was five years ago. Who knew how much the technology had deteriorated at this point. They could be here for a whole day.

Sam broke from her thoughts to glance at a hyperventilating Tucker. She couldn’t blame him. The Fenton House was creepy enough on the outside. Inside? With flickering red lights? Sam was making an active effort not to throw up from the fear writhing in her intestines.

The shadows kept moving in the corner of her eyes, she swore she kept seeing a green glow (but she couldn’t tell where from), and it was freezing cold. Colder than it was outside, which should be impossible, but it was the Fenton House. Impossible was inconsequential.

Sam shuddered. They had to find a way out.

“Tucker—”

“Sam- ohmygodSam- this is- I mean what the fuck was that? We’re literally trapped here. In a tomb with linoleum floors. Shit, and you’re trapped, too, cuz of me. I shouldn’t have sent you that text. Fuck it I shouldn’t have flunked Dash’s essay. Now we’re gonna die here and—”

“Tucker!”

Sam grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him lightly. Their eyes met, both wide with incessant panic.

“Calm down,” she spoke slowly. Tucker gulped and nodded shakily.

“Okay, okay, yeah.”

“Breathe. You’re good with computers and stuff, right?”

Tucker scoffed, but more in a self-deprecative way rather than an offended one.

“Sure am. It’s what gets me in trouble, isn’t it?”

Sam shook him again.

“Forget that. We need good with computers. The Fentons were notorious for their unorthodox advancements in technology. Supposedly had patents on really futuristic shit. Most of it buried, obviously. But they were good enough that their security system still activates nearly twenty years after their departure.”

Ridiculously good, she thought bitterly.

There was a moment of weighted silence as they looked around the house. The lights, the rusted yet intact panels over the windows. It was eerily quiet. She stepped a bit closer to Tucker, who thankfully didn’t say anything about it.

“Yeah, alright, okay,” he muttered to himself before clearing his throat. “The-there should be, uh, a circuit breaker somewhere. We could cut off the power—”

“Won’t work,” Sam stated, eyes furtively glancing around them. She had the weirdest sensation they were being watched. “The town cut the power away from the Fenton House ages ago. It runs on some kind of external power source, but nobody knows what.”

Sam kinda hoped they didn’t get to find out.

“Shit. Man, what the fuck. Who the fuck were these people?”

Sam let out a manic sort of laugh. The hysteria was boiling up in her like toxic chemicals.

“Do you want the short answer or the long one?”

“I have a feeling we’re gonna be here a while. Long answer?”

A pause.

“We should find a way out.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them moved an inch. They stood in the middle of the living room. A trashed one at that. Although, looking closely from where they were, the whole house looked trashed. Wasn’t the place SWATted?

She spotted a flash of green in the hallway, right there in the corner of her eye, and snapped her head towards it with a small gasp. There was nothing there.

“Hey,” Tucker said softly. “Let’s check out the windows for loose panels or something and you can tell me about the Fentons’ own loose panels.”

Her mouth went dry, but she nodded.

“Sounds good, yeah. So, uh, what do you know about the Fentons?”

Tucker shrugged and went towards the first window, by the door. Sam followed closely by. He didn’t mention it.

“What everyone else knows. Mad scientists who went so crazy after their son’s disappearance that they tried to summon him from the afterlife. They got so obsessed that they never left the house and just, died here, waiting for their son to come back. Pretty sad.”

That window was a bust. So was the next, as well as the door. They ventured into the hallway. There were a few square and rectangle imprints on the walls, but only one hanging frame left. With a picture. Hands shaking, Sam reached up and snagged the picture from where it was, careful not to cut herself on what was left of the glass.

It was a family picture. A wall of a man stood at the back with a practiced, dashing smile. To his left and a little below him was a woman with short, bright red hair. They were both in brightly colored hazmat suits, goggles hanging around their necks.

In front of them were two teens. A girl with bright red hair as well, but styled much longer. Next to her was a boy, younger and slightly shorter than her, with black hair. They were all smiling wide and bright, except for the boy. His was more hesitant, not quite reaching his eyes.

