Act Seventeen: Never Say Good Luck
The human psyche is a fascinating creature. Constantly studied, treated, and manipulated, without a true, complete understanding of its inner workings, it continues to surprise and befuddle even the most educated scientists. Which is possibly the greatest possible irony; one of the most powerful supercomputers imaginable, and we can’t even use it to understand itself. Oh, sure, we know a few things. Until someone comes along and proves us wrong, which seems to be a recurring pattern throughout history.
The prominent theory of structure breaks it down into three systems: the ego, superego, and id. Much could be said about all three, but a brief summary describes them as an interacting, non-physical, system of mind. The id, or the unconscious, is responsible for our instinctual reactions. Comprised of the natural personality traits we develop at birth, it dictates our immediate reactions and biological urges. The ego, almost in contrast, is what mediates the outside world with our conscious thought. Its operations are based in logic, not instinct, and approaches external stimuli and problem solving almost mathematically.
The superego houses the conscience and the ‘ideal self’: a projected image of the proper way to interact in society, the image of personal goals and aspirations, and how to treat other people. It is the part of the brain responsible for punishing, psychologically, the conscious self when its actions are in contrast to the image projected by the ‘ideal self’. For example, being rude to someone may fall out of line with the ‘ideal’, and as a result the conscience may produce feelings of guilt as a punishment. Between the superego’s job as a conscience, and the id’s role in governing natural survival instinct, humans are, theoretically, equipped with the proper mental toolbox to approach any threat.
Unfortunately, Rubble failed Psychology.
“Are you sure we should be venturing about a haunted house with an injured party?” Raven asked pointedly, stopping short of outright ordering the boy to sit the hell down and not die. “I mean, what if the others come back and base is empty?”
Rubble, never having been one to allow rational thought to get in the way of good time, was never a fan of logic rearing its ugly head. “I… um… how about we write them a note?” he offered helpfully.
“And what happens when the house EATS IT, like all haunted houses in all horror movies seem to do?” Zap countered, moving to stand between Rubble and the door.
Rubble sighed heavily. “Look, I’m not suggesting that we traipse through every damn room in the house. Hell, not even on this floor. But if we have a goal of some sort, i.e., providing a proper burial to I don’t even want to know how many kids, then sitting on our haunches isn’t going to get us anywhere. We can’t reach the boys and Twilight on the radio, cell, or anything else, and we have no idea when they’ll be back, or even what condition they’re in. That cold surge a little while ago wasn’t exactly a good sign, and I’d rather be proactive then give our ungracious host a sitting target.”
Raven took a steadying breath, running a hand through her hair. “Ok, I get it. But what if burning the body didn’t do anything? What if that was all on their end?” she asked, gesturing in the general direction of the library.
“And what if that’s exactly the conclusion the others came to?” Rubble argued, with a not-too-subtle eye roll. “What if they haven’t found anything?”
“You know,” Zap grunted, “I know you’re making sense, but I’d really rather not walk headfirst into god-knows-what when all three of us should really be in the hospital.” She gave Rubble’s leg a knowing glare, as if willing it to fall off and run back to ICU on its own. “At the very least I’d feel better with you in a wheelchair.”
Rubble looked at her as if her arms had fallen off and flipped him the bird on the way down. “A wheelchair? Seriously? I’m not that broke-OW!” he shouted, as Raven tapped the back of his heel with her toe. “What the shit, lady?!”
Inkwell shook her head. “You aren’t even taking your pain meds, are you?”
He shrugged his shoulder, as if trying to loosen her imaginary grip. “I’d rather not be doped up in this place, would you?”
The girls traded glances. “That’s a fair point,” his employer conceded. “But a wheelchair wouldn’t go amiss. Fortunately for you, you’re not the first stubborn cripple to stamp through these halls. If we are going to trample through my house, then our first stop is the room under the stairs; it’s a storage room, and there’s an older wheelchair in it. You might even not hate it.”
