A Ghost Story

[TheArcaneWeirdo]

[Disclaimer: I'm new to the fandom and still learning the lore. I'm about to write a lot of stuff that must sound nonsensical to experts, cause I know only the outlines of canon stories - aka what's written in Mistipedia - and will have to make up the details - for example, Lord Godefroy's behaviour in a casual interaction, the appearance of Gryffon Manor or the exact nature of Positivism - and I'm aware of that. I'm sorry if it comes out as cringe and welcome corrections, but please be kind and don't gatekeep.]

Foreword:
This is a ghost story. A story about ghosts. Not merely one ghost and a bunch of living people having to deal with it, but a lot of ghosts having to deal with eachother. The hero is a ghost, the villain is a ghost, and most side-characters are ghosts. In fact, this is so much of a ghost story, that even the author is a ghost. (I hereby thank Miss Gennifer Weathermay-Foxgrove for copying my floating ectoplasm letters into permanent writing.)
The living of course have their own share in the story, but it is secondary to that of the dead. I understand this might prove difficult to relate to the experience of an incorporeal protagonist, but consider: What do we read stories for, if not to experience existences other than our own?
Hoping you enjoy the ride,
E. van Richten.


Chapter 1: The Masterpiece

I didn't know how exactly to go about infiltrating Gryffon Manor, so I stared at the wall and waited for someone to notice my presence. This was not as boring as one could imagine, as the aforementioned wall was covered in an ornate tapestry decipting - as far as I could tell - the founding of Mordentshire. I didn't know enough about the subject to discren the historical significance of details, but I can appreciate a fine piece of art, and this one was marvelous. I found it hard to believe that someone wove such tiny details. I didn't knew much about weaving, but I knew enough about any type of art to understand a masterpiece like this took skill. Practice. Someone had to weave a dozen awful tapestries, then dozens of okay ones, then dozens of actually good ones to reach this this level of perfection. This was admirable. I wondered who was that weaver, how did they learn, what inspired them, and whether they made this piece simply because it was commitioned by the lord of the land or out of true pride in their town.
Maybe I can ask them myself, it occured to me. Maybe they returned too. Maybe they're still in the house! That would be awesome.
I was shaken away from my thoughts by something - long and narrow, but not as sharp as a blade - stabbing me between my ribs and turning me around. It was an ethereal walking stick, held by the ghost of an old gentleman. He was ugly in a way that made me want to draw him as a challenge, just to see if I could capture every single gross feature. Usually I don't judge a book by its cover, but let's say I've read a few pages of Wilfred Godefroy by now and allow myself to judge him freely. I held myself from striking back or dodging - I was supposed to be a newbie ghost drawn to the manor, clueless and terrified. So I let him push me against - well, into - the wall, and played dumb.
"How can you tou - " I stared him in astonishment, trying not to laugh.
" - Ch you?" His lips formed a crooked smile that would've haunted my nightmares had I still required sleep. "Welcome to ghost-world, kiddo. While inferior spirits like you are like air to the living world, we are all solid to eachother. You can still be harmed."
I knew that, and in fact could have explained it in fancier terms. My dad literaly wrote the book about incorporeal undead, and I watched him all along. But I needed Godefroy to think I'm ignorant - not stupid, just uninformed. A stupid servant is more bother than it's worth - enough to be easily frightened and manipulated.
"Now, who are you?" He regarded me like one would look upon a pickle (I hate pickles. I had not eaten a pickle in fifty years, but the very sight of them still disgusts me.)
"S - Samuel van Helsing, sir." I answered.
"Where do you hail from, and how did you die?"
You can't just go around asking people how they died, I sighed, but ignored the offence: Sam van Helsing wouldn't know yet what is polite or impolite among our kind.
"I'm from Lamordia, sir. Neufurchtenburg."
"Neufuchebur -"
"Ne - oo - foor - chten - berg." I silently prayed to Ezra that I don't mispronounce it. Lamordian compound words are a mouthful, even to speakers.
He nodded impatiently.
"I was very ill," I explained. "It's pretty common where I come from, because of the pollution from the mines. Our doctor reccomended my parents to relocate to Mordent for the fresh air, but by that time it was too late."
I was very proud of this backstory.
First, Lamordia and Darkon border on eachother and have some decent linguistic exchange - my own surname is an example - so I wouldn't have to worry too much about my accent or idiomatic speech.
Second, I found a cause of death for a young boy that raises no questions and implies nothing - not extraordinary heroism nor remarkable foolishness - about Samuel's character. He grew up in a village full of toxic and radioactive minerals and had bad luck, that's all.
Third, if I was to exemplify my... not expertise, but broad common knowledge on medicine, I'd have a built-in explanation: I'd spent the last year or so or my life visiting the hospital more often than school. I picked some stuff up. This would both mark me as observant - a good talent for a spy - and eliminate the possible suspicions that might arise concerning the ghost of a teenage boy whose father was a doctor.
"How unfortunate." He rolled his eyes. If you don't care, why did you ask? "So when did you die?"
"Two weeks after we moved in. That was two months ago." I shrugged, then gave him what he really wanted to know. "They're still in Blackburn's crossing, but... Well... They don't believe I'm still around. They're enlightened citizens, you see, and they wouldn't accept that their son had turned into a... You know..."
And that's it. This was the final thread wooven into my own masterpiece, if to use the tapestry as a metaphor. Lamordia was primarily atheist, but it glorified science so much that some of them turned it into it's own religion: Positivism. I don't want to stigmatize, but some of the extremist factions (viewing magic as the opposite of science) see magic-users and supernatural creatures - good or evil - as abominations. Genny always says it's the stupidest thing ever - science is a method of gathering information, that can be used for researching magic as much as anything else - but critical thinking wasn't Samuel van Helsing's strongest suit. This was the perfect bait: A person whose family had deemed an abomination had nowhere to run back to, and a person truly deeming *themself* an abomination was unlikely to stand up to anything. I was basically screaming: Give me your worst! Tell me your darkest secrets - I'm sure to keep them, cause no one will listen to me anyway! You can lock me in a cabinet or let me roam free all around the countryside, doesn't matter, cause I'm not going anywhere! This was a gambit - I was inviting him to torture me freely as well - but one I was willing to risk, knowing that I, contrary to Samuel, had a network of monsterhunters on my side.
"Well, well, well..." He chuckled, and I knew he'd fallen right into my trap. "Welcome to Gryffon Hill, young Mr. Van Helsing. I hope you enjoy your stay here."
From what I'd heard and what I've seen so far, I had little hope I would. But I didn't have to fake my warm smile: This was exactly what I needed. I had to figure out what in the dark powers was going on here.




