A Dark and Stormy Night, Ch 2 (Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego, Dying Informant; Monster...)
Title: A Dark and Stormy Night; Chapter 2
Author: Crystal Rose of Pollux (rose_of_pollux)
Claim: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? (The Dying Informant)
Table: Do-it-Yourself
Prompt: Monster Under the Bed
Rating: PG13
Summary: One female zombie wouldn't behave...
Warnings: seriousness in a light-hearted fandom
Will be cross-posted to my journal, 30_hugs, platonicism, and the V.I.L.E. Headquarters fanfic forum.
Time usually had a way of going by slowly when the boys were waiting for the opportune moment to investigate, and this was no exception. This time, though, it was especially annoying, as there wasn’t even any electricity to allow them to do much of anything.
The Messenger bided his time by coming up with a few scattered plans, whistling as he sat back in the armchair. The Inspector was actually seizing the moment to relax while the Techie pondered over the situation at hand, trying to figure out some way to get themselves off of the list of suspects.
The Informant, however, was the youngest and the most restless of the group. He wanted action, and being cooped up in a room with no light was the last thing he had in mind. The youth soon found himself reading a mystery novel by the dim light of the candelabrum in his room; if the Inspector had been present, he surely would have chided him for doing so.
“I’ll have to ask Techie about coming up with some pocket lighting devices,” he thought, squinting at the words on the page. “Or better yet, installing lights in the books themselves…”
He trailed off as the candle flame began to flicker. Somehow, a draft was blowing in from somewhere. Before he could protect the flame, the light went out, prompting him to utter an annoyed growl.
But that was when he noticed something strange; he could still see. A light was emanating from somewhere behind the armchair he was sitting in. He also noticed that the temperature in the room had suddenly dropped.
As he put the footrest of the chair down to investigate the light, he noticed his feet landing in a blanket of thick mist.
“Did someone leave the window open…?” he thought. “What is going on here…?”
He turned and froze upon seeing the figure of a woman in a long, slightly torn white shroud, facing away from him. Her entire form was radiating a chilling white light, the thick mist swirling around her long, black hair.
OK, who are you, and what are you doing in my room!?” he demanded, unsure of what to make of the scene.
“There is something I want from you,” she hissed.
She turned to face him, and a cry of fright got lost in the young man’s throat. He hadn’t known what to expect, but a skeletal-faced woman with rotten teeth and bony arms was the last thing he would have thought of.
She opened her mouth and let out a hair-raising screech that pierced though his ears, as well as his very soul.
“What do you want from me!?” he cried, backing away from her.
To his horror, she began to walk towards him, her bony hand outstretched, still screeching. The mist poured and swirled all around her
“Once you realize who I am, you will know exactly what I want!” she snarled, between her screeches.
He was literally with his back to the wall, trapped between the bed on the right and the dresser on the left. She was directly in front of him, the cold tips of her glowing fingers pressing against his forehead and face, holding him in place. She still drew closer, her face an inch from his, leering.
“Poor little boy…” she whispered, caressing his hair with her other hand. “You have no idea how much you are going to lose.”
And there, she shrieked again, the mist engulfing him as he finally found his voice and cried out. Her sunken eyes were the last thing he recalled.
********************************
The Messenger was still whistling when he heard a bizarre shrieking sound coming from a nearby room. He frowned, wondering what on earth he was hearing; it didn’t sound like anything of this world.
That was when he heard the Informant’s panicked cry; it was the agonized cry he usually only unleashed after staggering back to ACME upon coming of the worse in an altercation with Carmen Sandiego’s henchpeople; it was the signature call of the Dying Informant.
And the Messenger didn’t want to think about why he was hearing it now. Grabbing the candelabrum in his room, he bolted out of the chair and into the corridor, finding the Informant’s room.
“Infy?” he called, trying to open the door. It was locked, and he was receiving no answer. “INFY!”
The Inspector and the Techie were soon by his side as he began frantically pounding on the door.
“Keep it down out there, or I’ll have Miss Vulsor throw you out!” roared Travencore, sticking his head out of his room.
“See if I care!” the Messenger snapped back, still pounding on the Informant’s door. He also ignored Aranea, who was calling to him from her room, too. After there still wasn’t any response, he turned to the Inspector. “Something must’ve happened to him; can you-?”
The Inspector nodded in reply. By this time, Aranea and the other guests were all coming into the corridor. The butler had joined them from downstairs in time to see the Inspector ram the door with his shoulder.
“What are you doing!?” he boomed. “That’s an antique oak door!”
“We’ll pay for it, Sir,” said the Techie, certain that the accounts at ACME Crimenet would be able to cover for the damage.
