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themythinglink · 7 months

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Welcome Foolish Mortals!

With Halloween fast approaching, here's a special treat: the Haunted Mansion case study I wrote for my 2013 book, EVERY GUEST IS A HERO: Disney's Theme Parks and the Magic of Mythic Storytelling--available in both print and e-reader editions from Amazon.com. Enjoy!

Tomb It May Concern Haunted Mansion

by Adam M. Berger

Many Disney attractions deliver their thrills by pretending to put you in peril—either personally (as in Indiana Jones Adventure and Big Thunder Mountain) or vicariously (Pinocchio’s Daring Journey, Snow White’s Scary Adventures). But the Haunted Mansion is one of the few that purport to send you into the afterlife…or at least offer you a peek into the Great Beyond. Unless you count the “white room” scene near the end of “it’s a small world” (which some guests reportedly assume represents some sort of international “singing doll heaven,”) the remainder of the list is pretty much limited to the finale scene of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride and the various iterations of Tower of Terror.

The Haunted Mansion’s ubiquity in the Magic Kingdom-class parks around the world testifies to the attraction’s inherent appeal. Each version is unique in its own ways, with some differences more significant than others. In Disneyland Paris for example, where the attraction is known as Phantom Manor, the sequence of scenes is notably different from its counterparts in the U.S. and Japan, as is the storyline’s emphasis (though the overall theme remains largely intact).[1] Only Hong Kong Disneyland, among the Magic Kingdom-class parks, is devoid of a version of the Haunted Mansion.[2] For the purposes of this case study, however, we’ll focus solely on the Magic Kingdom rendition.

Your first good view of the Haunted Mansion will typically be from the quaint colonial environs of Liberty Square��a Special World within the Special World of the Magic Kingdom (see Ch. 5: Please Stand Clear of the Doors), which, at the same time, represents the Ordinary World relative to the Special World of the Haunted Mansion. The Dutch-Gothic style manor house looms over Liberty Square—a foreboding presence atop a low hill, set apart from the other attractions yet impossible to ignore…especially with its frequent wolf howls serving as a chilling Call to Adventure that can be heard throughout the area and even from Tom Sawyer Island.

Of course no one can resist the enchanting strains of a nice, full-throated wolf howl. And so, accepting the Call, you follow your ears through the wrought-iron gate and onto the manor’s grounds. Traversing the neatly manicured entry drive, you pass a glossy black horse-drawn hearse, which appears to be hitched up to an invisible horse, the contours of its body discernable only by the shapes of its leather harness. Though you have barely crossed the First Threshold into the Special World of the Haunted Mansion, already you are finding that the rules are different here.

Soon, the queue leads you into the family cemetery, where the graves of various loved ones feature headstones playfully hinting at their less-than-virtuous lives and their not-so-dignified demises. But there’s something else that sets this cemetery apart from those of the Ordinary World. For here, the dearly departed refuse to entirely depart. Instead, several of them linger in our mortal realm well past their expiration dates—in spirit, at least—and are fond of making their presences known in whimsically macabre ways. Thus, the pipe organ-shaped tomb of a decomposing composer plays his favorite tune (“Grim Grinning Ghosts”) when you touch the sculpted stone keyboard, while the sepulcher of “Captain Culpepper Clyne,” (who was “allergic to dirt so he’s pickled in brine”) douses nearby mourners with a spritz of saltwater whenever its occupant sneezes. And so it appears that, by entering the domain of the dead, you are already beginning to display a nascent ability to interact with them.

Arriving at the Mansion’s imposing front door, you are soon greeted by a lugubrious-looking butler or maid, who dolefully bids you enter. This time your threshold crossing is a literal one, and it delivers you into a gloomy foyer, where a portrait of a dashing young man quickly ages—“Dorian Gray” style—until the subject is reduced to a putrefying corpse. This, it turns out, will be just one of many transformations you’ll be encountering in the course of your Journey. Meanwhile, speaking over the sound of a mournful organ arrangement of “Grim Grinning Ghosts,” the disembodied voice of the Ghost Host welcomes you and the other “foolish mortals” in your group. He then issues the Haunted Mansion’s first official Call to Adventure as he invites you to step into the Portrait Gallery. It seems that, simply by being here, you’ve already accepted the Call. For as your Ghost Host informs you with an audible smirk, “There’s no turning back now.”

Through much of your Journey, the Ghost Host will be not only be your tour guide, but will also fulfill the dual roles of herald and mentor, announcing each new threshold and explaining some of the paranormal activity you will encounter as you penetrate ever deeper into this supernatural realm. However, here in the Portrait Chamber, he is apparently getting a mischievous kick observing your “cadaverous pallor” as you begin to “…sense a disquieting metamorphosis.” But it’s not your imagination; the entire room really is stretching—including the paintings of several previous guests “…as they appeared in the their corruptible, mortal state.”

And now your Ghost Host is cheerfully pointing out that, “This chamber has no windows and no doors…which leaves you with this chilling challenge: to find a way out!” And so you are assigned your first test on the Road of Trials.

Before you can ponder your next move, the gargoyle lamps are suddenly extinguished as a flash of lightning reveals the gruesome sight of the Ghost Host’s decaying corpse hanging from the cupola rafters, which have suddenly become visible through the formerly opaque chamber ceiling. A clap of thunder and a bloodcurdling scream complete the effect. When the lights return a moment later, you notice that one of the walls has somehow vanished, allowing you and your fellow adventurers to exit the chamber.

Though you are only at the beginning of your Haunted Mansion tour, you are already becoming acquainted with some of the peculiarities of the otherworldly realm inside this place. First, you are beginning to realize that, in this Special World, things are seldom what they seem at first. Going forward, you can be sure that your expectations (based, reasonably enough, on your experiences in the Ordinary World) will be upended again and again. You are also starting to sense that this house possesses a personality of its own—one with a twisted sense of humor.

Now, as you emerge from the Portrait Chamber, you notice that the Ghost Host’s claim that “There’s no turning back now” is not quite true. For just outside the chamber is a doorway with a sign: “Full of fear? Exit here.” If you belatedly decide to refuse your Call to Adventure, this is your opportunity to make a last-minute escape back to the friendly, familiar environs of Liberty Square. But it’s going to take a lot more than a stretching room and a swinging corpse to discourage you from continuing your Journey. And so you bypass the “chicken exit” and instead follow your compatriots into a gloomy corridor where, in the words of the Ghost Host, “…a carriage approaches to carry you into the boundless realm of the supernatural.”

Your “carriage,” of course, turns out to be a Doom Buggy—a ride vehicle painted a fashionably funereal shade of black, matching the tone of the humor you’ll be encountering through the remainder of your Journey. Moments after you step aboard, you cross the first of several shadowy thresholds awaiting you beyond. This one leads to the Portrait Corridor, where flashes of lightning expose the secret monsters lurking within as an angelic young woman turns out to be a horrifying medusa, and a regal knight on a handsome steed is revealed to be a hideous ghoul astride a skeletal horse. It’s a continuation of the transformation theme that began in the foyer. But these portraits also hint at the idea that each of us has a private, hidden self, concealed behind the public selves we display to the world. Just as the well-manicured grounds and pristine exterior of the Haunted Mansion conceal a dark, sinister world within, many aspiring heroes must ultimately acknowledge and deal with the dark inner forces of their own self-doubt, guilt, anger, resentment, jealousy, hubris, or other negative emotions that hold them back and threaten to derail their quests.

Passing beneath an archway, you enter the Mansion’s dimly lit library, which the Ghost Host explains, “…is well-stocked with priceless first editions; only ghost stories, of course.” A bookcase ladder moves on its own while an apparently empty rocking chair rocks back and forth and books slide in and out of their places on the dusty bookshelves. Even the marble busts seem endowed with some sort of life force as they shift their gaze to follow your Doom Buggy’s motion from their bookcase perches.

It seems some of the Mansion’s resident spirits are present, yet you are unable to directly see them, as you are not yet attuned to the spiritual frequencies of this ghostly Special World. Your ever-helpful Ghost Host has a quick remedy however, explaining, “…we have 999 happy haunts here, but there's room for a thousand. Any volunteers, hmmm?” It is perhaps the strangest and most macabre Call to Adventure you will find anywhere in the Disney theme parks. And as if to assure you that he’s serious, the Ghost Host adds, “If you should decide to join us, final arrangements may be made at the end of the tour...” Nevertheless, this is one Call to Adventure you should probably pass up.

Next, you enter the Music Room where moonlight streaming through the large windows reveals the shadow of an otherwise invisible pianist, pounding out chords on a dusty old piano. This shadow, according to Imagineering sources, belongs to the Ghost Host, though it’s never stated anywhere in the attraction. In fact, this particular scene is presented without any narration at all. In any case, you can only perceive the figure’s ghostly presence implicitly as you are still developing the mental skills you will need to directly visualize the Mansion’s spectral inhabitants.

Leaving the music room, your Doom Buggy ascends through a chamber where staircases surround you at impossible angles while glowing green footprints appear on the steps. The deeper you penetrate into the mansion, the more you appreciate how far the rules of this Special World depart from those of the Ordinary World. The strange staircase drives home the extent to which your familiar sense of “reality” has been literally turned upside down.

Arriving at the top of the staircases, you notice malevolent-looking eyes scowling at you from the deep shadows. As you move into a gloomy corridor, the eyes eventually merge into the pattern of the creepy wallpaper. Next, you pass a parlor, where a suit of medieval armor and an easy chair decorated with a spooky, abstract face seem to be watching your every move. Nearby, a flickering candelabrum floats eerily in mid-air in a seemingly endless hallway. The candelabrum is not just another peculiar phenomenon; it’s also a signal, a beacon. Someone—or more likely something—is beckoning you to follow. For now, you decline this new Call to Adventure as your Doom Buggy carries you past the corridor and into the next room. Yet the floating candelabrum implies that, for the first time, one of the residents of this peculiar world (other than your Ghost Host) is making at least a token effort to reach out to you.

Now your Doom Buggy rotates around to face backward as you enter the Mansion’s conservatory, where dead flowers surround a coffin occupying the center of the room. A raven is perched atop a wreath featuring a banner that reads: “Farewell.” However, the eulogies may be premature, as the coffin’s occupant is desperately trying to pry the lid open from within, his gnarled hands illuminated by a sickly green light that spills out of the sarcophagus. “All our guests have been dying to meet you,” says the voice of the Ghost Host, dripping with sarcasm. “This one can hardly contain himself.”