[Afternote: Hi, hope you enjoyed!
1) I'm not sure how to procede: I liked the VRGtR idea of Eresmus' ghost as an active character. In the 'adventures with Eresmus van Richten' section was suggested a plot hook where Lord Godefroy kidnaps Eresmus to manipulate his father (which would be wild, cause according to VRGtR the Van Richten Curse somehow prevents Rudolph from discovering his son's presence), and I thought 'how about we give it a twist, where Eresmus intentionally gets captured in order to act as a double agent and find out something?', but I don't know what exactly he's trying to uncover. I thought maybe the WF twins are finally suspecting the skeleton in their own family's closet, but in this case IDK whether to use 5e canon or older editions' canon regarding timeline and stuff. If you have any ideas or advice - PM me to avoid spoilers.
2) I speculated that the surname 'Van Richten' is originally Lamordian cause it sounds German and Lamordian is based on a dialect of German. Considering the first names of known family members, I'd further speculate that Rudolf and Ingrid's families both originated in Lamordia and that they're both native speakers, but Eresmus - given a latin AKA Darkonese name - was raised to fit into the local dominant culture, and possibly knows Lamordian as a second language but is less fluent. This is such a minor detail, but I had fun researching it. If you have any information that could prove or disprove it, comment bellow - and remember Azalin's curse would make it hard to find obvious evidence of immigration to Darkon.
3) As I said above, I'm writing this fic based on VRGtR and Mistipedia articles, meaning I know a little bit about everything but not the little details. Usually I'm very thorough about my fanfic research, but right now I can't afford buying a ton of RPG sourcebooks made for an edition I don't even play, and I wouldn't ask y'all to pirate. But if you could either reccomend ONE book you think would be most valuable for a fic concerning both Mordent AND the van RIchten family, or explain to me in private about the personalities and expected behaviour of characters involved, it would be very kind of you.]