“Leave them be; I think something is terribly wrong,” agreed Aranea, as the Inspector rammed the door a few more times, until the lock gave way.
“Infy!?” asked the Messenger, entering the room, candelabrum in hand. There was no reply; the room was completely empty.
Even in the dim candlelight, the immense worry was visible in the agent’s face. The last thing the Messenger wanted was to have let his surrogate brother down in some way. He cursed himself now for not arriving sooner, when the odd shrieking had started in the first place.
“What’s with all of this mist?” asked the Techie, noticing the thick blanket of fog upon the floor. “This doesn’t make sense; the window and the door were both locked. How did this stuff get in?”
“And what happened to our esteemed younger colleague?” added the Inspector, the frown etched upon his face.
“By the looks of it, it’s as though he was somehow spirited away,” said Aurus, his eyes wide.
“Infy, where are you…?” the Messenger asked, under his breath, not wanting to believe the boy’s words.
He walked further into the room, the thick mist swirling around his shins. He cried out as he stumbled and then fell; something had tripped him.
“You alright?” asked the Techie, as the Messenger’s candelabrum went out.
“Yeah, I…” the agent trailed off as his hand came into contact with cold, clammy skin that was concealed within the mist. He turned to the other two, as calmly as he could. “I need another candle.”
“What is it?” asked the Inspector, handing him the candelabrum he was holding.
The Messenger didn’t reply; he frantically waved away the thick billows of mist around him, and the candlelight confirmed his worst fears.
“INFY!”
The young man’s face was drained of all color; his eyes were open, but they were blank and glassy. The Inspector and the Techie were by his side in an instant as the Messenger seized the Informant by the shoulders and frantically shook him, but the younger man was unresponsive.
“Is he…?” the Techie began.
“He’s alive,” said the Messenger. “But barely; I think something’s terrified him, and he fainted… but all this mist must’ve made it difficult for him to breathe. Come on, Infy!” He shook him harder, accidentally knocking over the candelabrum that the Inspector had given him. “Say something!”
The younger man coughed out a mouthful of mist.
“Oh, Mama…” he choked.
“Infy--!”
The young detective couldn’t recall anything except the frightening apparition he had last been aware of. Unable to see who it was who had his shoulders in a deathgrip, he cried out again, trying to break away.
“Infy, calm down!” said the Messenger. “It’s us!”
“Us who!?” he cried back.
“He’s still out of it,” said the Techie, relighting the others’ candles to cast a bit more light around them.
The light fell on the Informant; his face was still pale, and he gazed around the room with haunted eyes, looking as though he was about to faint again.
“You’re among your friends,” said the Inspector. “What happened to you?”
“She came for me…” he said. “She came out of nowhere…”
He trailed off, fainting.
“No! Wake up!” said the Techie, as the Messenger shook him awake again. “Who did you see?”
“…Long creepy woman in a white dress…” He trailed off again, slipping in and out of consciousness.
“Stay with us, Infy,” said the Messenger, desperately trying to keep him awake.
“She… she said she wanted… something from me…” he went on. He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs in his head. At last, he was able to discern the faces around him in the dim light. “…Guys? What happened?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out from you,” said the Messenger, with an audible sigh of relief. “You were talking about a woman who demanded something from you.”
“She wasn’t just a woman!” the youth exclaimed, as everything came back to him. “She was a monster! She was this walking skeleton dressed in white with long black hair. She kept screeching at me, and saying that she wanted something from me… She had her bony fingers on my face and hair… and then I don’t remember a thing! I don’t even know who or what she was!”
The Messenger frowned.
“If I had to guess, it sounds as though you saw a banshee,” he replied.
“Oh, so there’s actually a name for that skele-girl!?” the Informant asked, clearly beginning to recover. He placed a hand to his head. “Man, I thought she was going for my soul or something.”
“She didn’t hurt you?” asked the Inspector.
“I don’t think so,” the young man replied. “She just freaked me out… big time.”
“But how did she get in?” asked the Techie. “The doors and windows were locked.”
“Banshees are wraiths,” the Messenger explained, familiar with the legend. “They are said to appear and wail before unfortunate souls who are about to… experience a death in their family.”
The Informant’s eyes widened. That explained what she meant: “Once you realize who I am, you will know exactly what I want…”
“She wants someone from my family,” he realized. “But the main family I have is…” He looked around at his three older colleagues. “No… no, she can’t…! I can’t let her take them…!”
“Well, I don’t think you need to worry,” said Aranea. “There must be some explanation for what you saw. Perhaps someone decided to play a practical joke at the most inopportune moment.”