Sam pointed at the young girl.

“Did you know the Fentons had a daughter, too?”

Tucker’s eyebrows went up slightly.

“No… Something tells me I won’t like why.”

“You won’t. Um, kitchen?”

Sam saw another green flash and was anxious to get away from it. They bee-lined to the kitchen, and Tucker checked the windows there.

“So… There’s a few things you got right. The Fentons—” Sam pointed at the two adults in the picture “—were renowned scientists. They did some impressive breakthroughs. Like the kind they still teach in universities, but with a disclaimer attached. The more they went into their work, though, the more obsessed they got…” she trailed off in a whisper, tensing.

The house was creaking.

Tucker stopped in his tracks, too, eyes wide but lips pressed tightly together.

Nothing happened. The house stopped creaking.

Tucker let out a slow breath, eyeing the cabinets.

“Think there’s anything edible left around?”

She glared at him sharply.

“If you open any fridge or cabinet doors, I’m leaving you here alone. This place is bad enough, we don’t need to add rats or rotted food to the list.”

Tucker pouted but conceded.

“Fine, I’ll just starve. Keep telling me about the creepy doctors and their stupid creepy house while we check upstairs.”

Sam sighed in temporary relief. She didn’t think she could handle seeing a fridge full of maggots. Even if it has been almost twenty years.

They continued up the stairs, carefully, and Sam went on with the Fenton tragedy.

“The Fentons started growing obsessed with other dimensions. Specifically… the afterlife, and its inhabitants.”

“Like… ghosts?”

Sam nodded.

“Exactly like. They became convinced they could create a doorway into the afterlife, at the cost of their reputation. They got ostracized by the academic community once they started referring to themselves as ‘ecto-scientists’.”

“Yeah, who wouldn’t. Bunch’a wackos,” Tucker muttered as they ventured into an organized room with cool colors. Light blue walls, light green bed sheets coated in blankets of dust, so the only reason Sam knew they were light green was because she’s seen pictures of what the room looked like twenty years ago. She ignored the uneven pattern of small dark spots on the wall.

It was the girl’s room. Jasmine Fenton’s.

Tucker went straight for the window, but Sam hung back near the entrance.

“They didn’t actually open a doorway, right?”

His voice broker her out of her thoughts. She blinked.

“Hm? Oh, uh, allegedly, yeah.”

This house probably sat on an open portal. There probably was an infestation of something murderous in it. Sam shook the thought away. She’ll drive herself crazy worrying about that.

“Supposedly,” she continued. “The doorway was one of their patents. They had the science backing it up and everything. But they… There were rumors, around the time the supposedly opened the doorway, that there was an accident in the house involving their youngest. Daniel Fenton.”

Tucker frowned at the blocked window. A bust. They made their way to the next room. A queen bed bare of any bedsheets, and a large chest of drawers with an equally large mirror attached to it. The Fentons’ room. It had an extra window.

“What happened to Daniel?”

Sam shuddered, goosebumps breaking out across her arms. The room got colder, so much colder than it had been. A soft crackling sound broke out, like frost taking over with a vengeance. She opened her mouth to speak but her breath got stuck in her throat.

She closed her mouth. Breathe. Another flash of green, this one brighter than the others. Breathe. It was so cold, her teeth started chattering.

“T-t-t-tucker—”

“Y-ye-yeah, I’m-m ignoring it,” he said simply, tugging at the panels.

Fuck, how can he ignore this. Sam was so uncomfortable, consumed by such a sudden unease, she wanted to claw off her skin. She tried to ignore it anyways.

“Daniel— jesus I’m freezing —he was out of school a couple of days after neighbors heard a scream. That same night, the power went out in the whole town, except for the Fenton House.”

The freezing cold seeped away, leaving behind a frost pattern that didn’t melt on the mirror despite the warming room. Sam blew out a breath, sending out a silent thanks.

She frowned, unsure why she did that.

“A lot of people theorize,” she went in, rubbing the remaining cold in her fingertips away. “That one of two things happened that night. One, a backfired experiment drove the Fentons all the way crazy to the point that they started experimenting on both their kids, thinking they were ghosts.”

