Delinquency

by Daemon McRae

Act Eighteen: The Alarum

Act Eighteen: The Alarum

Twilight Sparkle had become uncomfortably blasé with the supernatural as of late. Oh, sure, she was more than excited to go ghost hunting, an opportunity even the magic of Equestria hadn’t afforded her, but the reality of the situation: weird magic, hidden monsters, unseen danger, and strange phenomena, were all starting to feel a little recycled to her. Not that she’d ever had to fight off flaming skulls or been trapped in a house by an unseen force, but between portals to other dimensions, random magic, and the laundry list of villainesses they seemed to fight at almost regular intervals, putting herself in harm’s way or running headlong into the magical firefight had become a habit she’d been loathe to develop.

Just to think, a year ago she’d only been taking readings of strange energy and following internet rumors about magic at a school across town. Now, her natural scientific curiosity had of course driven her to investigate these phenomena thoroughly (a choice she’d both regretted and relished, given the outcomes at the Friendship Games and their time at Camp Everfree), and it was exactly why she’d wormed her way into this investigation in the first place, but she’d started to wonder if her presence was more of a hindrance than anything. Not that she’d gotten herself injured, unlike the other females present, and her own telekinetic abilities gave her an edge over nearly everyone else present, but it was difficult to find her place in such a tightly knit group.

Once they’d discovered the secret door (and after a handful of in-jokes between the boys that she’d made a note to ask about later), they’d given themselves a good half hour to actually rest, letting Spooks get some more sleep. Then Dusty had made the decision to move forward, after she and Treble had noted a few particularly interesting books and bagged them. Taking up the lead with both a heavy flashlight and his trusty wrench, Treble had been given the task of helping Spooks along, the scrawny boy proving a little more worse for wear than they’d thought, looking for all the world like he might collapse at any moment. This left Twilight covering the rear with her own light, the argument being made that she could take care of herself better than Treble or Spooks could at the moment, and bookending their strongest players down the mysterious hidden passage seemed the best play.

“You know,” Twilight admitted, “every time I think to myself, ‘Why am I here?’ there’s a little voice in my head that likes to remind me that it was, in fact, my idea to follow you disaster magnets into a haunted house for, and I use the word in the most ironic sense possible, ‘funziez’.”

“Oh yeah?” Treble wondered. “And what does it sound like? Like who’s voice is it?”

“Sugarcoat’s, actually,” she answered. When Treble threw a quizzical glance over his shoulder, she explained, “Sugarcoat’s a… friend of mine from Crystal Prep. The one at the Friendship games with the pigtails and glasses. Has an unfortunate habit of brutal honesty. As in, all the time.”

Dusty jumped in without turning around. “Oh, you mean the one with the mean glare and great ass? Yeah, I remember her. Surprisingly good with a dirtbike, that one.”

“Of course you’d remember,” Spooks groaned, with a hint of humor in his voice. “Girl hops a living plant monster with a motorbike on a twenty-foot dirt hill, I’m surprised you didn’t ask her out before she even had her helmet off.”

“Well, to be fair, we were trying to keep one of those plants from trying to eat Wallflower,” Treble remarked. “Kind of hard to hit on someone when you’re knee-deep in flytrap mouth.”
The mental image, combined with the memory of the disaster in the triathlon, made Twilight shudder. “Well,” she chided, trying to suppress her unease, “If anyone could do it, it’s you, Treble.”

Treble and Spooks shared a wry grin that Twilight couldn’t see. “Well, well, well,” Treble said, “Look who learned how to be snarky.”

“Oh please,” Twilight scoffed. “I’m friends with Sunset, Rainbow Dash, and an entourage of prep school girls. Snark is nothing. Now, if someone could find the end of the damn tunnel, then I’d be really impressed.”

Dusty gave a hollow bark of a laugh. “No joke. Where the hell does this even lea-” there was a loud thud as his sentence was rudely interrupted by a low-cut ceiling. “BITCH! OW!” he shouted, rubbing his forehead. “Ok, folks, watch your head. Ceiling gets shorter here, by a bit. Mother FUCKER I hope I didn’t break my nose.”

“Oh, sure, cause that’s what we need,” Treble scoffed. “more injuries. God knows what that lot is getting up to now.”

---------------

“I swear to god, Rubble, if you say ‘mush’ one more time I’m gonna run you through with a kitchen knife,” Zap growled, as she rather fiercely parked RM next to the counter. She kicked the brake lever a little harder than was necessary, and took some pleasure in leaving him there.