Rubble looked back and forth between the two. “I’m not winning this argument, am I?”
His answer was a stereophonic “NO.”
-----------------------
“Ok, so someone made the big nasty angry. Neat. That still doesn’t tell us who did what, or what to do next,” Dusty whined, slumping on the ladder. He’d given up trying to find a trap door or way out, short of ripping all the books off the shelves. Twilight had actively assaulted him when he tried.
Spooks yawned largely. “Wonderful. Wake me up again when you figure that out.”
Twilight hadn’t even opened her mouth to protest before he’d fallen back asleep. Treble eyed him enviously. “That’s not a terrible idea. We should try and sleep in shifts while we’ve got this safe space. What do you guys think?”
Dusty nodded wearily. “Agreedo. If I don’t get some shut-eye I’m gonna fall down something stupid. Like a first-floor staircase.”
“There’s no such thing,” Twilight pointed out, earning little more than a sarcastic glance from the boys. The ones that were awake, anyway. “Oh,” she said quietly after a second. “I get it. Anyway. Sleep might not be a bad idea, but I’m not exactly tired right now. I’m used to all-nighters in libraries, so I can take first shift with one of you.”
Treble rolled his eyes back and forth in thought. “Alright. I might as well stay up with you. I’ve learned how to operate on little to no sleep. Normally, our local bookworm would happily stay awake and play ‘study-buddy’, but between the barrier up top and his typically abysmal sleep habits, I’m not surprised he’s out. Also, Dusty gets really, really stupid when he’s tired.”
“Um… how stupid?” Sparkle asked carefully, eying the scruffy juvenile.
“Like ‘Felony Misdemeanor’ stupid,” Dusty punctuated, stretching out on the floor. He emptied a bag and bunched it up under his head. Twilight took a quiet step back, deciding to let him rest, for all their sakes.
Treble grunted as he wrestled with another old lock. “Don’t expect us to keep it down, by the way,” he groaned, the rusty chain clattering loudly on the floor. Dusty raised a thumb in the air, and collapsed his arm. “Right. You find anything in that pile of rejects that’s at all useful?” DT asked his new ‘study partner’, who had taken to sitting next to the large pile of discarded books and sorting through them a bit more thoroughly than Treble had.
“One or two. Like you said, there’s not a lot that’s exactly specific to our current situation, but there’s some general knowledge here that might be helpful. I just wish my Latin was better,” she lamented, glaring at a particularly stubborn tome by flashlight.
Treble chuckled. “Please. I barely know two phrases. You’re far better equipped for this work than I am.” He smiled to himself, then squinted at the bookcase he was currently vandalizing. “Wait… Twilight, c’mere.”
Sparkle paused for a second, taking a last look at a particular passage, and set the book carefully aside. Scrambling over the assortment of books around her, she stumbled to her feet, almost crashing into DT. “What is it?” she said ungraciously, getting her bearings. Treble pointed curiously at a book in the middle row, off to the side. Nothing really stood out about it at first. It was similar in size, texture, even font as the ones around it. A simple brown leather book in a row of brown leather books, so well blended it took Twilight a second to figure out which little brown book he was pointing at. It wasn’t until she started reading the titles that something stood out.
“Thaumaturgy in Practice, The Good Book of Bad Men, Solomon’s Lock and Key, Peace and… Love Through Vegetarianism? Excuse me?” she asked indignantly,
“Yeah-huh,” Treble said, amused. “Unless the great Vegan conspiracy has infiltrated our newspapers, I doubt that book actually promises as advertised.” He reached to pull it off the shelf, but Twilight smacked his hand. “Wait!” she cried.
He took a step back, startled. “What?!”
She looked at the book nervously, then at Treble. “What if it’s, I don’t know, boobytrapped?”
Treble raised an eyebrow at her, then the other one at the book. “Actually… that’s not a terrible thought. Between the phone and the flaming death skulls, a trapped book on a locked bookcase isn’t a far-fetched notion. Problem is, how do we disarm it?”