“Wait, both of—”

“Two, Daniel died because of said backfired experiment and his parents somehow managed to either bring him or his ghost back.”

None of the windows opened. They started for the next room.

“That’s… actually insane. And what do you mean, both their kids?” Tucker stopped for a moment, meeting Sam’s eyes.

“Did something happen to their daughter, too?”

Sam pressed her lips into a thin line. That’s the part rarely anyone knew about the Fenton horrors. Daniel wasn’t their only kid. He certainly wasn’t their only victim.

“I’ll get there,” she replied instead, looking away. “It only gets worse.”

“Christ,” he muttered.

They walked onwards.

“A couple of weeks after that, Daniel disappeared. But in those weeks, the Fentons became obsessive, borderline manic, with ghosts. Their nature, their morality. How to trap them, contain them… kill them.”

They were nearing then end of the hallway, where the last room was.

Tucker shuddered, sporting his own goosebumps.

“I don’t like the way you said that.”

Sam grimaced, sticking close to him once more.

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad. What’s worse, the Fentons called off the search party after just one night. They claimed they didn’t want false hope, they just wanted to lay their son to rest. They buried an empty casket, and Daniel hadn’t even been missing three full days.”

Her voice was hollow.

“Shit. They…”

“Killed their own son because they were convinced he was a ghost? Most likely,” she said bitterly. As far as true crime went, Amity Park’s dark secret was the worst she’s ever read.

Neither said a word. For one long minute, intentionally or not, they remained quiet, mulling over the terror a kid must feel when they realize their own parents saw them as something to be killed. And to think, they were standing in the house where it happened. Where two parents killed their son. Allegedly.

And their daughter…

As if reading her mind, Tucker quietly asked, “What about the girl? It gets worse doesn’t it?”

Sam swallowed, her mouth dry and throat sore.

“They—” she sighed. “After their son ‘becoming a ghost’, they got paranoid. Extremely so. If one of their kids was a ghost… They couldn’t stand the idea of having an imposter in their own home. There were reports of screams two nights after the funeral. Like, really awful screaming that went on for nearly an hour, I think. Authorities broke into the house after multiple calls to find the Fentons in the basement and their daughter on a table just… cut open. She died before the paramedics could get to her.”

Again, neither said another word. Sam wished she’d run faster. Hit Dash harder. This house was tainted in blood and betrayal.

Tucker clutched at his chest and Sam realized his breathing was short and sparse. Crap.

“Tucker—”

“I fucking,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath. “Hate that we’re here. We’re trapped in like they were, but they— Fuck, they were kids. Their kids. Who does that.”

“Tucker, breathe,” Sam insisted lowly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He nodded, but only got a few gasps of air.

“I’ve been t-trying to hold it together but I just can’t— what if we can’t find a way out. What if we die here.”

“We’re not gonna die here,” she stated fiercely despite being unsure of it herself. “If the windows are a no go then we’ll just find a way to deactivate the security system, okay? We’ll be fine.”

Tucker nodded again, quiet.

It took another few minutes until he finally got his breathing under control. Sam squeezed his arm comfortingly, giving him a small smile. They’ll make it.

He returned the smile without a word and turned to the last room. They had windows to check.

She suspected it was Daniel’s room. It was the only one they hadn’t seen yet. Tucker tried to turn the knob but it didn’t budge. She frowned. Weird… thinking about it, all the other rooms had been wide open.

“Rusted?”

Tucker shook his head, shaking off another involuntary shudder. Sam suppressed her own. It was getting colder again. Tucker tried again to open it. No dice. The knob wasn’t budging. He let go of it, hissing through his teeth as he rubbed his hands together.

“The metal is freezing. It, uh, must be something with the heating.”

Sam gave it a try and immediately drew her hand back. Freezing was an understatement. A second longer and she would’ve gotten the world’s worst case of freezer burn.

“Tucker, I don’t think we’re allowed to go in this room,” she whispered, hugging herself to keep warm.