“Well it’s not like there’s a lot for me to do right now. Have to keep myself occupied somehow,” he said, unapologetic. “Now, back to business. The best environment for preserving a body is an airtight, warm, and dry space. Too much air and you expose the body to bacteria that can cause rot. Too cold and it will accumulate moisture and decay. Same with the dry. So I’m thinking either the pantry, like a false door or something, or in or around the oven.”

Inkwell gave her employee a look that greatly implied she did not want to know how he knew that. “Ok, so what are we looking for?” she asked eventually, working her way to the pantry while Zap knelt at the oven.

Rubble took a good look around the kitchen. It was much in fashion with the rest of the house, a period piece that only received updates and maintenance when absolutely necessary. There was a large stove, near the oven where Zap was investigating, near the back wall, alongside a short counter for prep and a sink at the far end. A large metal three-sink fixture, it sat snugly in the corner, partially tucked under a rather generous window that spanned the entire right side of the kitchen. Unfortunately, not only was it most likely locked down by the same force that kept them trapped, it looked like it wasn’t even designed to open normally.

The majority of the space in the kitchen was taken up by a great L-shaped free standing counter, more of a bar than anything, with the occasional stool around it. It was lined with jars, utensils, and a cutting board, indicating that this was where the majority of prep work took place. Rubble was parked on the outside of the L, and couldn’t see as much of the room as he would've liked. He imagined the inside of the bend was lined with shelves or cupboards. Looking up, there was a great hanging rack for pots, pans, and utensils in an L-pattern to match the counter.

On the wall opposite the stove, there sat the door to the pantry, where Raven was rooting around. The wall, unlike the white tile of the rest of the room, was wood paneling in horizontal rows, looking much like the wall of a log cabin, almost. There appeared to be a break in the wall, a vertical line that split the boards neatly, and Rubble had a thought. “Hey, Raven, that wall next to the pantry.”

She looked over her shoulder at him, then at the wall. “What about it?”

“That split. Is that another door or something?” he asked, undoing the break on his chair and slowly turning himself around.

Inkwell raised an eyebrow, not quite seeing what he was, until she ran a hand along the wall. “Huh. Let’s see...” she trailed off, tugging at a corner. When that didn’t work, she gave a light push, and the wall shuddered slightly. After a heartier shove, the wall opened inwards, leading to a wine closet. A whoosh of cold air wafted into the room from the unlit space. “Welp, not in there. Too cold. Not to mention all these wine bottles would accumulate condensation.”

Rubble tilted his head. “Yeah, ok, but who the hell would build a cooled wine closet right next to a pantry meant for dry storage? That’s just hinky.”

Raven cast a look over her shoulder, then took a few steps into the closet, after fumbling around for a second, she found a chain leading to a ceiling light, and clicked on a small, dim bulb. With just enough light to see past the rows of bottles, she knocked on the wall, a dull sound with little to no echo. “The wall is insulated. Even back then they knew a thing or two about temperature control. So, where should we look next-” whatever she was going to say after that was cut short by the cellar door closing rapidly.

“Raven!” Rubble shouted, in a slight panic. “Zap, come here!”

Indigo rushed to the other side of the room, almost sliding across the counter in her hurry, and side-kicked the door.. It rocked with the same resistance they’d encountered when trying to break the windows. “Oh, come ON!” she shouted, throwing her good shoulder against the wall, followed by a few more kicks. “How the hell do we get her out?!”

Rubble rubbed his temples, thinking furiously. “Hell if I know. I don’t exactly have a ghost-proof lockpick.”

Indigo, running out of breath and good limbs to try against the stubborn door, panted in frustration. “Well what now?!”

------------------------

“So where should we look next-” Raven found herself cut off by a rush of air as the door swung closed, trapping her in the closet. “Rubble!” she barked, rushing forward and pounding on the wall with both fists. Her back to the light, she fumbled around in the dark for a handle, finding a small wedge in the wall that served as a door handle, presumably. Of course, it didn’t move at all, and the wall barely rattled with her efforts. Even the pounding on the other side of the wall -no doubt one or both of the children trying to reach her- was severely muffled, and had little to no impact on the door.

“Well, fuck me,” she groaned, looking around the room dejectedly. Seeing little to nothing of help in the dim light, she fumbled around herself for additional lights. Having handed the flashlight to Zap while she steered Maker around, she had little to no options about her person. The best she could come up with was a key chain light, ironically attached to the keys to the house that now held them all prisoner. A house, for god’s sake. What awful things must she have done in a past life to deserve such an outcome, she didn’t know, but should she ever discover time travel, she would indeed send herself back and deck the old version of herself right in the jaw.