[TheArcaneWeirdo]

[Trigger warning: This chapter starts light-hearted but near the end delves into a more horrific tone, including scenes of abuse.]


Chapter 2: Fork Around & Find Out


“So how's your day?” I floated next to the spirit of a boy I knew to be Gilbert Shirley. He was thirteen and two years old (Thirteen years of life and two of unlife. An important distinction in the ghost community: You can't attribute the same numbers to an old woman who died yesterday and a toddler who had been deceased for decades!) tall for his age, with light hair - I can’t remember whether he was blonde or light-brown in life, and now, considering our transparency, there was no telling - who always carried with him a football.
He shrugged and grunted.
“Yeah, it really is pretty dull here.” I agreed. That was one of the problems with ghosthood - without the basic needs of the living, one had to either actively look for occupation (which was pretty hard if, like me, you couldn’t touch anything material), or face a degree of boredom that’s incomprehensible for mortals. My usual solution for this was to haunt adventurers as politely as possible so I can watch and occasionally help them do interesting stuff, but now, surrounded by my kind, it was up to me to ensure the interesting stuff happens.
He raised an eyebrow.
“You just got your butt kicked.” He noted, “And your response is ‘dull’?”
“I’ve been through worse.” I shrugged, then added quickly. “At school, I mean. I was always weaker than the other kids, you know, even before I got sick, and they… Nevermind. I’ll never see those idiots again now!”
“You’re very optimistic, ah?” He giggled.
“Yep!” I conjured a wide smile. “As far as I’m concerned, the empty half of the glass is just filled with air!”
“You can’t drink air.”
“And you can’t breath water!”
“When would I ever be stuck with no air other than what’s in a glass?”
“Half a glass. And you can never know.” I answered. “Though we’ll probably never be in this situation personally, as we don’t need to drink or breathe.”
“Right. Err, m’name’s Bert. Yours is Samuel, you said?”
“Yep. Call me Sam.” I gave him a high-five. “So what do cool ghosts do around here?”
“Not much.” He sighed. “Mostly I just sit here, vibing. I’m trying to get Lord Godefroy into giving me a mission.”
“Why?” I asked, bemused. “He seems like the kind of a ghost you want to stay as far as possibly away from. You know, the type people are afraid their nosey aunt will come back to haunt them as vengeance for not eating her borscht.”
“Cause then I can get outta here and meet my bros, duh?” He looked at me like I just asked a beggar why he wants money badly enough to sit on the sidewalk and embarrass himself in front of the entire street.
“Can’t you just - “ I asked innocently.
“ - We can’t get out on our own.” He said sadly. “Lord Godefroy is the master of all ghosts, and only he can grant us freedom. If you can make yourself useful, he’ll let you out for a few hours - enough to do what he needs you to do then have some fun. Other than that, we’re trapped.”
A sly voice resurfaced from the back of my mind. I’m your progenitor, your master. If I die, you die too. Understood?
“And he told you that, didn’t he?” I raised an eyebrow.
“‘D’you think he’s lying?” He suddenly seemed thrilled.
“Do you have any siblings?” I asked.
“Two little ones, Jimmy and Zander.” He answered.
“Ever taught them a game?”
“Of course! We’d play football together all the time!”
“Ever made up a rule or ignored one, just because it benefited you at that specific moment?” I asked with a crooked smile. “I mean, they wouldn’t know better, as long as you kept playing by it…”
“Fine, I confess. Did’t a couploff times.” He sighed. “Didn’t even help me beat them, you know - eventually they learned to use it too, and at that point I couldn’t just explain I cheated. It just became the new rule.”
“That’s exactly what Anto - my cousin always did when we played Taki.”
“What’s Taki?”
“A card game. Pretty popular where I came from.” I explained. Well, it was popular in Darkon fourty years ago. I don’t know if it can even be bought in Lamordia nowadays. But no one really pays that much attention, right? “My point is, this is universal behaviour. If your only source of information about something is a person whose interest is to maintain their own supremacy - whether it’s a competetive older playmate or a megalomaniac ghost - expect them to tell you only what’s convinient to them.”
“Makes sense.” He shrugged. Bro shrugged a lot. Probably why his shoulders were so muscular. “But… I had tried to get out unpremitted. Something just… Pulled me back. Couldn’t even make it to the bottom of the hill.”
“I know, I felt that pull too.” I nodded. “But I don’t think Godefroy is the only one who can undo it. Maybe there’s another way, a secret he’s keeping from us.”
I could tell him I’ve successfully resisted the pull, maybe even show it, but I didn’t want him to be jealous. I needed him to feel like we’re in the same boat.
“So how do we find it?” He threw me his ball - and missed by a good five feet. We flew after it as fast as we could, looking like a horizontal tornado
“Very simple.” I smiled. “We fork around and find out.”

