Old Attic Chest

[Freya Baggins]

In an old attic, covered in inches of thick, impenetrable dust, lays a chest. The chest itself is unobtrusive, scarred with age, and totally unremarkable. The hinges appear to be rusted shut, the latch weak, and the wood brittle. However, this cryptic message seared into the lid deters most inquisitive folk:

 

Those who saw and opened,

May wish they never had,

While those who saw and didn’t,

Forevermore be glad.

 

A message to be well heeded, for the tale of this chest is one of horror and total insanity, one of utter despicability. How do I know? Because I am the one who made it so, the one who strikes fear into the hearts of those who choose to open the dreaded chest.

 

I was once a rich and prosperous merchant, a man well respected by the general populous. Those few famous I would condescend to familiarize myself with were the elite and the disgustingly wealthy. They each owned several huge mansions, and threw elaborate parties, where they gave away objects of great value for no more than the promise of a “private party” later. The immorality that abounded was inconceivable.

 

I was in the thick of it all, partying until I could no longer stand, making myself sick with my corruption. No one can live like that for long and not feel the agony which consumes the body, the numbing of the mind and heart. Insanity soon follows close on your heels.

 

One day it happened. I simply snapped. My normal calm composure was gone and a loony but sinister smile covered my face. I would disappear into my basement workshop for days on end, then would reappear and burn whatever I had made. Finally, I stumbled out, dragging behind me a large wooden chest.

 

This I loaded into my car and drove to a small country house, which my family had owned for generations. I dragged it laboriously up to the attic, each pounding step echoing my own beating heart. In the attic I set it down next to a trapdoor that led to a room below that contained no doors or windows, just four walls and some bones. Then I crouched behind a large box and waited.

 

My first victim was not long in coming, as I had invited him. A puzzled look covered his immaculately groomed features, and his manicured hand reached out to touch the chest, opening it up. His look of puzzlement turned to horror as the smell of rotting flesh filled the room, wafting up from the decomposing body lying in the chest. My victim turned to run, but had not gone three steps when I came up behind him and smote him on the back of the neck, instantly killing him. I threw him down the trapdoor, a grim look on my face.

 

Many pass through now that I do not harm, but those I once knew, well, they are in great danger of meeting the fate of that first victim.

[Ozymandias]

Well. *That* was classical.

 

Almost Poe or Lovecraft. Stands quite well on its' own, but I have to say the "room below" may drive me nuts if there's no followup. Was our narrator already using it for something else? Was it other members of his family who had been using it?

 

Enquiring minds want to know!

[Wyvern]

Freya Baranfinnel Sinome Rae Maethe sighs to herself and shoves a stack of paperwork to the side with one of her feet, glancing over the mess of an Office floor before noticing the absence of a proper Pen recruiter to read over and accept her application. The applicant frowns and turns towards Ozymandias, cocking a thumb back at the Office Rolodex clock and raising her story in one hand. She opens her mouth to inquire about the Elder of Initiates' whereabouts, only to pause as a loud knocking sound echoes from the other side of the Office door. Both Freya and Ozymandias turn as a second set of knocks rings out from the door, until a deep grainy voice bellows:

 

"Could somebody answer that? I'd rather not get a frame ache."

 

Freya takes a step back as she notices the boards of the Office door moving of their own accord and forming a mouth... a mouth capable of bellowing instructions, for that matter. Another set of knocking begins before Ozymandias takes the initiative and answers the door, revealing a troglyodyte in a grey-ish blue delivery man uniform. A large wooden chest sits behind the troglyodyte, measuring up to his full height. The troglyodyte raises a fist to knock once again, stopping his webbed hand mere inches away from Ozymandias' beard. He immediately straightens up and mumbles:

 

"Special delivery for..." The troglyodyte lifts a small piece of paper to his face and twists his slimy nose. "Frrreya... Barafoo- Barfannoo- Baranfinn? Sinora E. Maethe?"

 

Freya hesitantly steps closer to the door as the large chest is shoved in by the forces of the delivery lizardine and Ozymandias combined. She glances at the troglyodyte's delivery card just to make sure that her name is indeed listed as the recipient, then thanks him and signs a delivery receit before watching him depart. She then turns her attention to the chest itself, which appears to be fabricated out of cheap wood and has an inscription on its lid. Freya raises a brow as she tries to make out the words, which have been carved in an unprofessional and near-illegible manner.

 

Insert Gold Coins to Open me

The Higher Price, the Greater

For Applications Read and Stamped

Pay Now or See You Later.

 

Freya frowns and spots a small slit on the front of the box for coins to slip into, then reaches into her pouch to check for any gold currency. She stops, however, as Ozymandias lays a hand on her arm.

 

"Better not, Freya. We don't know, it could be a trap."

 

"Awwwww c'mooon!" Both Freya and Ozymandias turn as the lid of the chest suddenly pops open, along with Wyvern who springs out of it like a jack-in-the-box. The overgrown lizard strikes a toothy grin and gestures to Freya. "Go on, drop sssome coins in, or you'll never be able to open the che-"

 

Wyvern stops short as he realizes that the chest has already been opened, and raises a claw to his horns with a sheepish laugh as he steps out. The reptilian Elder steps up to Freya and shakes her hand, snatching her application sheet up and eyeing it greedily.

 

"Nice to see you applying Miss Freya Baranfinnel Sinome Rae Maethe. Mind if I call ya Freya Baranfinnel Sinome Rae M. for short?" Wyvern carefully reads over Freya's horror vignette, then stamps it ACCEPTED and nudges her with a scaly shoulder. "Sssay, I don't suppose you might be able to give me a few pointers on sssetting up these chest trap thingsss? A trap door with a pay elevator going up could probably draw a profit..."

 

;-)

 

OOC: An ACCEPTED application story, Freya B. Welcome to the Mighty Pen! :-) I hope that you find us a very friendly and welcoming community to share your writing with, and am looking forward to reading more of your stories as well as to participating with you in collaborative threads when the opportunity arises. Once again, welcome!

[Degorram]

HAIIIIIIIIII FREYA! Nice to finally see you on the pen!