The Informant looked upset and embarrassed, certain that what he had seen was very real. But the Messenger looked especially furious. He was the self-proclaimed prankster of the group, but he knew exactly where to draw the line; most of his pranks centered around either snowballs or a game of Keep-Away. But someone had gone through a lot of trouble just to terrorize the Informant, and the Messenger wasn’t going to allow them to get away with it so easily.
“Well, I think that ends that madness,” sighed Aranea. “Alright; let’s get back to our rooms and try to get some sleep, shall we?”
“Sorry…” the Informant mumbled.
The other guests grumbled and returned to their rooms, leaving the boys behind.
“Sorry, guys,” the young detective said again.
“You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” said the Inspector. “Someone was out to drive you crazy.”
The Informant didn’t want to say that he was worried that the others were in danger; the haunting thought of the omen was too much to ignore.
“But there’s no way we can go investigate now,” he said, after some time.
“Actually, there is,” said the Techie, after some thought. “We can say that we were trying to find the kitchen to help you get a nightcap after that harrowing incident.”
“Actually, I think I could really use one,” the Informant joked, a trace of a smile finally finding its way to him. “Just give me a few minutes; I don’t think my feet are working just yet.”
“Then it’s settled; we’ll meet in the corridor in fifteen minutes,” said the Techie.
“You’re sure you’re alright?” asked the Inspector.
“Yeah, I will be,” he replied. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”
The Informant watched as he and the Techie left.
“Bro?” he asked, before the older man could leave. He could tell him about his worries about the banshee; he would understand.
“Yeah?”
“Well… I was just thinking about the legend you mentioned,” he said. “As much as I’d like to think that it was someone playing a joke on me, I can’t help but think that there’s a chance that… maybe it wasn’t. If it isn’t… do you think there’s a way to get around that omen thing?”
The Messenger didn’t want to believe that it was real, either. He knew that either he or the other two would be the banshee’s target, since she had appeared before the Informant; there was no doubt that they were his “family.” But he also knew how to evade the banshee’s curse. However, the only way for that to work would be for the one who saw the banshee to offer his life in exchange for that of the doomed family member’s; that was something that the Informant would do without hesitation. And the Messenger had come close to losing him too many times; he could not allow that to happen, either.
He glanced back at the Informant and shrugged.
“With any luck, it was just a sick joke,” he said.
The Informant nodded, managing a weak smile and hoping the same thing.
Author: Crystal Rose of Pollux (rose_of_pollux)
Claim: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? (The Dying Informant)
Table: Do-it-Yourself
Prompt: Monster Under the Bed
Rating: PG13
Summary: One female zombie wouldn't behave...
Warnings: seriousness in a light-hearted fandom
Will be cross-posted to my journal, 30_hugs, platonicism, and the V.I.L.E. Headquarters fanfic forum.
Time usually had a way of going by slowly when the boys were waiting for the opportune moment to investigate, and this was no exception. This time, though, it was especially annoying, as there wasn’t even any electricity to allow them to do much of anything.
The Messenger bided his time by coming up with a few scattered plans, whistling as he sat back in the armchair. The Inspector was actually seizing the moment to relax while the Techie pondered over the situation at hand, trying to figure out some way to get themselves off of the list of suspects.
The Informant, however, was the youngest and the most restless of the group. He wanted action, and being cooped up in a room with no light was the last thing he had in mind. The youth soon found himself reading a mystery novel by the dim light of the candelabrum in his room; if the Inspector had been present, he surely would have chided him for doing so.
“I’ll have to ask Techie about coming up with some pocket lighting devices,” he thought, squinting at the words on the page. “Or better yet, installing lights in the books themselves…”
He trailed off as the candle flame began to flicker. Somehow, a draft was blowing in from somewhere. Before he could protect the flame, the light went out, prompting him to utter an annoyed growl.
But that was when he noticed something strange; he could still see. A light was emanating from somewhere behind the armchair he was sitting in. He also noticed that the temperature in the room had suddenly dropped.
As he put the footrest of the chair down to investigate the light, he noticed his feet landing in a blanket of thick mist.
“Did someone leave the window open…?” he thought. “What is going on here…?”
He turned and froze upon seeing the figure of a woman in a long, slightly torn white shroud, facing away from him. Her entire form was radiating a chilling white light, the thick mist swirling around her long, black hair.
OK, who are you, and what are you doing in my room!?” he demanded, unsure of what to make of the scene.
“There is something I want from you,” she hissed.
She turned to face him, and a cry of fright got lost in the young man’s throat. He hadn’t known what to expect, but a skeletal-faced woman with rotten teeth and bony arms was the last thing he would have thought of.