My father has perfected the art of forking around and finding out.
I guess that’s what happens when you take a scientist and turn them into an adventurer. They get methodical about it.
I tried to think about his usual methods for identifying a monster. You could question the locals, or examine physical evidence, or try to observe the creature, or use magic.
I couldn’t use magic. And I already knew what our monster was - I just needed to find its weakness (And, though Gilbert didn’t know that, figure out what it’s plotting). I was here to observe Godefroy, but how could I do it more efficiently than just by sitting around and watching him? How do I ask ‘the locals’ without raising suspicion? And what would qualify as physical evidence here? Maybe… The Godefroys had lived here, right? Maybe something related to his past… We could search the rooms, look for clues.
“Is there any room within the manor we’re forbidden from entering?” I asked.
“The Lord’s study.” Bert answered.
“Excelent.”
“That’s where we go first?” He smiled.
“No! That would be ridiculously dangerous!” I exclaimed. “First we conduct research in a more secure way. Second, we find a way to enter unnoticed. The study is where we go third.”
“Dang,” His eyes widened. “You sound like Van Richten or something!”
“Ugh…” I freaked out for a second, then realised there’s an easy excuse for that. “I’ve read some of his books. Borrowed them from my friend, Micheal, in third grade. We pretended to be monster hunters, as a game. We were both the class’s losers, so this was our way to feel… Less losery, I suppose?”
“Nerd.” He chuckled. But he didn’t sound mocking, and as far as I could tell, suspected nothing.
“Pridefully.” I shrugged. “So. Who - other than Godefroy - are the oldest ghosts? Or those who seem most knowledgable?”
“Well, I suppose there’s Mathilda Mournesworth.” He scratched his scurff. “She’s older than the mists, and they say in life she was a witch of some sort. But…” There was terror in his voice.
“But what?” I wondered what obstacle might stand in our way to her, or what hidden catch might be to her advice.
“She creeps me out.” He whispered. “Her face is burnt and smashed, her dress looks like it's made of ash, and her body is somehow… Fractured. Like shards that were assembled in their original places, but with some space in between. And her voice… That dreadful voice! Like metal tapping on metal!”
Lady Mournesworth must be a preserved ghost that died in an explosion of some sort - maybe a magical experiment gone wrong? A preserved ghost looked exactly as they had at the moment of their death - including what caused it. Which isn't a problem if you died of a heart attack or an energy drain spell, but can be quite hampering to your social life if you, let's say, had your skull split open by an axe that's now sticking from your head for all eternity. I was a preserved ghost too, frankly, but I used a clever illusion to hide the stake in my chest - and, over the course of this expedition, also the pair of tiny holes in my neck left by Baron Metus’ bite: They were less noticeable, but Samuel van Helsing had no logical reason to have them, and I couldn’t take risks.
“Is she violent?” I asked. “Did she harm you, or one of the others?”
“No.” He admitted, shamefully. “But every time I stumble across her alone in a corridor, I feel like I'm gonna die. again.”
It seemed laughable: We’re investigating a matter involving a powerful undead, of course we’d face horrifying sights! But Gilbert wasn’t one of my father’s colleagues, hardened warriors and spellcasters devoted to the fight against evil. He wasn’t even a would-be hero like the twins, mad enough to aspire to this way of life, inexperienced but determined to at least not run away screaming at the sight of the first challenge. He was a normal boy living a normal life, until tragedy struck him before he could see it coming and he was forced to spend eternity among monsters. I was that boy once, wasn’t I? I taught myself to be tougher - not a rock, but just tough enough to be able to help people without breaking down every time. I wished to say something comforting, the sort of thing dad would say to a frightened protégé. But I was supposed to be the new guy here - his protégé, if anything.
“Ooh, that sounds scary.” I said casually. “But, I mean, none of us chose how to die, right? My family thinks I’m scary just because I'm a ghost, and a lot of other people think like that too.” These were two straight lies. I was getting used to those. “Honestly I can't blame the living for that - To them, we’re dreadful reminders of their inevitable fate. But we the dead can’t afford to discriminate between ourselves! I think we should give the lady a chance.”
“Give her a chance?” He asked in bewilderment. “I - I can’t even - “
“ - Fathom how much it must have hurt to die like that!” I intentionally mis-finished his sentence. “Poor woman! Do you really think she deserves to suffer eternal shame and isolation on top of it?”
Unless, of course, she really is dangerous. I’d judge her by deeds, not looks. Some of the most beauteous spirits I’ve seen were also the most murderous.
“So where can she usually be found?” I asked.
“I don’t know! I usually try my best not to find her!”
“So where do you usually avoid?”
“The library.”

