Tale:Rory's First Halloween Party

October 31st, 2008

Oh grimoire, my grimoire, it's that time of year. The Season of the Witch. All Hallows' Eve. It is a time for the dead to walk and the living to run. It has been too long since I have seen the surface, and my laptop is starting to run out of battery. While I have the charger from my old home as well, I have no place to put it.

Today, there is a party near the college, a party that a certain person may be attending. I will have my revenge tonight!

November 1st, 2008

Oh grimoire, my grimoire, why is there no justice in this cruel world?

That Halloween morning, there was little to do but prepare. My sewer was dank and empty, walls of moldy stone over a flowing canal of water, water that smelled of embalming fluid. I know well what would happen if I followed it upstream.

My satchel was filled with some stationery, for you, my grimoire; my laptop computer, which had become my only source of contact with any of the living; goetic materials, like the sewer-mold, undead bone, some of the fluid from the canal, and a lighter; and you, my grimoire. I was the Arch-lich, the leader of all the dead, and nothing would stop me from bringing judgement up to the living.

As I expressed this thought aloud, my two loyal thralls, piles of bones raised into the approximation of human skeletons, perhaps with a hand where a jaw should be, sprang up without my command. The strange air down hear is a blessing and a curse. I couldn't just leave them to wander the Halls without guidance! They would end up back there, or even that dark place! I was planning on dealing with him myself, anyway. I ordered them to collect whatever objects or materials had the greatest scent of sentiment, things that might help me invent new cantrips.

I then drew the great robes of the undead over myself until I was cloaked enough to seem a regular guiser, a participant in the festivities. The garments, likely much older than myself, now seemed a mere costume. Unlike other trips to the surface, I would be able to move about partially in plain sight.

The sewer's layout had already become second nature, and I navigated the wet tunnels without much effort. Unlike the Halls of Purgatory, they are made by human hand with a rational purpose. I knew the address of the party, I knew where the street was, and I knew exactly who would be there.

I approached the rusty ladder out of the earth with caution. If a person were to see my exit, they may become suspicious. They may bring an entire mob to attempt to destroy my body and soul. My rotten hands hesitated to grasp each iron rung, and my feet followed grimly. It was now or never, the party would begin shortly.

That lid, that cover, that seal upon my lair, it was pushed up and slid to the side once more, but this time, the ringing of doorbells and cheers of human joy echoed through the opening. I creaked and groaned as I scrambled to ground level and covered my tracks. The joyous streets ignored the cruel scent of night that lingered above and below them. The jack-a-lanterns taunted me, but they were clearly constructed without any apotropaic intent. Everyone in town's a fool, after all.

The address I had written down in you, my grimoire, was not far from my point of exit. The walk through the streets, evading any headlights or flashlights that might reveal my morbid visage too clearly, was a lonely one. People laughed all around me, like the day was all a big joke. A couple walked past, and said, "We're too old for this!" When I scolded them, and called them out for their ignorance, weaving the vivid image of a demonic presence enclosing on them and tearing each of them apart just before their moment of embrace, they simply glared at me and walked away briskly.

Halloween has always been my favorite holiday. Even when society dictated that I stop wandering the streets in costume, I kept it close to my heart, in secret. I've always despised those who simply dress as a popular figure, especially one without any kind of fearful presence. The night is one where the living should cross their hearts and the dead should be respected.

Along the way, I met with a group of trick-or-treaters, dressed in relatively simply costumes. A sheet ghost, a black cat, a vampire. Respectable in comparison to some others, and especially for their young ages. I opened my jaw, and out came the chilling gust that said, "Congratulations..." and the children shuddered.

They would not move, they were frozen in place, and they were without chaperone. Clearly, they were in need of a warning. "Wanna hear a scary story?" I asked. They nodded. It was traditional, after all.

I began, "Children like you should be careful in this town. There's some bad people here. There's a bad man who would steal people's lives." Memory rushed back through my spine. "A bad man, who would take people down to his office, and would tell them lies about life and death. He tells them he can make them live forever, or he tells them they will never be without a job, as long as they listen to him. And he studies such strange things."

"Like what?" asked a child.

"Like how to eat a brain without getting sick." They were shaken. "Or how to bring himself back to life. He hasn't been himself in a while. He keeps changing his face, and he keeps trying to run away. There's always someone new in his office, a new victim."

"What does he do to them? What happens to them?"

I beckoned the children to come in close, and in a soft voice I whispered, "What he does to them,"

I tore off my hood and shouted, "IS THIS\!\!" The wind whistled through my bare skull. The children screamed as they ran away, far into the night, still without a chaperone, and I chuckled to myself.

When I arrived at the doorstep of the party, I was disappointed to see a lack of decorations. Clearly, they wouldn't be giving out candy. Selfish bastards. They just had a wreath with some spiders on it on the front door.

I knocked, knocked on the wood of the door, my bare knuckles echoing through the darkness. No response came, and I sulked for a bit, cursing that man with all my anger. I knocked again. The door opened to a smiling woman dressed as a witch, with a broom and everything. Or perhaps she was cleaning up after some guests. I felt the boom of loud music in my bones coming from inside.

She asked me, "What's your name? What are you dressed up as?"