She opened her mouth and let out a hair-raising screech that pierced though his ears, as well as his very soul.
“What do you want from me!?” he cried, backing away from her.
To his horror, she began to walk towards him, her bony hand outstretched, still screeching. The mist poured and swirled all around her
“Once you realize who I am, you will know exactly what I want!” she snarled, between her screeches.
He was literally with his back to the wall, trapped between the bed on the right and the dresser on the left. She was directly in front of him, the cold tips of her glowing fingers pressing against his forehead and face, holding him in place. She still drew closer, her face an inch from his, leering.
“Poor little boy…” she whispered, caressing his hair with her other hand. “You have no idea how much you are going to lose.”
And there, she shrieked again, the mist engulfing him as he finally found his voice and cried out. Her sunken eyes were the last thing he recalled.
********************************
The Messenger was still whistling when he heard a bizarre shrieking sound coming from a nearby room. He frowned, wondering what on earth he was hearing; it didn’t sound like anything of this world.
That was when he heard the Informant’s panicked cry; it was the agonized cry he usually only unleashed after staggering back to ACME upon coming of the worse in an altercation with Carmen Sandiego’s henchpeople; it was the signature call of the Dying Informant.
And the Messenger didn’t want to think about why he was hearing it now. Grabbing the candelabrum in his room, he bolted out of the chair and into the corridor, finding the Informant’s room.
“Infy?” he called, trying to open the door. It was locked, and he was receiving no answer. “INFY!”
The Inspector and the Techie were soon by his side as he began frantically pounding on the door.
“Keep it down out there, or I’ll have Miss Vulsor throw you out!” roared Travencore, sticking his head out of his room.
“See if I care!” the Messenger snapped back, still pounding on the Informant’s door. He also ignored Aranea, who was calling to him from her room, too. After there still wasn’t any response, he turned to the Inspector. “Something must’ve happened to him; can you-?”
The Inspector nodded in reply. By this time, Aranea and the other guests were all coming into the corridor. The butler had joined them from downstairs in time to see the Inspector ram the door with his shoulder.
“What are you doing!?” he boomed. “That’s an antique oak door!”
“We’ll pay for it, Sir,” said the Techie, certain that the accounts at ACME Crimenet would be able to cover for the damage.
“Leave them be; I think something is terribly wrong,” agreed Aranea, as the Inspector rammed the door a few more times, until the lock gave way.
“Infy!?” asked the Messenger, entering the room, candelabrum in hand. There was no reply; the room was completely empty.
Even in the dim candlelight, the immense worry was visible in the agent’s face. The last thing the Messenger wanted was to have let his surrogate brother down in some way. He cursed himself now for not arriving sooner, when the odd shrieking had started in the first place.
“What’s with all of this mist?” asked the Techie, noticing the thick blanket of fog upon the floor. “This doesn’t make sense; the window and the door were both locked. How did this stuff get in?”
“And what happened to our esteemed younger colleague?” added the Inspector, the frown etched upon his face.
“By the looks of it, it’s as though he was somehow spirited away,” said Aurus, his eyes wide.
“Infy, where are you…?” the Messenger asked, under his breath, not wanting to believe the boy’s words.
He walked further into the room, the thick mist swirling around his shins. He cried out as he stumbled and then fell; something had tripped him.
“You alright?” asked the Techie, as the Messenger’s candelabrum went out.
“Yeah, I…” the agent trailed off as his hand came into contact with cold, clammy skin that was concealed within the mist. He turned to the other two, as calmly as he could. “I need another candle.”
“What is it?” asked the Inspector, handing him the candelabrum he was holding.
The Messenger didn’t reply; he frantically waved away the thick billows of mist around him, and the candlelight confirmed his worst fears.
“INFY!”
The young man’s face was drained of all color; his eyes were open, but they were blank and glassy. The Inspector and the Techie were by his side in an instant as the Messenger seized the Informant by the shoulders and frantically shook him, but the younger man was unresponsive.
“Is he…?” the Techie began.
“He’s alive,” said the Messenger. “But barely; I think something’s terrified him, and he fainted… but all this mist must’ve made it difficult for him to breathe. Come on, Infy!” He shook him harder, accidentally knocking over the candelabrum that the Inspector had given him. “Say something!”
The younger man coughed out a mouthful of mist.
“Oh, Mama…” he choked.
“Infy--!”
The young detective couldn’t recall anything except the frightening apparition he had last been aware of. Unable to see who it was who had his shoulders in a deathgrip, he cried out again, trying to break away.
“Infy, calm down!” said the Messenger. “It’s us!”