Personally, I couldn’t imagine avoiding the only library available to me for two years even if said library belonged to Azalin himself. One of the greatest torments of intangibility, to me, was having to rely on others to open a book and turn its pages for me - Comparable only to that of being unable to draw, which my new ability to manifest illusions had more than compensated for.
But Gilbert was made out of a different stuff. He was one of those strange, strange people who could come across a hall filled with knowledge and stories, and think ‘How boring!’. His love was clearly given to more physical activities, which was alright - although puzzling - to me. He was equally puzzled by the awe and love with which I looked up to the shelves upon shelves of ancient tomes.
“Do you happen to be capable of corporeal or semicorporeal manifestation?” I asked hopefully. “Or telekinesis?”
“I have no idea what half of these words mean.” He shrugged.
“I mean, can you make yourself solid?” I explained, recalling once more that most people aren't experts on necrology. “Or, like, move stuff without touching it?”
“Yeah, but it's… Slippery. More like fishing it with a hook than holding it in your hand.” He answered. “Why do you ask?”
“I need those books.” I said almost hungrily. “If we're going to stay here for a while, I need reading material. And if we're looking for a way out, some of this might contain useful information.”
“And?”
“To read a book, I first need someone to pick it up from the shelf for me.”
“You can’t - “
“No, I can’t touch anything material.” I confessed.
“Nothing?”
“Nothing. Nada. Gurnischt. Klum. Nechivo.”
“Even if you really-really try?”
“Even if I really-really try.”
“Wow.” He stared me in astonishment. “That’s what I always thought ghosts would be like. But…”
“As the saying goes, ‘No such thing as a typical vampire’.” I quoted. “Supernatural creatures - all creatures, really - come at an amazing variety. Or so I read. You seem to me semicorporeal - somewhere between solid and ethereal - or mutable - able to switch states. I’m just plain incorporeal.”
“Must be rough.”
“It’s alright. I find ways to get along.”
“You seem to take the whole ‘dying’ thing very well.” He noted. “When I just got here, I was so panicked I thought I’d go mad.”
“Well, I knew it was gonna happen.” I recalled my cover story. “Not the ‘turning into a ghost and getting stuck in a haunted manor’ thing, but death in general. I was ten when a doctor told me I have five years left to live, and eventually I only had four - the last of which was spent mostly bed-ridden. It’s not like I wanted to die, but how long could I stand it? The pain, the fatigue, my parents’ worried faces, everyone pitying me…” Gosh, I was starting to feel sorry for my imaginary character! “Continuing to exist, outside of that broken body? That’s the best I could ask for!”
“But… Don’t you wanna reach the afterlife?”
No, I didn’t.
I had no special desire to leave the boundaries of this world. Occasionally it had attacked me, usually when I felt lonely or desparate, but always passed the second I saw a squirrel. I had a nice unlife - my dad could finally notice me and we did our best to make up for lost time, Laurie, Gennifer, Ez and Micheal - and now also Gilbert - were wonderful friends, and when I didn’t have a super-important monster-hunting mission, I passed my time experimenting with my mighty power of illusions - I was currently trying to make them smell. Why in the mists would I give up all of that?
I reject the notion that a ghost finding peace means it has to pass on. If you see that as blasphemous or unnatural, you are more than welcome to meddle in your own freaking business.
“Oh, you believe in ‘the afterlife’?” I played the stereotypical Lamordian flat-earth atheist. “I heard that fairy tale once! didn’t think anyone actually thinks it exists…”
“It’s not a fairy tale! Father Ronald says - “
“ - Had he been there? Saw it with his own eyes?” I continued. Ezra, forgive me. “I’m not risking eternal oblivion based on rumour and superstition!”
“Are you serious?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Deadly serious!” I answered, deadpan. Just like I’m drop-dead gorgeous. (I’ll show myself out)
I looked away from the bookshelves and scanned the interior of the room. There were a few dusty armchairs around a low table. In one of these chairs sat the woman Bert had described, reading a scarlet tome as thick as a brick.
“I… I get what you said, but I’m still afraid of her.” The boy shivered. “Is it okay if you do the talking?”