The tiny light in her hand by itself did little to illuminate her surroundings, and received an almost pitiable amount of help from the overhead light. The best she could do was take things a step at a time into the closet, which seemed to stretch farther than she’d first thought. “Well, we’re here looking for secret rooms and trap doors, might as well keep looking,” she reasoned to herself. Her headache had since subsided, dulling merely to a light throb in the spot where she’d first hit herself. She had the nagging suspicion that wasting her time trying to break down the unnaturally sturdy door would only serve to compound her miseries.

She tread lightly into the closet, following the narrow walkway made by row after row of wine shelving, until she reached a corner, seeing a sharp left turn and not much else. Out of curiosity, she inspected some of the wines around her, seeing familiar names of popular wine makers she’d heard of in movies and fine dining menus. Little to nothing that stood out, so she pressed on down the corridor. The closet seemed deeper than she’d imagined, both towards the back and in either direction. A small part of her nagged that, just maybe, something wasn’t right, but just as soon as she’d had the thought did she reach another wall.

The first wall she’d come across had been within arm’s reach of the door; this one was several feet beyond that. Inspecting the area, she saw that, besides the continuing wine racks to her right, the rest of her surroundings was more of the same wooden paneling. False wood, most likely, for real wood wouldn’t survive long in a cool, slightly moist environment for a prolonged period of time, let alone the decades that some of these bottles claimed to have been around for. Knocking on the wall to her left, she surmised that maybe the closet simply stretched around to the rear of the pantry, and she’d simply found the corner where the outside wall met the back of the closet.

Having found no other obvious doors, she thought back to her earlier idea of trap doors, and retraced her steps, making heavy footfalls as she went, listening for rattling or hollow wooden sounds. She made it all the way back to her starting point with no results, though. Just the same heavy thudding with each step, accomplishing little more than sore feet. Again, she tried the door to the kitchen, to no avail. She couldn’t even hear pounding from the other side, which meant one of two things: either they were actually using their heads and trying to think of a way to get her out, or, for some reason, they were simply not out there anymore.

Neither of which helped quell the rising tide of panic in the back of her mind. “Ok,” she said finally, after standing around for a moment. The sound of her own voice almost startled her, having heard nothing but her own footsteps and knocking for the last several minutes. “Ok. Door doesn’t work. No other doors out. No doors in the floor...” then, an idea struck her. “But what about the ceiling?” Turning her tiny light up, she inspected the wood-imitation ceiling above her for seems like the one that had led her into this damnable closet in the first place. Pacing back and forth across the room and around the corner, her tiny key chain was almost sad in its usefulness. It was either too little light over a wide area, or just enough light in what equated to half a square foot.

It was slow going, but eventually her eyes caught the glint of light reflecting off metal. Upon closer inspection, she discovered the copper glint of a metal hinge, tucked into a tiny crevice in the wood. She stretched to the limits of her reach, her fingertips pressing firmly on the surface only after she’d raised to her tiptoes. Lightly fondling the hinge, she followed the crevice to a nearby seem, which led to a corner, to another seem at a right angle. Soon enough, she found the other side of the seem, and another corner, which seemed to encompass the breadth of the trapdoor. Shining her light back and forth, she eventually found the small metal circle that served as the door handle. It resisted her first few tugs, and for a moment she was scared that the force locking her in was also keeping the door above he head sealed shut. After a bit of effort, and her hanging all of her weight on the handle, she was able to pull the latch free and swing the door open.

Which is when the first corpse fell on her head, and she screamed to wake the devil.

Author's Note:

Schedule keeps changing. Updating when possible.

Also, FUCK.

Comments

[Magnus Orion]

This made me squee when it updated. That is good. Being able to break my soulless shell is a commendable ability. Kudos.

[Jarimor]

i0.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/masonry/001/056/841/eb9.gif

[Phoenix Flight]

Which is when the first corpse fell on her head, and she screamed to wake the devil.

FUCK NO. NONONONONONONONONONONONONO.

[Latrans]

8686808
The key word here being "first". When does she get the second?

[Phoenix Flight]

8687935
Stares at reply.

Understands words.

Ahhhh fuuuuuuuuuuuuuu—

[FanOfMostEverything]

Why, oh why did I let this sit for as long as I did? Very happy to be caught up. Eagerly looking forward to more.

[RainCrasher]

Yes find a door in the roof, dont know whats behind it, lets open it as you STAND UNDER IT!. she walked into that one lol

[Fatch]

8700679
Ya know, I kinda wondered. Of course, I started reading it a couple days ago so you can't blame me for not saying anything earlier.