He gave her a look like she was crazy.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That’s Daniel Fenton’s room. All the other rooms were open but this one—”

“—is locked.”

“No. Look at the handle. There’s literal frost on it. There was frost on the mirror in the other room, too. I think—”

“If you say ghost.”

Sam glared at him.

“After everything I told you. Scratch that, haven’t you been feeling all the weird stuff in this house? The creaking, the frankly extreme cold spots, the fucking creepy green light!”

Tucker’s eyes went wide at that, mouth dropping open.

“I-I didn’t think you could see them. But that— that doesn’t mean—”

The house gave a violent creak, causing the floor to rumble threateningly. The temperature dropped drastically, covering the entire hallway in a light frost.

Sam’s teeth immediately started chattering from the cold.

“This is too much,” Tucker whispers, that underlying panic settling back in.

Impossibly, finally finally finally, they both saw the green flash at the other end of the hallway, flickering desperately before disappearing.

“Tuck,” Sam let out, mesmerized, overtaken by the overwhelming urge to follow that light. An itch she had to scratch, to claw at until it broke open. “He’s here.”

She didn’t know how she knew that, but she’s never spoken truer words. This she knew with absolute certainty.

“Sam.”

He was struggling not to fall for the light, but he couldn’t ignore this forever. Sam thought he’d be an idiot to do so.

She moved forward without another word. Shortly, she heard Tucker follow after.

When they reached the stairs, another flash of light burst to life at the landing, flickering that desperate staccato.

They continued to quietly follow the light wherever it appeared. It led them down the hallway of missing picture frames. Sam clutched the picture in her pocket. They reached a closed door. It was colder in this area, but the door knob was warm. It opened easily to reveal stairs to a basement showered in white fluorescent lights.

They went down the stairs with no hesitation, following that green light that was growing more and more desperate with each step they took. At the bottom, they were greeted by an empty expanse of white floor.

There were various metal tables, but all devoid of any machines or materials that one would expect in a lab. Because no doubt that’s what this basement was. There were discarded cords and metal scraps scattered across the room. But most notably, there was a large, round arch-like structure at the center of the furthermost wall. It was huge, its top scraping the basement ceiling. It had an indent, with two metal panels that interlocked in the center. As if it were a… door.

“Sam… is that—”

“Tucker, look.”

The little flash of green stopped by a blue button on the wall. It flickered swiftly, faster than any of the other times before it went out entirely.

They stayed there, standing, for a moment.

“Are we… are we about to find a dead kid’s twenty-year-old decayed corpse?”

Sam nodded shakily, not believing it either.

“I think so.”

They still didn’t move. God, it was so cold. She couldn’t feel her fingertips.

“What if something happens to us?”

“The thought crossed my mind.”

Two dead people found in the house during its abandonment. Three missing.

“And?”

She looked back at him, a soft smile edging its way onto her face.

“He deserves to rest. Doesn’t he?”

Tucker glanced between the blue button and the closed, arch-like door. Determination set into his features. He nodded.

They went towards the button. Tucker settled his hand over it first, Sam placing her hand over his. Their eyes met.

“This had to have been the world’s worst nap.”

Sam snorted and pressed his hand onto the button. The technology down here must be in better conditions because the effect was instantaneous. Concrete scraped against concrete as a rectangular hole opened up in the center of the lab.

From where they were, they could see it. A homemade metal casket that weirdly resembled more of an iron maiden. They found him. Daniel Fenton. He could finally, truly rest.

That’s when the pounding began.

Sam and Tucker turned to each other in horror. She felt a visceral tug in her gut she nearly threw up then and there. Instead she ran to the metal casket, dropping to the ground halfway there so she slid across the floor. The pounding grew louder, and it was definitely coming from inside. Tucker was frozen stuck by the button.

It only gets worse.

A faint sound, behind all the pounding. Sam leaned closer, listening. Her stomach dropped. Her head snapped towards Tucker, eyes a desperate frenzy.

“He’s crying. He- He’s still- o-oh my g- Tucker, help me get him out!”

This broke him out of his horrified stupor and he kneeled on the ground next to her. His hands were shaking.