Does the fact that you can clearly see the coffin’s occupant (or at least his hands) mean that you have suddenly graduated to the rank of “ghost whisperer” and are now able to visualize the Mansion’s spectral inhabitants? Sorry, not really. The hands are visible to you because this is not a spirit at all, but merely an “undead” corpse—or maybe even a still-living individual unwillingly awaiting a premature burial. But rest assured, you will be able to directly perceive the “happy haunts” with your own eyes…though you are not there yet.

And what of the raven on the wreath? As you may have already guessed, the dark, menacing creature is more than mere decoration. The raven, in fact, has a long mythological pedigree. In Norse mythology, the father god Odin has two ravens—Huginn and Muninn—that serve as feathered reconnaissance drones, relaying news to him of everything that happens in Midgard (Middle Earth, the human domain). In other words, Odin’s two ravens provide a means of communication between the mortal world and the supernatural realm of the Norse gods. The raven is also a major part of the creation myth of the indigenous peoples of the Pacific Northwest Coast, who also consider the bird to be a trickster god. And most famously, the title figure of Edgar Alan Poe’s unnerving 1845 poem “The Raven” plays the role of a supernatural messenger, whose repeated utterance of a single enigmatic word—“Nevermore”—is laden with meaning for the poem’s narrator. And so, given its strong symbolic connection with the world beyond, it should hardly come as a surprise that you will be meeting the Mansion raven three more times before your Journey has ended.

The mystical forces flowing through the Mansion now propel your Doom Buggy into a corridor lined with heavy doors. And whoever—or whatever—is on the other side of those doors seems anxious to make a grand entrance on your side. Doorknobs twist and doorknockers pound while grunts, growls, and snarls issue from within. A pair of skeletal hands can even be seen pressing one door outward. Fortunately, as your Ghost Host remarks, “They all seem to be having trouble getting through.”

The Corridor of Doors (WDI’s internal name for this scene) might as well be known as the Corridor of Thresholds. Each one presumably leads into some other part of the Haunted Mansion’s Special World. But in this case, the beings on the other side would rather cross over to your side of the threshold. Which just goes to remind you that threshold crossings can work in both directions.

Just beyond the Corridor of Doors, you pass through the Clock Hall, which features a single grandfather clock. A pair of skeletal fingers that serve as the hour and minute hands rapidly spin counter-clockwise, striking the 13th hour every few seconds. At the same time, the shadow of a sinister claw sweeps across the clock’s demonic features. The creepy scene serves to reinforce the strangeness of this Special World, reminding you (as if you needed further prompting) that the rules of your familiar, Ordinary World do not apply in this ghostly place.

“Perhaps Madame Leota can establish contact,” suggests the Ghost Host as you enter the Séance Circle. “She has a remarkable head for materializing the disembodied.” Indeed, you are fascinated by the sight of Madame Leota’s luminescent head inside a crystal ball, floating preternaturally above the séance table. The raven from the conservatory, meanwhile, now perches on the back of the chair behind the table, its presence here reinforcing its mythic reputation as a supernatural messenger.

You have caught Madame Leota in the midst of an incantation as she summons the spirits into the visible world, intoning, “Serpents and spiders, tail of a rat—call in the spirits, wherever they’re at!” Musical instruments float through the air, responding to her spell, while a formless green apparition traces a phosphorescent trail in the surrounding darkness.

As the medium that establishes contact between you and the spirit world, Madame Leota fulfills the herald archetype, beckoning the Mansion’s ghostly residents to reveal themselves. At the same time, she acts as a threshold guardian, essentially controlling the flow of spiritual energy between the dimensions. However, at this point in your Journey, you have undergone your own sensory transformation. Whether you are aware of it or not, the prior chambers you encountered during your tour, with their “wall-to-wall creeps, and hot and cold running chills,” were all tests along the mythic Road of Trials. The fact that you (presumably) endured the succession of frights without freaking out has proved your worthiness. And now you are about to collect your reward.

“The happy haunts have received your sympathetic vibrations and are beginning to materialize,” announces your Ghost Host as your Doom Buggy carries you into the Grand Hall, where the Mansion’s residents are “…assembling for a swinging wake…” This announcement marks a turning point in your relationship with the Mansion’s resident ghosts. They have obviously undergone a transformation, transitioning into a state visible to your mortal eyes. But that transition comes as the direct result of your own metamorphosis, which has enabled you to project your “sympathetic vibrations” into the abode of the dead.

The “swinging wake” proves to be just as rowdy as advertised, with dozens of translucent apparitions waltzing, cavorting drunkenly, swinging from the chandeliers, dueling, and partying themselves silly while even more spooks pour through the ballroom door—all to the tune of “Grim Grinning Ghosts” performed on a ghoulish pipe organ by an equally ghoulish organist. You can now say, with a straight face, “I see dead people.”

The festive mood takes a dark turn as your Doom Buggy is unceremoniously diverted to the attic, where a dirge-like piano version of Wagner’s Wedding March (AKA “Here Comes the Bride”) wafts through the space. “We have 999 happy haunts here,” your Ghost Host informs you. “But there’s room for a thousand. Any volunteers?”

Still in the attic, you pass a series of wedding portraits. Each one features the same bride but a different groom. And in each portrait, the groom’s head vanishes before your eyes. Soon you encounter the bride herself—a smiling, wraith-like presence. “I do,” she says repeatedly in a slow, menacing voice as a gleaming hatchet materializes in her clasped hands. The implication is clear: this is the girl your mother warned you about.

In mythic tales, a wedding generally signifies a major milestone in the hero’s Journey toward maturity. However, if the hero is not ready for the responsibilities of adulthood, tragedy can ensue—as appears to be the case here. Appropriately, the (literal) beating heart of that tragedy has been hidden away here in the attic, which turns out to be the Inmost Cave of your personal Hero’s Journey, and this encounter is your Supreme Ordeal. Moreover, though the Haunted Mansion storyline is deliberately vague on the subject, it’s entirely possible that the hatchet-wielding “black widow” bride may be the epicenter of all the supernatural activities that have taken over the Mansion, with her matrimonial murder spree providing the trigger event that attracted the 998 other happy haunts inhabiting this place. As such, the bride, despite her angelic glow, is actually the shadow archetype in your adventure—a literal femme fatale, as well as a shape-shifter and trickster.

As though sensing your unease in the murderous bride’s presence, your Doom Buggy hastily transports you out of her vicinity via the most direct means possible: by diving directly out the attic window…and into the Mansion’s very unusual graveyard. You are now commencing the Return movement of your Journey, and like many mythic heroes, you briefly “taste death” as your Doom Buggy descends in reverse, making it feel as though you are being laid to rest in an open grave. Meanwhile, the Mansion raven, with its glowing red eyes, watches attentively from the branch of a gnarled old tree.

Nearby, wispy ghosts fly up out of their graves and into the inky night sky, while the caretaker and his emaciated hound stand nearly petrified with fear in front of the cemetery gate. Do they share your newfound ability to visualize the Mansion’s happy haunts? Or is it the sudden sight of you that has them so terrified? It’s anyone’s guess. Meanwhile, an upbeat jazz-inflected rendition of "Grim Grinning Ghosts" lilts through the night air, performed by a graveyard ensemble, including a quintet of harmonizing headstones. Ghastly ghouls pop up on either side of your Doom Buggy, while a stout opera diva, a decapitated knight, a lively mummy, and an ethereal cast of other grim grinning ghosts have “…come out to socialize.”

The musical number serves as a cheekily cheery send-off as the Return movement continues and you approach a new threshold: a stone archway that leads to the Mansion’s shadowy stone crypt. The red-eyed raven joins you one last time, glaring down at you from its perch atop the arch. As the Mansion’s unofficial supernatural messenger, the raven’s appearance no doubt heralds a new development in your adventure. Perhaps the bird is here to remind you of the fact that the Return movement of the Hero’s Journey is often fraught with new perils for the hero.

But what is the nature of this latest menace? “There’s a little matter I forgot to mention,” offers the voice of the Ghost Host. “Beware of hitchhiking ghosts!” By this time, of course, it’s far too late for the warning to be of any value. In any case, the otherworldly forces that have been steering your Doom Buggy all along are still in control, leaving you no choice in your destiny. And so the three ghostly hitchhikers[3] now come into view—and they seem unlikely to take “no” for an answer.

Moments later, you are passing a long wall of mirrors, by which point one of the three hitchhikers has already joined you in your vehicle to fulfill its role as a certified trickster archetype. Catching your reflections, you watch with amused disbelief as the hitchhiker proceeds to interact with you in fiendishly silly ways—swapping your head with his own, popping your noggin like a balloon, and playing other literal head games with you. “They have selected you to fill our quota,” the Ghost Host informs you, “and they'll haunt you until you return!”

With this scene, your assimilation into the Special World of the Haunted Mansion is now complete. You are not only able to see the happy haunts; now you are actually, (meta)physically interacting with them…and vice-versa. But the hitchhiking ghosts serve another function. Mythic heroes often return from their Journeys in the Special World with a boon: a healing elixir, a magical ring, a miraculous sword, or some other souvenir of their adventures. Your token souvenir? A hitchhiking ghost. Mazel tov.

Finally, as your Doom Buggy nears the unload area, a miniature spirit nicknamed “Little Leota” bids you farewell from a shelf overlooking the ride path and urges you to “Hurry baaack. Be sure to bring your death certificate if you decide to join us.” You then exit your Doom Buggy onto a moving belt, which conveys you to the exit.

Yet your adventures in the Special World are not quite over yet. For you must now pass through the Mansion’s outdoor mausoleum, where you are serenaded by an a capella rendition of “Grim Grinning Ghosts” performed as a Gregorian chant. The inscriptions on the vaults continue in the style of the morbidly amusing epitaphs you viewed in the front cemetery, including several horrifying puns. Then, if you glance up at the hillside as you exit the mausoleum, you’ll even catch a glimpse of a fenced off pet cemetery. Finally, you again pass the black hearse with its invisible horse before you arrive back in the relative Ordinary World of Liberty Square.