Twilight, for once, had a ready answer. She simply fished her geode out from under her shirt, and shook it with a smile.
Treble nodded approvingly. “Niiiiiiice.”
----------------
Rubble leaned uncomfortably on his crutches, holding his bad leg in the air. Indigo held open the door, while Raven rifled through the storage closet. After a few loud moments and some quiet cursing, she wheeled out a tallback wheelchair with a steel frame. It was a dark brown leather seat with heavy wheels, and rather lounge-ish arms. “Get in,” Raven said pointedly. “As much as it pains me to do so, I’ll push you.”
“Oh, no,” Zap said darkly. “Allow me.”
The other two rolled their eyes. “Yeah, sure,” Rubble groaned, turning carefully on his good leg as Raven pushed the chair into the back of his legs. He let himself fall back gracelessly, silently grateful for the relief on his bad leg. “Now, where to next, boos?” he asked, now at the whim of someone slightly more level-headed.
Raven leaned on the back of the chair, pensive. “Well, I don’t want to stray too far from base, and I don’t exactly know any good places to hide bodies in this house. I’ve only ever been in it a few times.”
Zap thought out loud. “Well, the girl’s outfit was kind of torn up, but it could just be from age. It didn’t look burned or sun-damaged or anything, and not shoddy enough to be eaten by moths. So it would be somewhere that preserved the material decently. I mean, that’s if there’s not some weird-o ghost magic being used on the clothes, too.”
Rubble looked at her almost admirably. “That… would explain the condition of her body, too. I thought it was just some stupid dramatic flair by the ghost, but what if it was… mummification? Like the body actually was preserved? Leathering like that could be a result of desiccation.”
His admiring glance was met with a questionable stare. “And… how do you know that?”
Raven sighed. “Let me guess, you’ve actually fought mummies?”
“Twice,” he said, holding up a couple fingers. “And believe you me, nothing is more annoying than a history lesson that fights back.”
Indigo shuddered at the thought. “Okay. So we’re looking for a cool, dry place, right? Like where you’d store food you wanted to keep for… a… while.”
Rubble grinned, and pointed dramatically in front of him. “TO THE KITCHENS! HOOOO!”
-----------------------
Twilight and Treble stood on the opposite side of the library, as the former gripped her geode tight in concentration, pointing at the book. The latter stood in front of her, holding Dusty’s favorite wrench in a guarding stance, ready for any and all projectile whatevers might respond. The book glowed a familiar hue of purple, and shuddered in its place. “Ummm…” Treble said after a moment.
Twilight shook her head. “It’s… stuck. Like… attached.” She shook it a little bit. “Yeah. I can’t move it more than a few inches one way.
Treble thought about it for a second, then his eyes lit up. “Uh, what?” Twilight asked, not sure she wanted an answer.
“Try tilting it forward,” he offered, staring intently at the shelf.
“Why?” Twilight asked, more than a little confused.
“Just a theory.”
She shrugged, and complied. The book lurched forward a little bit, sitting at an angle, until they heard a satisfying click, although nothing really happened. “Ok, what now?” she asked, not sure she wanted an answer.
Which she didn’t get, right away. Instead, he put the wrench down, and shook Dusty awake. “Double D, Double D!” he shouted, then ran over to Spooks. “Bones, get up, get up!”
The boys woke up, of course, glaring daggers at him. “What the hell do you want?” Dusty groaned, a sentiment Spooks was very effectively conveying through sheer force of will and an angry glare.
Ignoring the spite, Treble ran up to the bookcase to the right of their mystery book, and pushed on it gently. When it swung open, Dusty sat up quickly. “Dude… secret door?”
Spooks nodded, smiling sleepily. “Secret door.”
“SECRET DOOR!” Treble exclaimed.
Twilight just smacked herself in the forehead. “Oh, my god.”