I said, "Uh... oh. I'm... Rory. But uh, tonight, I'm... uh, Auroron, Archlich of the Underworld!" I stumbled over each world until I proclaimed my role in the universe.

"Nice. I'm Carrie, and I'm a witch." She let me in and asked me how I was doing, to which I responded that I was fine. There were people, college kids mostly a bit older than me, dressed in costumes that aroused no fear. They were drinking something, which obviously I could not do. I took some of the punch anyway, and smelled it. Spiked. I stored some of it in a flask for later, carefully.

They were all just talking to each other. They did not even put on a horror film to entertain those that might actually wish to partake in the holiday. I asked for an outlet, and one was provided, so I spent a while just sitting in the corner, filling my laptop with chemical energy derived from electrical energy, and brooding. I apologize for not taking the time to write in you, my grimoire, but exposing your secrets to the world would be dangerous.

Someone arrived after a while. It was him, and he was dressed in the shabby-looking guise of a werewolf, with a rubber mask and fake paws. No tail, though. He greeted Carrie with some enthusiasm, a "Hey!" and a handshake. I could still tell, with my sixth sense, that he remained an embalmed cadaver just playing at being alive, desperate to escape from what happened that Labor Day. Dylan's such an idiot.

I watched him from the corner through the pulsing colored lights. His dance moves were stiff, either from his condition or his inexperience. I could have done better if I so desired, I'm sure. Then I heard him talking to her, to Carrie, the host.

"Who's that in the corner?" he asked.

"Oh, his name is, uh, Rory? He's supposed to be like, an archlich. From a game or something." While her interpretation was wrong, my mild irritation did not compare to Dylan's sudden cessation of movement, impeded by the revelation that I was in the same room as him, and there were no employees to help him kick me out. I wonder if he thought I would kill him. I wonder if he knew I was thinking about it.

"Oh, Rory you say? Haha, what a weird costume." He was pretending not to look my way, but I was staring right at him.

"Do you know him or something?" Carrie asked. Of course, I knew Dylan would lie.

"Uh, he went to my high school, or something like that. He's not really right in the head. Why'd you let him in anyway?" I was ready to leap at him and strangle him again, but obviously that would be a poor choice.

"Oh, c'mon. He's just a bit weird, that's all." She smiled and remarked, "And you're not all that right in the head yourself!" She was only joking, of course, but it was entirely true, every word she spoke.

"He's probably posting some creepy shit online or something... about some spooky paranormal stuff..." I wasn't even connected to the internet, I was just checking my laptop's battery and playing solitaire.

Carrie then frowned, personally offended. "It's real. It's not just spooky stuff, and it's not stupid to post about it online! Of all nights to be talking like this..." She started to avoid him. I saw him mingle with some of the others, and he was well regarded. People thought he was so funny. I had to do something about it.

I packed up my laptop—it was charged—and I rose to my feet with cruel intent, ready to enact my plan. "Dylan!" I called out. "It's your friend! Don't you recognize me?! It's Rory!" Someone mumbled about a person that died in the caves on the news.

He was backing away from me as I approached, and he stumbled into the couch. I reached into my satchel, grabbed around until I felt what I was looking for. I raised it high into the air, exposing my skeletal hand, with the strangest lack of a reaction from my audience.

"Everybody!" I yelled, "This vial," it contained a dark fluid, "holds the secret to this man's life! He is a bad, bad, very bad man! Do not go anywhere with him alone, he will probably steal you for experiments! He's evil! This is his embalming fluid!" Everybody just gazed like I was talking crazy. Dylan's chest started spasming and his throat started snickering. Enraged, I stuffed the vial back into my bag.

Dylan chuckled, "Hey, everybody, this is the crazy guy from my old school, don't pay him too much mind, he's harmless." Everyone had an expression of mild confusion on their faces. Then people started to laugh.

They started to point at me and laugh, everyone did, except for Carrie, the host, who had a look of awe and terror on her contorted face. Still, she approached me. "Is everything alright? Do you need, like, help, or something?"

I snapped, "I do not need help!" I need that man over there to face consequences for his actions!" I stamped my foot on the ground, and her eyes widened to witness the exposed bone. People were still laughing, and Dylan was getting so much sympathy over having to know me.

With a shaky voice, she said, "He's... just mean! You should... avoid him..." She made to put a hand on my shoulder, but when she felt it, she pulled away, and backed into a corner.

"You should all be afraid! Stop laughing! Stop it! Stop it now! STOP IT\!\!" The louder I shouted, the louder they laughed. "I'll curse all of you! I know magic spells!" I searched through you, my grimoire, but all of it required some kind of access to the elements, a material I didn't have, or was just not the right hex. I clenched my fist, snapping you shut. The host sprinted upstairs.

I waved my other hand in the air, "Look! Look! I can make fire!" And a pathetic flame the size of a candle's fire emitted from my palm. They were not convinced. They laughed, sneered, and they started throwing stuff at me, just random stuff from across the room. Someone splashed punch on me, and the fire went out.

Destroyed, I opened the door, and I ran away. All I could muster was a simple jinx to make it rain on their party, but of course, they were under a roof.

And now I'm back here, the sewer. My thralls brought me some random items, and now I shall just study them for a bit. Probably, I'll spend some time online. Everybody is so mean to me...