The mausoleum experience is part of your transition back to that Ordinary World. Once you are beyond the mystical influence of the Haunted Mansion, you are no longer able to “see dead people.” That ability has vanished—at least until you “Hurry baaack,” (unless you count the residents of the nearby Hall of Presidents, most of whom long ago shuffled off their mortal coils). But your memory of the experience remains, and your assumptions about the spirit world may never be the same. After all, “There’s no turning back now!”

[1] The differences between the various Haunted Mansion attractions are spelled out in detail by Imagineer Jason Surrell in his book The Haunted Mansion: From the Magic Kingdom to the Movies (Disney Editions, 2003)

[2] Out of cultural considerations involving traditional Chinese sensitivities toward the subject of ghosts, that niche in the park’s attraction portfolio is occupied by Mystic Manor, a dark ride that immerses its guests in an all-new supernatural adventure.

[3] Affectionately nicknamed Phineas, Ezra, and Gus, the three hitchhiking ghosts have become the semi-official mascots of the Haunted Mansion.

#disney #haunted mansion #mythic storytelling #Joseph Campbell

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sanchoyo · 3 years

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danny phantom season 2, eps 1-5 thoughts! opening the new season with episodes like these kinda blew me away. we had multiple serious episodes INCLUDING a two parter!! also, valerie :)

see prev episode thoughts in this tag <3

-I don't know what I expected s2 to open with. but danny portal incident in more detail was not it. (also, I hate to break it to you, sam, but danny's parent's bigass ghost hunting rv def chugs more gas than those vehicles, lmao. unless it runs on ectoplasm or something...)

-WHY WAS DESIREE IN THE SEWER? HAVING TEA WITH IT DOWN THERE?? Her making the giant cow come alive is a boss move, we've almost had all of my fav animals as ghosts now <3 I also don't like how sam was expecting danny to just, haunt the place so the cars wouldn't get sold? I KNOWWW I know she's 14 (and I had a very annoying phase like this, I think I mentioned in a previous post, I GET IT) but they're HIS powers, and messing with (1) dealership will not really put a dent in sales overall because they can just move the cars to another sales lot, and it certainly wont change the industry anyway, it's more of a minor annoyance for (1) location. Also, usually people who work at car sales places work on commission, so if they dont make a sale, they don't have money to pay bills, or eat. sam baby if u wanna be an activist you need to like, actually look into these things. with as much money as her parents have, she could be doing a lot..more useful things for causes she cares about? it's frustrating to see someone with resources who doesn't know how to use them. but shes 14 so again. cannot be really upset :/

-IS THIS A PREDATOR VS TERMINATOR VS FREDDY KRUEGER MOVIE BUT THEYRE ALL WOMEN?? you know, sam is so right to be excited about this. /I/ want to see this movie. that rules

-paulina inviting danny and friends to her quinceañera, aw! even if it is just to get phantom to show up :') and there'll be a meteor shower, and we KNOW danny wants to be an astronaut!! there's not a meteor shower every night!! the tickets are non-refundable, but..she's rich? like. gotta agree with danny, they never get invited!! I KNOW it's the principle of keeping promises, but if she was that upset, she should've said something. directly. I hated how she was like, passive aggressive about it through the episode, like you SAID IT WAS FINE, THAT YOU'D GO TO THE PARTY TOO. MOVIES SHOW FOR A FEW WEEKS IN THEATERS. IF YOU HAD A REAL PROBLEM YOU NEED TO TALK ABOUT IT. WE'VE HAD THIS PROBLEM BEFORE, SAM. YOUR FRIENDS. ARE NOT. MIND READERS.

-MR. LANCER GOING AFTER THE GHOST WITH THE FIRE EXTINGISHER LMAO

-this outfit is everything . anytime the show does an over the top cutesty pink outfit i WANT IT. it looks like shit I wear JKASDHF I HAVE a bow like that and a pink sweater. I need leg warmers </3

-SAMS GOTTA RE-HALF-KILL HIM??? thats fucked up. but also, he finally got his logo!! it took until s2!!! this episode was lowkey very fucked and I felt like it glossed over a lot. does sam have guilt about like. kinda KILLING HIM?? I know, he also agreed and walked into the portal. but. she made the choice to redo it SO quickly (even if it was because someone had to beat desiree) and danny, during their fight, brought up a lot of stuff sam's done in the past, meaning he was holding onto those memories and resentment was building. (I KEEP SAYING HE LOWKEY NEEDS THERAPY, BUT I THINK MOST EVERYONE IN THIS SHOW KINDA DOES) which...is a red flag? and then they didnt even GO to the party URGH I know she tried to make up for it, but it really felt like Sam fucked up and barely faced any consequences and got everything she wanted in the end. I KNOW it's a kids show obv they aren't going to go too in depth, and she undid the damage, kinda, but...I DUNNO how to articulate it but it rubbed me the wrong way.

-but on a note about desiree, her powers of wishes were STRONG ENOUGH TO ERASE NOT JUST THEIR MEMORIES, BUT DANNY'S POWERS?! fuck, if I was danny I'd be like, trying to make friends with her. I know they always have horrible side effects as most genie-granted wishes do, but...c'mon, I'd at least TRY to be like 'I wish no ghosts would hurt anyone in my town' or 'I wish vlad would lose his ghost powers forever no matter What and also forget about my mom' LIKE. SHIT DESIREE IS SO POWERFUL. rewriting reality powerful, basically!! appreciate her. respect her.

-aww, sam helping tucker pass the nurse's office so he wouldn't see because he's afraid of medical stuff? very sweet. I also don't like medical stuff, I've gotten a lot better at handling it tho. but seeing blood and needles still makes me feel lightheaded x_x

-FOLEY, BY TUCKER FOLEY. I want to make my own perfume, that's so cool. even if his first attempt isn't good, he's pretty consistently shown to have an inventor/entrepreneur streak in the show, so like. I can see him inventing or making something (or several somethings) that make him $$$ when he grows up :) proud of my creative son

-I know the 'creepy abandoned hospital on the edge of town' is a joke and the creepy hospital trope is so Worn Out, but in my town we actually DO have a hospital like that! my dad was born in it, but its not in use and hasn't been for, like, 20 years! it needs to be torn down but I think the city doesn't wanna pay the money. the inside is horrible, spray painted and broken glass and shit everywhere. but there's still like, rusty equipment and fucking DOLLS all over the place. the cops drive by it pretty frequently to make sure no one is like, breaking in. (because of water damage, some of the areas really aren't safe. also, asbestos, but people still go in anyway) but also, some of my town was used in a filming for a stephen king show. So it's lowkey spooky all over. just a fun personal tidbit :) to lead into saying, any hospital abandoned for any period of time is NOT safe to quarantine these kids in JKSAHDKF like I KNOW it's a ghost trying to do this, but NONE of these parents are even like, 'well, why dont we keep them in the regular, working hospital'....YIKES. this hospital looks pretty accurate to the one in town. grungy and spooky.

-fentons are tax evaders confirmed by jack's fear of being audited, lol no one is surprised

-ghost sickness via ghost bugs. horrifying concept. I actually expected it to be a new villain, not dr. spectra again! this is a very elaborate scheme. her new form rules, love the new costume. the way none of the bg kids seem to recognize her as their old school councilor. did we just forget about that completely?

-dash watching romance movies in the fucked up ghost hospital. same.

-'oh please, you're ghosts, do you have any idea what YOU smell like?' no, tucker, what DO ghosts smell like? I genuinely didn't know they would even have a smell, I actually want to know now.

-it feels like a while since we've seen jazz!! i was happy to see her again, even if she was a head in a jar for most the episode. I want another jazz-focused ep!!

-we finally see danny doing space-related stuff!! him and his friends stargazing to open ep 3 of s2. cute :) until, GHOST PIRATES!!!!! ...ghost pirate captain is a small child?? VOICED BY TAYLOR LAUTNER???

-oh, the easy listening is ember's song instrumental slowed. 'vapor drone' THEY VAPORWAVED HER!!! ember in a pirate outfit tho >>>>. and the cruise being called m.bersback JKASDHJK. ember adopting a little pirate brother is also pretty cute. concerning this teen and little kid have such bad opinions of adults, like, who hurt you?? (how did you DIE ALSO?? im always lowkey curious about that. we know desiree died at an old age, but her ghost form is young, probably mid-20s, so I wonder how that sort of thing works...its a more mental thing, isn't it?) but ghost team-ups are always cool to see, even if ember bailed after danny took her guitar. I guess she probably thinks youngblood can handle it (which, he's been owning danny this far in the ep, so...fair)

-tucker got that sponsorship from nasty burger for their radio!!! again, opportunistic money maker king, love to see it!!!

-danny taking control of the kids SO FAST. he makes a pretty great leader. no one is surprised, im pretty sure I said I think he's the most mature of the trio, once again, correct, because he's taken on so much responsibility already. all the teens suiting up in the jumpsuits to go save the adults and taking the ship over with a BLIMP. OKAY LETS GO. this feels like it should be a mid finale or straight up finale.

-...speaking of finales. why is ep 4-5 of s2 combined into a 50 minute episode? I havent even clicked play and im concerned. weird placement, like, this season JUST started and we're getting a two parter? okay...why are the episodes placed like this? why not put this at episode 10 or something, for a mid-season thing?

-this is also a cute dress. possibly my fav dress so far. can her parents give ME cute dresses, I'LL wear them.

-it turns out the castle fright knight was in is called pariah's keep and there's something worse than fright knight in there! lovely! fuck off vlad wtf are you doing <3 your hubris <3 is going to literally get you killed <3 'ring of rage' and 'crown of fire' are great names tho. ...vlad turning into a super polite guy when he was scared of mr. pariah was hilarious. and fright knight doing the same...I mean, it makes sense, he's a knight, he serves a king? happy to see fright knight again either way :) vlad telling him to call him tho, lmfao. you WISH HE WOULD. (I wish hed call me, too. 😔)

-so...jack being genuinely concerned about vlad...maddie really didn't tell him what happened at the cabin, did she. damn. if I was her id immediately come home and be like 'YOU WONT BELIEVE THIS SHITTTT THIS CREEPY GUY--' like, I feel like that stuff you need to tell your partner!!! I know she didnt want Jack to think she was an irresponsible parent putting danny in danger at that time, but STILLLL. maddie spilling boiling tea on him. get his ass. how is jack this oblivious to his wife's discomfort with vlad!! ughhh

-fenton wipe (tm). trademarked toilet paper.