“What do we do? What do we do?”

“Fuck, idunnoidunno- uh, grab, shit, shit, go to the other side. Maybe we can lift the lid.”

Stumbling, trembling, Tucker did as he was told and crawled to the other side. But he saw what was on the lid. Fuck.

“There’s a lick. Sam, it’s locked.”

She looked back up at him on the verge of tears.

“What! No, no it can’t be- it—”

“Just, hold on. I’m gonna go back upstairs. Maybe there’s something we can use. I’ll be back, I promise.”

She got the feeling he wasn’t really talking to her. The pounding quieted down but there was a muffled sound. A strained whimper.

“Shit,” Tucker whispered before running out and up the stairs.

Sam sniffled and laid a hand in on the biting cold metal of the casket.

“We’re gonna get you out,” she whispered, wiping at the tears streaming uncontrollably down her face. “I don’t really understand how this is even possible, but we’re not gonna leave you here.”

There wasn’t a response. Not a whimper or a knock. She was gripped by the fear that maybe they were too late. Twenty years buried and they were five minutes too late.

Tucker came stomping down the stairs, taking two at a time. She looked up to see he had an honest-to-god metal bat in his hands. Fully intact and not rusted at all. His hat was askew and his eyes seemed wild.

“He- he helped me find it. Nearly ran all over the house,” he said, panting heavily.

“Hurry up and break it,” she begged, not bothering to disguise the desperation in her voice.

Without another word, Tucker aimed the thicker end of the bat downwards and plunged it against the lock.

It broke apart with a resound clang.

“Help me with—”

But Sam was already crossing to where he was. Kneeling, side by side, they gripped the edges of the casket and lifted. A cloud of freezing cold air puffed up, obscuring their vision for a few seconds. They couldn’t see if they really did save a boy’s life, or if it was just his corpse playing tricks on them. But they heard heavy breathing coming from rattling lungs and not from either of them.

They’d both been holding their breaths.

The cloud dispersed. In front of them lay a young boy with matted white hair, brilliant green eyes drowning in tears and a grotesque muzzle caked from within with old and fresh blood. Metal clinked against metal. His wrists were chained to the casket. His knees scraped and bloodied from banging on the lid.

Tucker immediately removed the muzzle, which thankfully wasn’t locked. Sam’s heart broke. Shattered. The boy’s cheeks were caked, blanketed, with that same mixture of blood, his lips horribly scarred.

He sobbed, screwing his eyes shut against the bright lights.

“Thank you,” he rasped. His voice scraped against his throat.

Tucker and Sam held his hand. They cried with him.

“You’re safe with us.”

He always would be.

#ectoberweek2023 #day 25 #danny phantom #shit’s insane #i wrote this in one night #yes instead of sleeping #it ran away from me so quick #i wrote like a beast POSSESSED #when i tell you this story had me in a choke hold #there’s a lot of fenton lore for this one in my head in true crime format #i think said format really adds to the horreur~ of it all #things that didnt make it into the story: sam’s witchiness #she’s studying to be a green witch #tucker is the classic nerd #can you tell i tried to stick to the early 2000s vibes? pls tell me you can #alsoalso can you spot the teensy super tiny monster high reference #i couldnt help myself #badass Sam Manson #i love her #posted a little late but hope that’s okay #sorry for any grammar errors im pretty tired dkdj #tucker foley #he just wants a friend pls #i genuinely like how their personalities came out in this one #will o' the wisp #buried alive #infinite constant: the trio will always find each other

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idesofrevolution · 2 years

Text

Memento Mori

"Just one more week, Mr. Winslow. The shop is slow, my boss reduced my hours. But I have enough coming in this next check to pay off some of the arrears..." David pleaded, his voice quivering. After several bad months, he was behind on rent for the very first time in his life. Was that enough to convince the landlord for some patience and leniency? Of course not. As he droned on about the lease and the state laws, David kept typing furiously on his laptop. All the stress of daily bills and daily life had taken it's toll on his degree, and his grades had started to slip. What he needed was an injection of funds, and within the next few days. He hung up the cell phone, hit the submit button on his essay, and immediately starting hitting the job boards. His new Applicant Headshot proudly sat atop his impressive résumé filled with internships and volunteer work. A deep breath and he started searching.