“Us who!?” he cried back.
“He’s still out of it,” said the Techie, relighting the others’ candles to cast a bit more light around them.
The light fell on the Informant; his face was still pale, and he gazed around the room with haunted eyes, looking as though he was about to faint again.
“You’re among your friends,” said the Inspector. “What happened to you?”
“She came for me…” he said. “She came out of nowhere…”
He trailed off, fainting.
“No! Wake up!” said the Techie, as the Messenger shook him awake again. “Who did you see?”
“…Long creepy woman in a white dress…” He trailed off again, slipping in and out of consciousness.
“Stay with us, Infy,” said the Messenger, desperately trying to keep him awake.
“She… she said she wanted… something from me…” he went on. He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs in his head. At last, he was able to discern the faces around him in the dim light. “…Guys? What happened?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out from you,” said the Messenger, with an audible sigh of relief. “You were talking about a woman who demanded something from you.”
“She wasn’t just a woman!” the youth exclaimed, as everything came back to him. “She was a monster! She was this walking skeleton dressed in white with long black hair. She kept screeching at me, and saying that she wanted something from me… She had her bony fingers on my face and hair… and then I don’t remember a thing! I don’t even know who or what she was!”
The Messenger frowned.
“If I had to guess, it sounds as though you saw a banshee,” he replied.
“Oh, so there’s actually a name for that skele-girl!?” the Informant asked, clearly beginning to recover. He placed a hand to his head. “Man, I thought she was going for my soul or something.”
“She didn’t hurt you?” asked the Inspector.
“I don’t think so,” the young man replied. “She just freaked me out… big time.”
“But how did she get in?” asked the Techie. “The doors and windows were locked.”
“Banshees are wraiths,” the Messenger explained, familiar with the legend. “They are said to appear and wail before unfortunate souls who are about to… experience a death in their family.”
The Informant’s eyes widened. That explained what she meant: “Once you realize who I am, you will know exactly what I want…”
“She wants someone from my family,” he realized. “But the main family I have is…” He looked around at his three older colleagues. “No… no, she can’t…! I can’t let her take them…!”
“Well, I don’t think you need to worry,” said Aranea. “There must be some explanation for what you saw. Perhaps someone decided to play a practical joke at the most inopportune moment.”
The Informant looked upset and embarrassed, certain that what he had seen was very real. But the Messenger looked especially furious. He was the self-proclaimed prankster of the group, but he knew exactly where to draw the line; most of his pranks centered around either snowballs or a game of Keep-Away. But someone had gone through a lot of trouble just to terrorize the Informant, and the Messenger wasn’t going to allow them to get away with it so easily.
“Well, I think that ends that madness,” sighed Aranea. “Alright; let’s get back to our rooms and try to get some sleep, shall we?”
“Sorry…” the Informant mumbled.
The other guests grumbled and returned to their rooms, leaving the boys behind.
“Sorry, guys,” the young detective said again.
“You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” said the Inspector. “Someone was out to drive you crazy.”
The Informant didn’t want to say that he was worried that the others were in danger; the haunting thought of the omen was too much to ignore.
“But there’s no way we can go investigate now,” he said, after some time.
“Actually, there is,” said the Techie, after some thought. “We can say that we were trying to find the kitchen to help you get a nightcap after that harrowing incident.”
“Actually, I think I could really use one,” the Informant joked, a trace of a smile finally finding its way to him. “Just give me a few minutes; I don’t think my feet are working just yet.”
“Then it’s settled; we’ll meet in the corridor in fifteen minutes,” said the Techie.
“You’re sure you’re alright?” asked the Inspector.
“Yeah, I will be,” he replied. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”
The Informant watched as he and the Techie left.
“Bro?” he asked, before the older man could leave. He could tell him about his worries about the banshee; he would understand.
“Yeah?”
“Well… I was just thinking about the legend you mentioned,” he said. “As much as I’d like to think that it was someone playing a joke on me, I can’t help but think that there’s a chance that… maybe it wasn’t. If it isn’t… do you think there’s a way to get around that omen thing?”
The Messenger didn’t want to believe that it was real, either. He knew that either he or the other two would be the banshee’s target, since she had appeared before the Informant; there was no doubt that they were his “family.” But he also knew how to evade the banshee’s curse. However, the only way for that to work would be for the one who saw the banshee to offer his life in exchange for that of the doomed family member’s; that was something that the Informant would do without hesitation. And the Messenger had come close to losing him too many times; he could not allow that to happen, either.
He glanced back at the Informant and shrugged.
“With any luck, it was just a sick joke,” he said.
The Informant nodded, managing a weak smile and hoping the same thing.