-DANNY AND VALERIE BEING FRIENDS??? :D that was a cute moment. 'hey val <3' and 'if you like him like him, make a move, or someone else will ;)' at sam...damn!! I love her. valerie go for it girl!!! I hate how sam and tucker treat val also, like I GET IT YOURE PROTECTIVE AND DONT TRUST but if anything him befriending valerie will help when she finds out or he tells her like I feel like she'll be more understanding that they think! ALSO I feel like her reason for not liking ghosts is valid, like you haven't really explained the full story to her anyway! she doesn't seem to have any other friends after being booted from the a-listers so im like :( but seeing them kick butt together again was nice <3

-the ghosts all RUNNING FROM PARIAH DARK IS NOT GOOD, I thought he sent them to attack or something, but no. why doesn't someone just tell desiree 'hey i wish pariah dark would die' lol. once again I think she can solve every problem <3 but seeing all the enemies in one place, being civil and hiding together? love it.

-you just know danny's gonna have to clean up vlad's stupid mess. also, jack being willing to put on the ectoskeleton pants to help maddie, as soon as vlad heard it could kill him, he suggested jack do it instead of helping maddie himself? this is why jack got the girl, my man.

-ghost skeletons. how do you end up as a skeleton ghost in your afterlife instead of a humanoid like most the ones we've seen? lmao

-the ghosts just making new homes in various stores. I'd totally be setting up in an expensive clothing store if I was a ghost.

-valerie's dad is possibly the most useful adult so far, with that ghost shield expansion!!! and valerie saving vlad and danny, even tho shes been thru it already, shes still so good!!! this family rules.

-danny: *gently caresses valerie* :)

-*then he immediately TELLS HER DAD ON HER. and his first response is 'are you okay?' :'( such a good dad...

-*me every time fright knight breathes* youre doing SO great sweetie :)

-the fenton suit thing is so silly looking. does anyone take this thing seriously

-ALL THE GHOSTS FIGHTING WITH DANNY <3 AAAAA. and the fact that pariah isn't perma-defeated, but just locked away again. yikes. he'll probably get out again, won't he? it wasn't too clear, but if vlad DID make a pact with fright knight, I am rabid. I will beat vlad to death with the fenton bat (tm). YOU DONT DESERVE A COOL KNIGHT.

-valerie being direct with sam and challenging her? kinda love that, even tho I normally don't like 'catfight' type situations. because sam has been very passive aggressive about it which is annoying. valerie knows wtf she wants and wasn't even embarrassed to tell sam, but she did tell her, giving sam time to make her own move! and sam denied it and got embarrassed/mad! and sam did have a chance when danny was about to go off and fight, and she hesitated and didn't tell him. I feel like she's hesitating because they're friends and it might make it weird between the trio (poor tucker would be third-wheeling) but if u snooze u lose, u gotta GO after what u WANT girl. smh this is a No Tsundere Zone. 😤

#sanchoyorambles #dp thoughts #danny phantom

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thatsadorbsyo · 4 years

Text

Lucas - Threads

((this post references the events of the fall, a mission in the heartless ffxiv roleplay campaign. quoted sections were written by @way-to-the-future. cw: character death. art credit: papa ibra tall, seamstress of the stars, wool tapestry, 1970s.))

“I admire how much warmth you give. Like a furnace. Like you've got a blaze rolling at your heart, and you let it all out through your skin. I see it in your eyes, the way they glow when the lamplight hits it just right.”

I’ve got nothing but white static in my head when I try to remember the Rovers’ faces, and if that isn’t creepy as fuck, I don’t know what is. I can’t recall a single thing about them. No noses, no mouths, not a sliver of kohl smudged under an eye or a lock of hair curling out from under a helmet. It’s easier to hate them when I can’t see any facets of their identity, but I don’t wanna fall prey to this lazy fallacy, either. There must have been real men under all that armor. One of many, sure, but individuals all -- just like I had been, once upon a time. So why don’t I remember?

My memory is unfortunately selfish and selective. It picks up the threads of the things closest to my heart and weaves the best story it can with the loose ends. So here’s the stupid little details that stuck with me, where more pertinent information might have been written instead:

I can still tell you with absolute clarity the exact gem tones of the light reflecting off of Cheche’s upturned face, when the Allagan facility erupted in spells and gunfire all around us. Sapphire blues, emerald greens, and amethyst purples against her shining black scales at every obsidian facet, like a raven feather catching the light.

I can map with exacting precision the arc of Castor’s white braid when he whipped his head around at the commotion, taking the tactical measure of our situation the way only a forged-in-the-blood knight like him can. Even after turning away from him, I could still feel the bulwark of Castor behind me, a solid presence that I didn’t need to see to be able to sense, like an extension of my arm, a phantom limb.

To turn around and suddenly find them both gone, ushered down a different corridor in all the clusterfuck of our allies splintering when the Rovers betrayed us?

It felt like amputation.

If I could, I would keep them both in my heart, keep them like puppets suspended by vermilion strings that extend from their every joint to the cavernous arches of my beating muscle. With threads that absorb the shock of my mortal body and every twin hammer of blood, so that all my loves can feel is the gentle warmth of my fire, the spark of creation that burns in me to keep them, cradle them, shelter them close and alive.

Keep them, and I guess, in so doing, preserve them exactly as I want them to be. Is that fair? It doesn’t seem so, does it? I may love them, but they aren’t mine. They aren’t toys or dolls; not mine to keep. See, Castor has taught me that to love someone is to swap my puppeteer’s strings for the Spinner’s threads, and let them weave their own way through my story. Cheche has shown me that the beauty in anything -- in anyone -- is that they might evaporate at any moment. But if I let them, they both might even decide, all on their own, to stay with me for as long as they can. A stronger path, freely chosen and written in royal blue and bright fern green, threading in a perfect braid around my brilliant gold.

No, I couldn’t keep them -- and in the moment of amputation, it didn’t fucking matter anyway, because they’d already gone beyond my reach. My heart was alone, but still it burned for them; burned fit to melt straight through the iced Malbolge of all the hells, a judgement which I still believed must have been waiting for me just beyond the next door of this Allagan tomb, to welcome me to the justice that I'm owed for my crimes. This door, or the next door. The next one.

Amputation wouldn’t stop me. Hell wouldn’t stop me. I would have burned through that whole building like a live coal, if that was what it had taken to find the exit and bring us all back home.

“It's hardly poetic, love. I'm just telling you exactly how you are. How anyone could see you. Even if they weren't a poet. Maybe even if they didn't care for you like I do. Just, if they - stopped to watch you.”

I don’t think I’ve mentioned it, but I had a brother once, before I torched the evidence of the life I used to live. Augustin looked so much like me even when we were young, but moreso now than ever before. We have the same bronze eyes, the same nose; I’ve grown into the size of our chin with time. He’s a beefier motherfucker than I am, and he’d always preferred braids, but even still you’d be hard pressed to tell us apart if you stood us back to back. Where do you think is he now?

Does he wonder what’s become of my punk ass? Surely the reports tell the truth about how I left. They wouldn’t keep secrets, not from a... fuck, he’s probably a Centurio now, isn’t he?

Shit... I bet he is. He always wanted to follow Mom’s path, even though every day that passes causes me to doubt her just a little bit more. I’ve learned too much about family not to begin questioning her motives for doing what she did, but I guess that’s neither here nor there.

But it was Augustin who first taught me how to shoot, you know? He took me behind our home and put a gunblade in my hands, adjusting my twiggy little twelve-turn limbs into the approximate shape of proper posture even when the weight of it threatened to topple me over like a top-heavy weed. He drilled firearm etiquette into me until I could recite its tenets by memory. For such a little bitch, he molded me into a decent shot.

I haven’t felt that kind of brotherly guidance in a long time, but I think I felt Augustin’s ghost behind me when I stood shoulder to shoulder with Sister Lux in that facility, fighting our way out.

Do you remember that door, the one I had thought stood between me and the hells? It was really just another hungry bulkhead between us and freedom; a sun and moon puzzle that should have been, might have been harder to solve if I couldn’t feel the juxtaposition of her fire right next to me. Sun and moon. Astral and umbral. It was so simple; this was a test. I had let my aether lay fallow, and in order to progress I had to reach inside and drag all the burning potential straight out of my mouth. Furious, destructive, so obscenely fucking alive.

Hungry, that’s the key word. The door had to feed -- on us. I don’t know how, or why, but somehow she and I put our hands to the door at the same time and knew exactly what to do. It was time for me to shit or get off the proverbial pot, and all she had to do was correct my posture a little bit, just like old times in the backyard with my brother and a weapon I didn’t know how to hold.

I picked up my brass and ruby cudgel, and she told me how to feel the fire of my aether and let it simmer in controlled brilliance, and how to sit back and watch, patient and observant, as an umbral reckoning blazed all the way up into my nose, through my nostrils, eventually bubbling out in an oozing black ichor like tar. Until we were both painted with blood and the door finally gave way after growing fat on our offerings. Freedom, and not a moment too soon.

It’s funny. It’s funny in that way where I have to laugh to keep from considering all of the circumstantial leaps that had to happen to get me there, in that moment, with that exact mentor and the tools available to me. Did you know that I bought my thaumaturge focus the same day -- at the same damn merchant stall -- that I bought the bracelet that Lux still wears? The cudgel was a leap of faith (I thought maybe, someday, I would use it), and the bracelet was a tithe for her attention, but I gotta fucking wonder if that wasn’t the Spinner herself cinching an amethyst purple thread, until two distant ends of a rich black fabric pleated and bunched together, suddenly close, in a moment of coordinated function.

Like this had been the plan all along.

“They treat you differently because of it. Everyone on this ship - they know they can talk to you, Lucas. That you'll hear them.”

I started this mission as an empty vessel, asking everyone I came across to pour their faith into me so that I might taste it and gradually build a competence in teasing apart the flavors of the gods. The truth is that I was searching for the one most likely to offer me forgiveness, or at the very least the god who might hand me a penitence that I felt like I could swallow. I thought I deserved it, you see. That’s how all this started. On bad days, I still do.