I approached Lady Mathilda Mournesworth with the proper courtesy reserved for a noblewoman.
“M’Lady,” I bowed. “I am Samuel van Helsing - At your service. What is it that you read, M’Lady, if I may ask?”
She silently showed me the cover of the book. It was titled ‘Ducks & How to Make Them Pay’.
“Sounds… Fascinating.” I said in amusement.
“Laugh all you want, child,” She said grimly, “But I will have my revenge on these wretched birds!”
“But…” I wasn’t sure how to respond to this statement. “Ducks are cute!”
She stared me down like a medusa-beholder hybrid.
“Their innocent looks hide unfathomable evil.”
“I’ll have to take your word on that.” I bowed again. “M’Lady, may I ask you a question?”
“You alre - “
“ - Except from that one.” I sighed. “Lady Mournesworth, I have heard you are a great loremaster in the matters that between life and death. Is that true?”
“I would not go as far as to say ‘loremaster’, but I indeed possess much knowledge on these subjects.” She answered. I found her voice charming, not dreadful - though I knew to beware either.
“Well, M’Lady,” I continued, “Your humble servant is homesick. I had not seen my parents nor my dear sisters in days! I know well that I can never be one of them again, but I still wish to look upon them once more! Does your grace know, perchance, a way to break free from this estate, if only for a few hours? I’d be forever grateful for such assistance, and will be glad to aid you in your crusade against duck-kind!”
“Unfortunately,” She eardogged and closed the book, letting it float back to its shelf, “I know of no such way. Had I known, don’t you think I’d escape myself by now?”
“Good point, M’Lady.” I nodded. “But you do not seem to me like one who accepts captivity easily. If you find in your studies a clue for such exit, would you share it with me and my friend? We’d of course share ours with you.”
“That I shall.” She offered her hand, which I shook - accidentally taking off her arm.
“Sorry!” I let go, and the dismembered limb joined its brethren.