First listing: Receptionist Needed, part time, 7.25/hr. Definitely not enough to even cover the electric bill. ISO Experienced Line Cook, at least 6 years of experience required. Not even gonna try with that one… Now Hiring Sales Representatives for multi-level marketing firm, $50k Introductory pay possible. Possible? What the hell does that even mean? Scrolling through Indeed, it was clear there were slim pickings, and that was being awfully optimistic. David sighed, thinking of every past due balance, the credit cards, the rent, the student loans, the utilities. At bare minimum he’d need a job paying at least $18-20/hr. But without a completed masters, few openings would even come close. Just as he was about to slam the laptop shut in utter frustration, the little ping of a new notification rang from the speakers. He scrolled up and read the listing.

“Assistant Needed. $25/hr. Part time, full time possible with successful first gig. Training provided. Apply below.” The listing was bare bones, but it caught his attention. If anything it was rather mysterious, and somewhat alluring to him. Either way, mysterious or not, he clicked the submit resume button. The only listing he was remotely qualified for now submitted, he closed his laptop. Almost immediately, his phone rang. The number was unrecognized, and didn’t even show a Caller ID. Normally, he’d ignore such calls, but perhaps it was a recruiter, or perhaps it was a debt collector. He closed his eyes, swiped accept, and pulled the phone to his ear.

“This David Bellingham?” The voice was youthful but gruff, and a bit odd. He affirmed his identity with caution. “Yeah, we got your application, and wanted to get you in for an interview as soon as possible. Are you available?” David’s heart plummeted to his toes.

“Yes! Absolutely. I can be there immediately if you give me the address!” The man on the other side of the line began to whisper, clearly not to David, and after a few moments, he responded.

“Knock knock.” The line disconnected. Trying to call the number back, he found it to be “unreachable at this time.” Concerned he was the victim of doxxing, he threw the phone across the room just as the heavy pounding on his door echoed from the front of the apartment. David sat nervously in his desk chair, unable to bring himself to even stand. He watched the front door, only the doorknob and lock viewable from his perch. To his horror, the top lock swiped to the left, and the knob quickly turned. The door swung open and a tall, lean man entered the room, quickly shutting the door behind him. The heavy footfalls from his gigantic Nikes slamming against the hardwood approached quickly, and the full sight of the man came into view.

He was inked from the face downward. A teardrop just under his right eye, various designs littered his shirtless torso and crept beneath his ratty grey sweatpants. A good looking guy for certain, but the air about him was certainly heavier with a sense of dominance and malfeasance. This was not a “good guy.”

“You stay right there, and don’t move. Got it?” The voice was the very same from the phone call. How could he have possibly found him this quickly? Let alone let himself into his own private domicile? Terrified, he nodded gently at the man as he leaned his sweaty body against the wall. “Interview time. You need a gig, right? Quick money?” David nodded, trying to coyly pull at his pockets for his phone, only to remember he’d tossed it across the room in rage. “Phones over there. I wouldn’t go for it if I were you.”

“What do you want?” David’s voice was trembling, the fear overtaking any bout of feigned defiance he’d intended to convey. The man smirked and looked around the apartment.

“I want an assistant for a job. You applied for the job. Now I’m interviewing you, right?” Knowing full well he’d lost complete control over the situation, he accepted he just had to make it through this interaction and wait for the man to leave before he’d be able to call the cops. “The group I work with are… let’s just say repo men and leave it at that. We need a guy that certain people wouldn’t recognize, and I think you fit the bill nicely.” The man looked David up and down, the pristine black button up and jeans contrasted entirely with his own attire. “I’ll sweeten the deal for ya. $75k for this one time job.” David’s jaw dropped. There was no way in hell this guy was legit. Nor was he offering a job that law enforcement would likely approve of. He could read between the lines. Mustering his strength, he found himself able to mutter out a single question.