Asking about faith isn’t just a window to the spiritual soul -- it’s also a mainline straight into the source of everyone’s irreconcilable fucking damage. Picking your god is a perilous choice, but mostly because it ultimately determines what kind of personality malfunction you’re going to have down the road. I already know why I’m awful: Delusions of grandeur and megalomania, with a curious tendency to self-flagellate. I’m the smartest, most impressive architect you’ll ever meet. I’m the greasiest, grimiest hunk of motor oil in the gutter.

The only way to reach the middle road between glorifying and hating myself, I’ve found, is to count the threads that wrap themselves around my ribs when I recount the conversations that I’ve had on the Salemtaza’s Voyage.

Here’s a taste: I’ve got Caelrin in deep ochre around my midriff where my abs are just starting to take shape. Ignera sits in flaming orange around the hollow of my throat, slapping my hand away every time I try to choke on my own self-loathing. Captain Kharn wraps in garnet around my face, shielding me from unwanted eyes when I don’t feel quite how I should in my skin. W'kana and W'buki in yellow and black, swaddling me so tight around the chest I fear for my next fucking breath. Reinette, a gentle evening blue curling in petals around my fingertips. Rizzo, a shining onyx black stitching up my lungs telling me to breathe, just breathe, don’t stop breathing until it gets easier.

More even than that. Staelufre in neon magenta, Fugetsu in an unknowable shade of grey, Killian in sunset orange, Strelec in obscuring maroon, Hikari in daisy yellow, Camille in cloudy crimson, Jancis in healing olive, Lune in jumpsuit orange, Jeanne in oil-slick purple, Hanako in fresh lavender, even Kat, yeah, even her, in that same royal blue as Castor.

Nathaniel threading in loops around every one of my fingers in a dazzling gold that fades into the electric yellow of potent aethersand.

I could go on. I could list twice as many names and colors as I already have, and I must ask myself: How do I carry them all? How could I possibly hold them all, without attaching them directly to my meat, my bones, this hideous and imprecise flesh that rightly should be cogs and metal? All that thread would just gum up the whole works, wouldn’t it? Maybe it’s better that I am man, then, and not machine.

For all my flaws, I can still stretch my arms and accommodate all these dangling ends.

“They see it in you, in the way you carry yourself. You're curious. Empathetic. You want to understand people, not just love them or hate them or think nothing of them at all.”

Sui tried to warn me about all this, back at the pumpkin patch at Cloudtop. It was raining, weighing down all my sashes on my brand new armor, and Sui had laughed when the skies parted to reveal the sun setting in a field of rose gold and the softest lavender. It seems like she and I can never properly talk if we aren’t both looking at the sky, like this is the only way we can perceive each other. Never head on -- only in the periphery. Or maybe it’s just easier to talk about certain things when you aren’t looking someone in the eye. Maybe it’s that.

She was so startled by the questions I needed to ask her, like she hadn’t thought it was possible that anyone had been watching her reaction to Nathaniel’s speech, like she didn’t think anyone would have noticed that she was upset. Is she so used to passing under the radar?

But I’ll give her credit. Sui tried to warn me that my friends would die. I watched the sunset fizzle out on the horizon from its soft pastels into a creeping ceruleum and a deeper indigo while she told me every horror that had befallen her family before, and what she knew would happen to us again. Sui could feel the same threads of fate starting to twine around our edges, and she wanted me to be prepared. I listened. I let those fibers stitch themselves into my lungs in the golden rose of a cloudless twilight sky.

I just never thought it would come down on us so quickly, and with such brutal force. I’ve never had to pray for another person before, and out of nowhere I found it necessary to summon the script to beg for twelve of my friends’ lives.

The truth is that I never learned how, and I’ve been too afraid to seek the answer. I know how to make wishes; I know how to toss gold coins into a running fountain and watch the sunlight flicker off the scattered mess of them along the bottom of the pool. But I don’t know how to pray.

I know who I would ask. It was Tieve who introduced me to Gridania, and if Sui and I speak most openly under a yawning sky, you might say that Tieve and I communicate best among the trees, under a cathedral of roots. The memory of the hearer’s chapel is stitched in bark brown and moss green bracelets around my wrists, reminding me that while I may have been invited to someone’s sacred space, I have to mind my boundaries, too. I am not the infallible creator of my own conceit, but nor am I outcast from Spoken kindness and community. To know temperance is to know yourself, to dig into the well of your Spoken dignity and grant the same to others.

I still have this embroidered Gridanian sachet of wood chips and herbs that she gave me, telling me it was for luck, and I didn’t know back then how much I would come to rely on Nymeia for hope. That I would need to believe that she’s writing me into a greater tapestry, that I need that grandeur to feel like my dumbass mistakes have meaning and purpose. And even with Tieve beyond my reach, it occurred to me that she might have already given me everything I needed to weave my own prayer. A level head. A god. A talisman.

I’m just fumbling through this. We all are, but I made my own prayer by pulling that sachet out of my pocket and spinning it over and over in my hands as I remembered the names of those our enemies had taken from us. Who better to beg than the god of fate? Keep their lines anchored to me. Keep them in the tapestry. Keep them safe.

“It's the most noble thing about you. It's - It's more than just what you do, it's who you are. It's what I love about you.”

I recite their names:

Aidan, the hound with apologetic eyes who slinks around the edges the crowd until someone notices him, at which point he deflects attention from himself with a self-deprecating joke straight out of my own fucking toolbox. He could be a brother to me, if he let himself be; if he told me the truth about who he is and where he’s been. I can smell it on him. The stench of ceruleum doesn’t fade as quickly as any of us would like, but I wait for him to tell me on his own terms. Aidan weaves around the periphery of my eyelids in a shadowy kohl black.

Izar, the mercurial seer who obscures themselves in riddles like a smug sphinx playing at being a whimsical faerie. They have never passed up the opportunity to toy with me like a blind white kitten with an oversized brown moth, but the teeth of their humor has never once felt like a cage to me. They are kind, and curious, and helpful even as they delight in your confusion. They dangle at my elbow in marble white, furiously tickling my arm like a loose hair caught in a sleeve.

Adhi, the wandering sage of Dalmasca who the gods had to gift with such big fuzzy ears so that she could better capture every single story that ever came her way. I don’t know how to even begin to thank her for what she’s done for me; she’s returned things to me that by all means should have been my birthright but were taken from me before I was even aware that they were being stolen. Her thread spirals in a shell around my ear in an entire spectrum of colors, one for every tale she carries with her.

Still, there’s more: Tieve, the witch of the wolves (mossy green); Percy, the son of a shadow (cobalt blue); Bride, the bashful goldsmith (periwinkle blue); Swozbhar, the towering cook (mint green); Valeriaux, the scarred philanthropist (leather brown); Silya and Livia, the sunniest Fists I’ve ever met (pale pink and soft teal); Farid, the most visibly haunted man I know (muted purple); and Iron Deer, the entrepreneurial engineer (metallic steel) -- all of them familiar faces, all of them colleagues, all of them threaded through the chambers of the same priceless Heart that gives our mission purpose.

The same Heart that we traded away just to get them back.

You know what? Fuck it. I’ll string them all to my own heart. I’ll suspend them all in cocoons deep in the burning hearth of me -- I will fight my way out of this facility that wants desperately to become our tomb -- until those that still live can crawl back out, fragile but alive and free to keep fighting for whatever comes next.

But one of them is gone, beyond the veil and permanently out of my reach. Just like Sui tried to warn me about, and all of Tieve’s lucky charms were not enough to protect me from this single ungentle truth. The Spinner does not stop the march of destruction -- she merely directs it. She cuts the threads of our fallen friends when they begin to fray and weaves new ones in their place; a different color, a fresh fate.

One of them is gone, their thread knotted off in a sudden stop on the tapestry of our story. But who?

Who did we lose?

“I've seen it. I've heard it. I've bloody felt it. Everyone I speak to says the same. Every one of them knows what a great heart you have.”

Percy and I first met at that bonfire by the chocobo stables. I was shivering, fresh off the fucking ship and completely unprepared for the weather, and he stood next to me and promised me everything I could ever possibly want, if only I made a promise in return to be a loyal friend to the Family. I was so desperate for a place to belong, I would have signed anything, done anything -- what had mattered was that he would have me. In this brave new world, I had people looking out for me. A place to call home. Structure. An institutionalized, freshly liberated fuckhead like me desperately needed structure.

So what if it came with a little price? The list of my sins is long, and breaking and entering is pretty far down at the bottom. Bar brawls are inconsequential, when you’ve already essentially aided and abetted war crimes. So, I’m wanted by both House Desrosiers and House Beaumarchais for stealing a thing or two from their daughters’ manse. So fucking what. Percy and I -- There are bonds that can only be forged at three in the morning, sitting on a crows’ perch halfway across the city under the moonlight, doing pre-job surveillance on some fart-sniffing nobles through their window. I’m not saying we kissed. I’m not saying we didn’t, either.

This is what I’m thinking about, when I look down at Percy’s lifeless face, drained of the rosy pink that always sat on his cheeks during those cold-ass stakeouts, huddled together at the shoulders for warmth. If I touched him now, he would be so cold, so unnaturally fucking cold, so I don’t. I can’t bring myself to touch him; to do anything but stare with my mouth half-open and a sob dying somewhere between my sternum and my throat, turning into just another burning pit to fizzle and die in my stomach.

Except it doesn’t have the good sense to die. It turns to steam, turns to pressure, backs up the entire clockwork machine that keeps me chugging along, and it must be vented or else I’m going to fucking explode, but I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. It stutters inside me like a hitched gear. The whine seems to come from my chest, high-pitched, like a kettle about to scream. Is that me? Am I screaming? I don’t know myself. I am not me, in this moment. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know who is on the cot below me, whose silver close-cropped hair sits on this head, whose too-round spectacles reflect the light in the room too thoroughly for me to be able to see if their dead fucking eyes are open or closed. I don’t know which is more terrifying.

I leave. I run. My boots scream against the floor of the ship, clap against the dirt outside, and I don’t stop running until I can drop to my knees and bellow to the impassive clouds. This is my fault. Judgement rings in my head in a cacophony of voices. My fault. My fault he’s dead.

What am I doing here? What have I done?

Percy’s line, cobalt blue, is so cleanly snipped from my fabric that all I can do is finger the empty spot where it might have kept going. Maybe one day we could have found compromise; a future where the three of us could get along without jealousy, without miscommunication or hurt feelings. I’ll never fucking know.

I have always thought of myself in big terms. I am man, I am machine, I am god. I’m the architect of my own form, and I have crafted myself in my own image. Nothing makes me feel more powerful than looking in the mirror and seeing my face look back at me; the face that I sculpted, the body that I shaped. The people that I’ve been in the past are not dead, but rather they have been stitched into my organs. The girl that I was lives in my marrow and feeds my blood, and I am never alone in the cathedral of my body. I am holy. I am enduring. I will move beyond the ghosts at my heels and continue forging a forward path, with those I love woven into the never-ending project that I call my self.

But even a god looks puny as shit, crying into the dirt over a fallen friend. I need to feel this. I need how small this makes me, how insignificant I am in this moment. I gotta remember how crippled it makes me feel. This humility -- it needs to be sown into me, too. So I don’t make the same mistake again. It’s the least I can do.

I can’t forget. I won’t forget his face.

“What a precious, precious thing we've gained.”

#FFXIVHeartless #lucas nevin #balmung rp #ffxiv rp #IC post #castor arendt #cheche dotharl #lux lunseer #sui eclair #tieve corwell #percy d'armagnac #adian hawke #izar yunhaai #sage adhi #(and more!)#[S] Lucas: Be the Heir of Blood

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sherrybaby14 · 5 years

Text

The Option X

Summary: Bucky comes to save you.

Warnings: Violence, death, little bit of sexy time, drugs

A/N: We’re doing a little bit of a body swap in this chapter. You’re not “Peach”.

The drive home went by in a blur, relying solely on muscle memory since he was lost in his thoughts. Was this a trap? There were enemies everywhere, it was stupid to get comfortable and let his guard down.

When he parked he ran straight to the front door, taking the keys out with a slight tremor in his hand. He needed to see her. She would calm him down. Always did.

He walked inside. She didn’t come to greet him. His blood pressure flared as he looked around the empty kitchen.

“Y/N?” He walked over by the couch, almost expecting to see her ghost. “Y/N?”

Something was wrong. Very wrong. She was gone, a phantom all around him. His rage started to boil over.

“Steve?” She poked her head from the stairs.

Relief flooded his veins. She was here. She was safe.

“Oh God.” Her smile went to a frown. “Are you alright? What happened?”

She ran toward him. He opened his arms and she flung herself against his chest. He held her as close as he could while rubbing her back, placing kisses on the top of her head.

“Nothing.” He shut his eyes, unsure why the panic had come over him. “I thought…I don’t know what I thought.”

“I’m sorry.” She lifted her head. “I should have been at the door to greet you. You didn’t think I…left did you?”

Steve frowned, not wanting to lie, but unsure what the truth was.

“You didn’t do anything wrong Doll.” He turned, sliding his arm around her shoulders.

“We’ve been together for over a year. You don’t need to worry about that anymore.” She leaned against him as they walked into the kitchen. “It’s been so long since you went into the office. I was working on something upstairs, I didn’t hear you come in. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“It’s not you.” Steve squeezed her tight one more time before letting his arm slide and getting some water. “Something weird happened today. It’s kept me on edge, made me feel off.”

“Well, can I help?” She sat at the table. “You can talk to me about anything.”

“I know Doll.” Steve stared into her face and a warmth spread through him. Being near her made him feel better. “Sorry if I scared you, I just love you so much. I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to you.”

“Happened to me?” She tilted her head. “In our house? Am I in danger?”

“No.” Steve moved to the table, he reached in his back pocket before sitting down. “I got this weird message. I can’t figure out what it means. My brain got the better of me.”

He slid the paper over.

“What are the coordinates?” She didn’t look up as she read.

Steve couldn’t stop the smile coming to his face, she was quick. He was the only one who realized how intelligent she was and the last year Y/N had really blossomed.

“Europe, close to Romania.” Steve hoped she saw something he was missing.

“But not in Romania?” She glanced over the paper at him.

“No. It’s the weirdest thing. Technically it’s not a country. It’s independent land space. Which I didn’t even know was a thing.” Steve leaned forward, studying her face. “Came in over a satellite phone. Coordinates from the transmission are about thirty miles away, same independent space.”

“Captain America. Assistance needed. Zero hundred hours GMT. Kept woman.” She read the line over and over again. “Did you do any research?”

“Hard to research a country that doesn’t exist.” Steve scratched his head. “But that area, people go missing. Rumors of human trafficking, that sort of thing. Nothing documented though. Satellite imaging shows those coordinates are a mansion, with armed guards.”

“So what are you thinking?” She set the message down and looked at him with concern.

“I was thinking that it was a threat against you.” That line kept woman bothered him to his core.

“I’m safe.” She reached out and squeezed his hand. “I don’t think it has anything to do with me. I think there’s a girl in that house someone wants you to rescue.”

“Or it’s a ruse to draw me away from you?” Steve pulled up his hand and kissed her fingers.

“You sound paranoid.” She tilted her head as she bit her lip. “Any idea who it’s from? It’s not addressed to the Avengers. It’s straight to you.”

“No clue.” Steve sighed. “It might be a joke, but the satellite image, the guns they were carrying. I’m not sure what to think.”

“Are you going to go?”

“No. I’d have to leave now to make it there on time. Tony isn’t keen on the Avenger’s playing world police.” Steve set her hand down. “He said if I wanted to he’d give me a jet and a small team since it’s technically not a country. I don’t like the time crunch either. It feels like a trap. I want recon.”

“So, not leaving tonight?” She stood up from the table.

“No Doll.” Steve walked over to her. “I missed you too much to leave you again.”

Steve didn’t want to scare her, but he still had a sinking suspicion she wasn’t safe, that the message was about her. Kept woman. That was his lady to a T, literally.

“I’ll look into it though. On my own terms.” He brought his hand to her neck and pulled her close as he kissed the top of her head.

The plan settled Steve’s nerves. This way he could keep his girl safe and not have the guilty conscious for ignoring people who wanted his help. She had to come first. Always.

“Are you hungry?” She looked up at him.

“Yes.” He pressed his mouth against hers and reached under her ass, hoisting her in the air as she wrapped her legs around his hips. “But not for food.”

Her eyes flashed with lust. Steve set her on the kitchen table. She bunched the skirt of her dress around her waist as Steve undid his belt and pushed his pants down. He needed to be inside her. She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. He pulled his cock out without pushing his pants down past his thighs and rubbed it down her slit. She was wet for him, his perfect girl.

A gasp escaped her lips when he pushed inside of her with ease. Nothing in the entire universe felt as good as her, was as good as her. Nothing would ever hurt her. Steve would die the most painful death over and over again if it meant keeping her safe and happy.

She was his everything.

The thoughts mixed with how good she felt made Steve’s cock twitch and grow even harder. He wasn’t going to last long, but he knew her body better than she did and slammed deep inside her, stilling and rocking his hips in the way that drew the orgasm from her.

It didn’t take long until she was shaking in his arms, eyes shut and lips parted. A gorgeous mess of desire and satisfaction. Steve grunted as his cock exploded inside of her, coating her walls in his juices and claiming her as his own once more.

He put his hands on the table on both sides of her as his head fell forward. Both of them took a minute to steady their breathing before Steve pulled out. He kissed her forehead as he tucked himself back into his pants and went to get her a towel.

Over the past year a few things about their relationship had changed, but she still wore the dresses for him and never any undergarments. That rule was permanent.

“I think that broke a record,” Y/N called from the kitchen. “You waited a full ten minutes after you got home.”

“Was someone getting anxious?” Steve walked back in with a towel and handed it to her, matching her teasing tone.

“Maybe.” She cleaned herself up while Steve went over to the fridge.

“Do you want to order delivery for dinner? I don’t feel like cooking tonight.” There were some menus on the fridge. “Maybe Chinese? Pizza? I don’t care.”

“It looks like some letters in this message have weird ticks on them? Did you notice that?” Y/N was holding the paper again.

“What do you mean?” Steve grabbed two menus and went over to her. “Maybe we could get an Asian pizza. That’s a thing right? Like a Thai pizza?”

“At first I thought it was a problem with whatever printed it out, but the ‘P’ in Captain looks off.” She ignored him.

“I’ve spent all day obsessing over that thing.” Steve started scanning the pizza menu for specialty ones. “I’ll look at it tomorrow with fresh eyes.”

“This is going to sound weird, but does the word ‘punk’ mean anything to you?” She looked up from the message.