“What’s the job, exactly?” The man smiled, his one gold tooth sparkled in the sunlight coming in from the window.

“All we need you to do is drive a car for me. In fact, I’ll drive the car, all I need is you to be in the drivers seat.” David was confused, terrified, nearly delirious with desperation to escape whatever scheme he was to be implicated in should he go through with it. Certainly the money would help, but with no guarantee he’d ever get that sum, paired with the fact his potential boss had literally broken into his home sparked should have sparked a fight or flight response within him. However, whether it was his brain misfiring or fear just getting to him, he found himself nodding once again and quietly saying:

“Okay. I can do that.” The man put his hand up to his ear, needing one more bout of confirmation. “Yes, I’ll do it.” It was a lie. Anything to escape the situation. But that confirmation to the man was in line with a verbal contract. The deal was sealed.

“Aight. Get up. Time for training.” Shit. It had backfired. The man walked over to him, extending his hand to pull the lanky young man out of the perceived safety of his swivel desk chair. His body moved of its own accord, accepting the hand, and the yank to his shaking feet. The man towered above him, looming over him like a monolith of muscle, skin, and ink. He began to poke and prod, seemingly making an inventory in his mind of what David could offer. “Tight squeeze. But you’re a good fit I think, Bellingham.” He pointed to the wall. “Put your hands against the wall, don’t fucking turn around. Do you understand?”

David did as he was told. He scampered to the wall, placing his clammy palms on it, breathing heavily. The room fell silent aside from the labored breath, and the cacophonous footsteps from the man. Against the back of his neck, he could feel the breath of the man mere inches from the little hairs standing on end.

“Try not to moan too loudly.” The man’s hands slithered around his skinny waist, riding his shirt up ever so slowly. Looking down, he could see the man’s black fingernails glide across his bare midriff, pulling him close until he could feel his warm, wet chest against his back. He let out a quiet gasp, as the fear began to subside under his gentle touch. “Mmmmmm yeah, baby. This is gonna feel good.” The man’s right hand made its way to the back of his shoulder blade, the fingertips massaging his tight deltoids. The second hand followed suit, pressing and pulling against his boney shoulders until he could barely feel them. That’s when the numbness made way to a new sensation, undefinable by mere words. It was fullness, it was tightness, it was euphoric, it was… stretchy.

Opening his eyes for a moment, he looked down to see the outline of two large hands pressing outward from beneath the skin of his chest. He gasped, but the sound was immediately caught in the back of his throat. The man hummed low and quiet, as the sound of elastic stretching followed the hands slowly pressing into his shoulders and down into the top of his arms. As if his body was slurping and sucking them into place, they traveled down his biceps, the intricate ink faintly visible beneath his pale porcelain skin. The hands were pulled by an almost vacuum force down his forearms and slipped into his hands. David’s skin began to pulsate and creak under the pressure of this alien mass as the fingers pushed the tips of his own further outward. He could feel the man’s larger biceps and longer arms stretching and stretching until a loud “Schlick” signified their suction in place. Against the wall, where his hands once were, were a pair of massive meaty hands: tattooed, black nails, thrice their original size. The man rested his chin on David’s shoulder as the hands began to move on their own, cracking their knuckles and caressing their tight muscles.

“Yeah, we gonna get you all trained up for the job.” David looked down as he felt the tips of the man’s massive toes pressing against his Achilles’ tendon. He moaned in pleasure for a mere second before his left hand clasped over his mouth as the foot pushed into his. His thighs ballooned out as the man’s legs began to slide into him, the creaking and groaning of his elastic skin growing louder as he pushed himself deeper into David. For a moment, he thought he could hear the sound of bones cracking as his foot stretched out to accommodate the invader’s, but as the tips of his toes were finally filled, they had grown into two high arched, musky size 15s. The heat from his new soles created a steamy footprint against the wood floor, and only as he backed up did he see he’d grown almost a foot taller. His jeans struggled to contain the cut, chiseled quads and calves. One firm push further, and he felt a squirming within his groin.