Steve’s eyes went wide and he dropped both menus, no longer caring about food.

~~~

It was time. Bucky was on the ridge, staring down at the complex. He knew sending for help was a long shot, one that didn’t pay off.

The mission was simple: get the girl, kill anyone who gets in your way. She didn’t need Bucky, she needed the soldier. That was who was coming from her.

Bucky shut his eyes and pictured her face. Get the girl. Kill anyone who gets in your way. For those seconds his eyes were shut he let his emotions surface. She wasn’t the girl, she was his girl. She was in danger. Those feelings wouldn’t help her though and they would comprise his mission. So he buried them.

“I love you,” he whispered the words to nobody before opening his eyes.

Get the girl. Kill anyone in your way.

He grabbed the remote detonator and set off the first charge. Fire lit up the sky on the south end of the house.

The first wave of guards ran to the explosion. The soldier stood up and started down the ridge, eyes on the blast.

There were at least ten men in the area. He hit the second charge.

“AHHH!” Shrieks filled the air as the sky went orange again.

Sixty-nine enemies remained.

He stalked toward the house in the shadows, the screams of the men who weren’t killed on impact when unanswered. There were seven men at the back of the house, too scared to offer their fellow’s assistance for fear of another bomb.

Rifle first. The soldier lined up the shot. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. None of them had a chance to scream before their bodies hit the grass.

Sixty-two enemies to go.

“COVER THE PERIMETER!” A man on a headset ran out of the house with a trail of others behind him.

These ones seemed smarter than their fallen comrades, actually arming themselves with their weapons. There were too many to pick off. He needed a weak point to break inside.

It was time for charge three. He hit the remote. BOOM! Another orange blast. Everyone’s eyes went toward it, but nobody ran this time. The soldier went to the guard on the end, he slid the knife into his jugular.

The one next to him noticed and tried to fire, but Bucky swung the dying man’s body and used it as a shield. Then he reached out and yanked the gun out of the other man’s hand, blowing him away first before grabbing his body for shield number two.

“IT’S ONE MAN!” Someone yelled.

There was lots of yelling, but the Soldier knew how to tune it out.

They were charging him, but none stood a chance. One by one he took them out, going on auto-pilot. A bullet grazed by him and he ducked, there was strength in numbers. He imagined more were pouring from outside the house.

He head-butted the next man who came at him and a bit of blood dripped over his eyes. The soldier wasn’t sure who it belonged too.

Then he heard it. Screaming. Of the painful variety.

“MORE! MORE!”

The group of men seemed to change direction as bullets flew through the air. Killing the enemy wasn’t the mission. Getting the girl was.

Now the back door was unguarded and he was no longer the point of attention he walked right inside.

BUZZ! A bullet whirled by his head. He reached down to his pants and pulled out one of the pistols. Click. The interior trigger man hit the floor with a thud.

Another appeared behind him and fired over his dead friend. The soldier grabbed a knife he had on his other leg and tossed it, the sound of it sliding into the man’s chest was quieter than the gun going off.

A third enemy appeared. Get the girl. He raised his weapon, but the soldier jerked forward. He grabbed the man’s arm and bent it backward, snapping the bone in two above the elbow.

“AHHHH!” The man screamed in pain.

“Where is the girl?” No emotion was in his voice.

“Fuck you.” The man was sweating.

The Soldier pushed him to his knees, but not before he swung with heel up, shattering the cap.

“Where is the girl?” He stood over him.

The man screamed in pain, unable to use his broken arm to hug his broken knee.

The Soldier didn’t have time for this. He pulled the trigger on the pistol, nailing the man in the gut. One of the most painful places. He screamed louder.

The sounds of someone approaching made the soldier turn and fire two shots, killing two more approaching enemies.

“The girl?” He could inflict significantly more pain if needed.

“Upstairs.” The man cried, red in his teeth. “They keep them upstairs. All the way upstairs.”

Click. The man was put out of his misery.

The sounds of fighting outside were growing louder. Men screaming and running to join the battle. By the time he reached the staircase, he’d only had to kill one more person.

He climbed, prepared to attack anyone who got in his way. Certain there would be more guards.

When he neared the top, three floors up the first bullet were fired at him. The angle made it difficult with the aerial advantage of his opponent. He took cover, but would never get a clear shot.

So he grabbed one of the grenades, pulled the pin and tossed it up the steps. The five-second delay was followed by another scream, but no more bullets.

He climbed again, jumping through the smoke, hole in the floor, and dead body. It was silent up here, the fighting still in the distance.

Door number one. He pushed it open to see a sleeping woman. Wrong one. He left the room and went to the second one. Empty bed.

The hall was lined with doors. He opened each of them, about half were filled with sleepers, but none the one that was his mission. Still, he kept cool. Nothing had changed. Get the girl, kill anyone in your way.

He opened the next door. There she was, slumped over in a man’s arm. He was dressed differently than the others, an expensive suit, grey hair. A gun was in hand, but it wasn’t pointed at the Soldier. It was pointed at the girl.

“She’s worth a lot to you.” He smiled. “But you don’t know who you’re….”

CLICK. Kill anyone in your way. A tiny red dot was in the man’s forehead as he started to fall to the floor. The soldier ran forward and caught the falling girl.

Holding her made something snap. He couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Peach, what did they do to you?” Bucky fell on the floor, cradling her against him as he pulled off the face mask.

She was wearing a small black dress with thin straps. Nothing else. She was breathing. He ran his hand down her hand and pressed his lips to her. Unresponsive. He turned her arms and saw them. Track marks by the elbow. She wasn’t coming to anytime soon.

Tears stung his eyes. How could he let this happen to her? It was his job to keep her safe and he failed. He would spend the rest of his life making it up to her though. But they weren’t out of danger yet.

The fighting outside had grown quiet. Bucky assumed the dead body on the floor belonged to the leader of this operation. It would be easier to sneak out than it was to sneak in.

“Almost free Peach.” Bucky scooped her up.

Her head fell back since she was dead weight in his arms. He sidestepped through the doorway into the hall. Bucky had to stay on guard and holding her this way wasn’t going to cut it.

He rolled her so that she was over his shoulder, her head dangling down his back. He wrapped an arm around her stomach and pulled a gun in his other hand.

He started for the stairs when he heard a footstep. He swung around and raised his gun. Peach let out a small groan at the movement.

“Bucky?” Steve Rogers stood in the middle of the hall, his hands raised. “It was you.”

Seeing him was like staring into the past, a movie long forgotten. When the attention shifted outside Bucky assumed he arrived, but now he didn’t know what to say.

“Come home.” Steve stepped forward. “Let me help you. You don’t have to run and hide any longer.”

“I am home.” Bucky swallowed. “If I’m with her.”

The features relaxed on Steve’s face. Almost like he understood exactly what Bucky meant.

“If you need help again, call.” Steve nodded.

Bucky returned the response. His friend was the first to turn around. It made Bucky’s heart clench, a part of him wanting this reunion. But too much had happened, they were different people and he wasn’t ready. And his attentions were needed elsewhere.

With a heavy heart Bucky turned and headed down the stairs, toward his future.

#Bucky x reader #Bucky barnes #Bucky fanfic #Marvel fanfic #Long fanfic #winter solider imagine #winter solider x reader #winter solider fanfiction

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scared-aquarius · 7 years

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signs as haunted places in New Jersey

(I’m starting a series where I assign haunted places from each state to the signs. I’m starting with New Jersey because that’s where I’m from! Also the Red Mill is located in my hometown so I thought that was cool. Ok anyways)

Aries: The Pine Barrens, NJ- The Pine Barrens, also known as the Pinelands or the Pines, is a heavily forested area that covers more than 7 counties across the state of New Jersey. This area has been the site of many legends and is also the alleged home of the infamous Jersey Devil. The Jersey Devil is described as a kangaroo-like creature with the head of a dog and the face of a horse, bat-like leathery wings, horns and a tail. There have been many sightings over the years, specifically in South Jersey, leading many to believe that the Jersey Devil actually exists or is at least a real animal. Some people believe that the vastness and remote nature of the 1 million acre Pine Barrens could allow a species to remain hidden over time. Other legends include the ghost of Captain Kidd, a pirate who supposedly hid his treasure in Barnegat Bay. Some locals say that they’ve seen his ghost wandering along the beach. There are two other ghosts who are actually known to be kind spirits. There is the ghost of a man named James Still, more popularly known as The Black Doctor, who was a man studying medicine in the 19th century who wasn’t permitted to do so because of his race. Undiscouraged, however, he went into seclusion in The Pine Barrens to study his textbooks and also learned herbal remedies. Some say he died from lynching after being discovered and others say he died of a heart attack. His ghost however is still said to come to the aid of injured or stranded travelers in The Pine Barrens. Lastly, there is a white stag that many have claimed to see. The stag supposedly is known to prevent disasters. If you see the white stag, it is supposed to bring good luck.

Taurus: The Devil’s Tree, Bernards Township NJ- The Devil’s Tree is a single oak tree with some dead limbs in an undeveloped field. A common claim is that Bernards Township was the central headquarters for the Ku Klux Klan in New Jersey during colonial times and the tree was used to lynch black people and rebellious slaves. Others say that a farmer hanged himself from the tree after murdering his own family. The legend says that the tree is cursed and anyone who tried to cut it down will “come to an untimely end”. It is said that those who damage or disrespect the tree, either by peeing on it, carving into it or even making remarks about the tree while nearby, will soon come to some sort of harm. This harm will often come in the form of a car accident or experiencing a major breakdown while trying to leave the field in which the tree lives. Other legends claim that if you touch the tree, your hands will turn black if you try to eat. In winter, the ground beneath the tree is allegedly free from snow regardless of how recent the snowfall was or how much has fallen. Some have claimed that the tree is occasionally warm to the touch regardless of the season or time of day. It is thought that this is because it is disguised as a tree but is really a portal to Hell.

Gemini: The Union Hotel, Flemington NJ- This hotel was built in 1878 during the Victorian Era. In 1934, it stood witness to the media event that was dubbed the “trial of the century”, when Bruno Hauptmann was accused of the kidnapping and murder of Charles Lindbergh’s infant son which was tried at the courthouse across the street. The hotel became the base for journalists and the temporary home of the jurors. Most recently, the hotel was used as a bar and restaurant with the upper floors being blocked off. Previous staff members recall many paranormal encounters that they had. One former manger says that one night after a bouncer had locked the doors, the staff were all sitting around having a drink. Suddenly the locked doors flew open wide and a cold wind swept past them. When the bouncer went to go re-close the doors, he saw a pair of disembodied black leather shoes walking up the main stairway. He freaked out and ran out of the hotel. The manager also recalled of a time a waitress was going up the stairs when she heard a disembodied voice humming a lullaby. She was so afraid that she ran out of the building and quit. Other former employees remember constantly seeing a young girl with dark hair in a fancy dress running around the dining room. She is also said to play with a doll on the main stairway and is known to trip people. There are stories of ghosts ordering drinks at the bar and then disappearing. There was also a time when an employee was cleaning tables and saw two people chasing each other who then suddenly vanished into thin air. No one is sure of the origin of these possible specters. However, there is one story about a man who was murdered in the basement of the hotel.