“Ahh, fuck. Let me just…” His hands unbuttoned the waist of his jeans, pulling down the whitie tighties which had cupped his modest package. With a firm grip from his calloused hand, he pulled the tip of his cock outward, watching in erotic confusion as the lurking outline of the man’s monstrous duck slurp up the base of his own- pushing farther and farther, until the man let out a loud sigh as it had expanded fully into David’s, snaking longer and wider than ever before.

Gently stroking his new python, the man pressed his chest against David’s back, squeezing his own shoulders together to squirm and shimmy into the tight confines of their soon-to-be home. As if crouching, David felt the man slip into him, the elastic skin of his back slowly sealing shut behind the invading torso. Finally within him, the man stood up straight, letting his shoulders stretch outward, and his pecs burst out of the formerly skinny body. Hearing the soft chuckle of a devious thug growing closer and closer, David could only watch in the mirror as the man’s face pressed out from beneath the skin of his neck, protruding sharply as it slid upward. He could feel the man’s sweaty black hair in the back of his throat, pressing hard against the tight hole leading to his mouth; and thus his head. Pressure had mounted, vision became blurry, his eyelids flickered open and shut just as he felt the crown of the man’s head finally stretch past his jaw. It was seconds. The man’s head was immediately suctioned into the smaller skull of David. As his now dark Hazel eyes opened, David could only watch as the man pinched and contorted his face; pressing his nose, lips, chin, ears into their respective places. The man smiled, his one gold tooth now sparkling from within the merged body of his host.

“Not bad. Lookin good, if I’m being real. You in there, little man?” The man tapped on his temple, David acknowledging the echoing beating from the dark void of his mind. “Yeah, you watchin’. I told you I was gonna train you.” The man flexed his new muscles. “This is just part one. Now we get your mind all fixed up.” David’s consciousness was merely floating in the endless abyss of darkness, unable to resist as a flood of foreign thoughts began to pour in. The man continued to jack his thick rod, the pace quickening as David’s mind was filled with the man’s own memories and experiences. Or, rather was filled with Dante’s memories. Whatever rage, discontent, or distrust flashed away, and the figure of Dante, the invader of his body quickly shifted from an adversary to a mentor. Methods of hot wiring cars, lock picking, slide of hand, coke sniffing, ass fucking, pussy licking, pit sniffing, sneaker huffing, tongue kissing, machismo all but replaced whatever he once had stored in the vault of his memory. Dante and David were no longer two, but for the moment at least, were one.

Dante blew the load of David’s useless collegiate education, meek insecurities, nervous demeanor, and whack sense of right and wrong right out of his long thick cock into a puddle on the floor. He flopped backward onto the rug, and lay there huffing and sweating.

“Fuck yeah, man. You feelin’ good up in there?” The faint murmur of his new pupil within him purred in ecstasy. “Let’s get this job done, get you your money. Then we’ll see how you feel about goin’ full time.” Dante smirked from within him, knowing all too well that he had a new member to his crew.

———————

“State police are still on the lookout for those involved with the robbing of a New Orleans bank approximately seven months ago, a small bounty has been offered to anyone with pertinent knowledge of…” Dante smirked as he closed the YouTube video. Sitting in plain daylight on the steps of the Courthouse, the gang flaunted just how untouchable they were to all who knew who they were. There wasn’t ever going to be any leads for the police, no one would ever dare. Besides. Rob from the rich, give to the poor. The poor, of course being themselves.

Walking over to Dev, their new getaway driver, he handed him a cigarette from his own personal collection. The sneering visage of his crewmate and pupil was thanks enough for him as he flicked his lighter and ignited the Treasurer Luxury smoke. Training went well over the past few months, and after five or six successful heists, the newest Libertine boy found himself a permanent fixture. Now rolling in the finest cars, fucking the hottest guys and girls in the club, and throwing hundreds like they were dollars, Dev was rearing for the next payday. And as a professional, he was bound to deliver.

#male transformation #male possession #body transformation #original #transformation #body possession #possession #body merging #male merging #merging #punkification #badass possession #badass transformation #bad boy transformation #criminal transformation #male tf

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