Cancer: Red Mill, Clinton NJ- The Red Mill was built in 1810 as an industrial mill. For the first few years, it was used as a wool processing plant. Milling was very dangerous work and at the time, there were no safety latches or guards on the machinery. Many stories have been passed down about the workers who met their untimely death while on the job. By 1820, however, the wool business had failed in the downturn for cloth. Ralph Hunt, the owner at the time, lost hundreds of acres because of this. Today, the Red Mill is now the main building of the Red Mill Museum Village, which includes the mill, a 19th century one-room schoolhouse, carriage sheds and other quarry village buildings. Tours are available nowadays and the most popular paranormal encounter is that of a man wearing period clothing and a black hat who doesn’t speak who roams the third floor. Many visitors have claimed to see this ghost as well as feeling like someone is touching them or tugging on their clothes. Another spirit that is said to frequently be seen is that of a young girl around the age of 6 or 7 who died around 1900. She was the daughter of one of the mill’s owners and was supposedly very fond of coming to the mill with her father. Additional grisly things that have happened on the grounds is a mill worker fell head-first into a mill hopper and suffocated. There is also a story of a young boy who was cleaning his weapon in the tenant building and accidentally shot himself. Another member had a heart attack and died on the steps of the tenant building. Strange occurrences at the tenant house include footsteps on a vacant second floor and bells swinging back and forth on their own. Now, because this mill is in my hometown, I just want to share that I believe I have seen the ghost of the little girl for myself. I was in town with my friend and was walking along the bridge towards the mill and I saw a girl who was extremely pale from head to toe and it seemed almost blurry, like when your eyes water and everything looks skewed. I turned to tell my friend but when I looked back she was gone. I know this sounds super fake but I swear that’s what happened. I was so freaked out that I had to go home.

Leo: Clinton Road, West Milford NJ- Considered to possibly be the most haunted road in America, this 10 mile stretch of road definitely has a sinister past. The road and the land around it have been known to be teeming with paranormal occurrences. It is said that if you drive down the road, you may encounter ghosts, witch gatherings, Satanists, the KKK or even strange creatures like hellhounds or mutated monkeys. It is also known to be a place where murderers have disposed of bodies in the surrounding woods- with one actual recorded case of this happening. In 1983, a body was found in the woods after a cyclist noticed vultures pecking at it. An autopsy revealed that the man had ice crystals in the blood vessels near his heart, suggesting that someone had tried to freeze the body before dumping it. It came out that he was someone who had affiliations with the Mafia. Later, Richard Kuklinski, aka “The Iceman”, confessed to the murder. Some well-known ghost sightings involve a young boy at a bridge who apparently was struck by a car and killed. Legend says that he will push anyone who looks over the edge into the water in order to save them from being run over like he was. There are also accounts of phantom vehicles, specifically a black pick-up truck that will tail you and flash its headlights before completely disappearing. Other ghosts include two park rangers who died on the job in 1939 and a girl driving a Camaro who died in a car crash in 1988. Whether you’re a believer in the paranormal or not, I think most would agree that driving down Clinton Road at night would be one of the creepiest things one could experience.

Virgo: White Hill Mansion, Fieldsboro NJ- This mansion was constructed over 250 years ago. Robert Field, a successful merchant, decided to settle down in New Jersey. This proved to be more of a curse than a blessing as he drowned in the Delaware River under mysterious circumstances in 1775. After his death, he left his young wife, Mary Field, to care for the 600 acre property on her own. Mary raised her 3 children in the home throughout the Revolutionary War. She tried to remain impartial, however there were many times when her house was invaded and searched. Over the years many people have lived in the mansion, including senators, rum runners, prostitutes, inventors, and by the early 1920s the house was converted into an upscale restaurant. Over the years, workers began to notice strange things happening at the mansion. Many visitors reported seeing a shadow man who lurked near the basement and would then disappear. Disembodied voices are very frequent according to people who have visited the mansion. Other phenomena include phantom sounds of children playing in the nursery and footsteps going up and down the stairs at night. There is also supposedly a ghost of a former servant who identified herself during an EVP session and is known to be very talkative and enthusiastic about interacting with visitors. During restoration efforts, over 30,000 artifacts were found that suggest the mansion was built atop an ancient Native American settlement which some believe may contribute to the paranormal activity.

Libra: Trenton Psychiatric Hospital, Trenton, NJ- This hospital, originally named New Jersey State Lunatic Asylum, opened in 1848 and held a mere 86 patients. The first superintendent of the hospital, Horace Buttolph, provided excellent care for his patients and was a good man. Then, Dr. Henry Cotton took over in 1907 and the horror began. He believed that infection caused mental illness, so to test his theories he would remove his patient’s teeth, tonsils, limbs, testicles, ovaries, gall bladders, colons, stomaches, spleens, cervixes, or any other body part that had the slightest sign on infection. This was done often against the consent of the patient and the family of the patient. Some psychiatrists questioned his work, however the New Jersey State Senate approved of his treatments. He would continue to kill his patients until 1930, when he retired. Only after his death in 1933 would his work be reviewed to find that his medical procedures killed 45% of his patients. Thousands of others were left permanently mutilated. The most common ghost sighting at the asylum is Dr. Cotton himself, who people have claimed seeing roam the hallway near his old office wearing a white doctor’s coat. People have also reported hearing disembodied voices, mainly muffled screams and moans as well as being touched. Orbs have been caught on camera, each having a strange blue glow to them. There are also claims of seeing patients without limbs, or the limbs themselves on old medical tables before suddenly disappearing.

Scorpio: Greystone Park Psychiatric Hospital, Morris Plains NJ- Originally known as New Jersey Lunatic Asylum, this hospital opened in 1876 and housed over 7,500 patients. Overcrowding was definitely an issue. The building was made to house only around 1,500 people. The patient population peaked in the 1950s with the return of WWII soldiers who had PTSD. Greystone adopted controversial treatment for its patients, regularly administering Insulin shock therapy and electroconvulsive therapy to the veterans. In the 1970s and 1980s, deinstitutionalization became more popular and the hospital officially closed its doors in 2003. There had always been much bad press about the hospital, including stories of patient suicides, patient on patient violence, the sexual assault of patients and a twice-convicted rapist escaping from the hospital. Since it’s shutting down, many people have gone and explored the old abandoned building. People have reported feeling watched and “not being able to get out quick enough”, especially in the dark underground tunnels beneath the hospital which were used to transport dead bodies. There are also a few accounts of seeing full-bodied apparitions in the windows as well as in the shower area in the basement. The building was demolished in 2015.

Sagittarius: Burlington County Prison, Mount Holly NJ- This prison operated from 1811 to 1965. It was known for public hangings and also housed some notorious people, including “The Boston Strangler” (Albert DeSalvo). The prison was known to use thinner than average rope, which led to prolonged suffering. One of the first executions there was the hanging of a man named Joel Clough who, in 1833, stabbed Mary W. Hamilton, a woman he was obsessed with. On July 26, 1833, he was hanged and buried on the grounds of the prison. He is said to haunt the dungeon, a room where he was kept leading up to his death. People have reported hearing the chain that originally held him rattle as well as hearing moaning and feeling cold spots. A murder also took place in the prison basement in 1920. One night when a guard went to deliver medicine to a prisoner, the prisoner struck him with an iron rod and killed him instantly. The prisoner then went to the kitchen and murdered another prisoner who was on cooking duty. People have reported seeing a shadow in the corridor where the guard was murdered. There are also claims of seeing a figure underneath the stairs. Other paranormal occurrences include disembodied voices and screams and workers have claimed their tools get moved around or go missing. Many people say they feel like they’re constantly being watched and some have even claimed that they’ve felt someone touching them.

Capricorn: Lambertville High School, Lambertville NJ- This high school was built in 1854. In 1926, much of the building had been destroyed by a fire caused by arson but was later remodeled and rebuilt in 1927. More tragedy struck the school in 1935 when a boy from a rival high school (New Hope Buckeyes) was killed while playing the traditional “Turkey Bowl” football game. His neck broke after a particularly rough tackle and his head had almost completely turned around. The parents of the boy who was killed petitioned that football was too dangerous and that New Hope should give it up. New Hope still does not have a football team to this day. His spirit is said to linger on the grounds of the school. People have reported seeing a ghostly figure in the windows. Legend says that if you challenge the Buckeye on the old overgrown football field, a strange mist will form and you will suddenly see something charging at you. The school was closed down in 1955 as it had become too small and outdated for the growing area. The building then became a popular hang out for teenagers who would regularly go and get drunk. Allegedly, two teenage boys died under unexplained circumstances while visiting the building. In 2012, the old high school was demolished however visitors who have gone after the fact claim that they still feel cold spots and get an uneasy feeling when standing in the spot where the building once stood. Some have also said that they’ve seen the apparition of the boy who was killed.

Aquarius: Gates of Hell, Clifton NJ- The Gates of Hell drain stands out from the others nearby because of its square shape and also because it has no water flowing in or out of it. There is a ladder inside which allows visitors to climb in and explore the connecting drains. Reportedly, the drains go hundreds of feet underground and has 7 layers. They are said to be filled with the remains of satanic sacrifices including bones, decaying carcasses, crosses and more. It is rumored that the drains used to be frequently used by satanic worshippers and the KKK because of it’s concealed nature. There is also supposedly a deep underground room that is used to summon the devil. There are tales of people drowning in the drains while trying to explore them. People have reported hearing faint chanting, faint footsteps and thumps as well as seeing dark figures in the distance. The entrance of the drain as well as some of the inside is covered in graffiti, some of it being satanic. If you ever decide to visit this place, be careful and don’t go too far deep because many are known to have gotten lost in the complex draining tunnels.

Pisces- The Grenville Hotel, Bay Head NJ- Opening in 1890, this hotel was known as one of the most luxurious summer hotels that populated the shore. It is still in operation today, and many guests have checked out with stories to tell. Both guests and employees report hearing the sound of children playing and laughing as well as seeing people dressed in period clothing. There are claims of hearing stomping down empty hallways and footsteps in unoccupied rooms. Many guests have said that they have seen imprints on their bed, as if someone was sitting or lying there. One guest even claimed that they saw a man in a dark suit with a top hat one night in their bathroom, who then suddenly disappeared. Later that night, their doorknob wouldn’t stop rattling. Another guest claimed to see a woman in a white dress in their room at night walking towards their bed. The owner says that all of the supposed ghosts are friendly. The third floor is supposedly the most haunted floor, specifically rooms 303 and 304 where disembodied voices can frequently be heard. Some believe the ghosts to be that of the former owners and possibly a guest who perished shortly after the hotel was first opened.

Pennsylvania

(Let me know what state I should research next...)

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