I spent the rest of the day in the small guest room Bert has made his home. The place was in a bad state - the furniture in disrepair, the tapestry faded and everything covered with a thin layer of dust - But I could reckon its past glory. Some glamour here and there, and it will seem livable!
I pondered the results of my conversation with The Fractured Woman. Was I too blunt? Will she deem me rebellious, or just a poor kid missing his sisters? I had little faith she felt any sort of loyalty toward Godefroy, but if she’s afraid of him, or believes she has better chance of convincing him to free her than of figuring it out herself, she might turn me down.
Speaking of the lich…
Godefroy was in the room. When did he enter?
“Do you wish to go home?” He asked, slight mockery in his voice. “If so, today is your lucky day! I have a mission for you!”
“Finally!” Bert jumped to his feet. “Thank you so much, M’Lord! I - “
“I was talking to the Lamordian.” His lips thinned.
“Me?”
“Lady Mournesworth said you were homesick.” He explained. “She’s not a complete idiot, for a woman, and she’s good with kids. You’ll do my tiny little task, then I give you three hours of freedom. Understood?”
I can go home whenever I want, I thought. It’s Bert who needs this.
“You’re very kind, sir,” I said cautiously, “But in the meanwhile, I met Gilbert here. He’d been dead for whole two years and hadn’t returned home even once! And his family, unlike mine, might actually desire to talk to him! He has far greater a need for your kindness than I do, sir!”
“I’m not sending that little brat!” He said, as if Bert wasn’t in the room.
“Ehh…” I gave my friend an apologetic look. “Why?”
Oh my goodness.
I hadn’t seen since my return - since Metus realized what I’d done - a fury matching the wrath this single word had invoked in the Lord of Ghosts. His face had turned distorted and bestial, and he lashed out. For the second time in two days I felt the touch of his horrible cane - one stroke, then another, then a third. With each hit I felt my courage dwindling, my willforce drained away
“How dare you, a pathetic child, scrapy little immigrant, stranger to our world,” He stroke, “Question my authority?!”
“I wa- I wasn’t questioning your authority, sir,” I was almost grateful for the passiveness the cane’s magic had inspired in me, for otherwise I surely would have said something snarkier and broken my cover. “I just wanted to know!”
“ ‘I just wanted to know!’ “ He imitated me in a high-pitched voice. Another stroke. “You don’t need to know! You are my servant, and I your master! You do as you are told! That’s the only thing you need to know!”
“Fine! Fine!” I screamed. Not one of my finest moments. But Samuel van Helsing wasn’t a hero, just an ordinary kid burdened with extraordinary trouble, so I was perfectly in-character. “I’ll do anything you say! Just stop! Please!”

I was lying on the crimson carpet, that was now stained with a darker hue of crimson. A man was kissing my neck - no, not kissing. And not a man.
“Stop!” I cried as his fangs sank into my flesh. “You’re hurting me!”
But suddenly the wound didn’t hurt. Instead, I felt a strange, preversed pleasure. I didn’t want to feel it, and yet I had. This was the single most disgusting, horrifying experience in my entire short life, and yet I enjoyed it - and hated myself for that joy.
“Oh, I am. There’s no sweeter joy than that.” The not-man whispered. “You too shall soon know the pleasure of hurting people.”
“Never!” I tried to shake him off me, but the not-man was strong, and I was growing weaker with every drop his bite had took from me. And suddenly, I was biting him. The bitter, metallic taste flooded my mouth, and suddenly it was anything but bitter. It was sweet, sweeter than anything I’ve ever tasted -
Stop! I screamed mentally. Stop! You’re Eresmus, a normal kid, and the only red thing you’re supposed to enjoy drinking is raspberry juice! Have you lost your mind? But I couldn’t stop. It was too wonderful. Wonderful and terrible, all at once. I wanted this nightmare to stop, and wanted this dream to last forever. I -
“Stop!” The not-man shook me off him. “If you sip one more drop, my love, you shall die and not return!”
Die and not return.
And not return.
Not return.
Return.


I woke up floating on the fancy but time-worn bed. Gilbert must have layed me on it. It wasn’t like I could feel the softness of the mattress, but I appreciated the gesture. The pain and despair had passed, but I felt the strange fatigue that usually followed rejuvenation.
“I never heard about a ghost fainting.” The boy sat by my side.
“I didn’t exactly faint. I was…” How do I explain? “I was reliving a memory of the past. It’s called ‘flashback’. Sometimes people experience something so terrible that the mind can’t understand it, can’t accept it - and it’s trying too. So every time something reminds you of that experience, it… It goes back to it, like you’re there again, so you can try again to understand…”
“Did you read about it to in Van Richten’s book?” He asked.
“No.” For once, I told him the truth. “My mom told me that once, when I was little. She’s an alienist.”
“An alienist? Like - “
“Darn,” I sighed. “Now you’re gonna think I’m crazy…”
“Bro, you’re as mad as a hatter if you think you can challenge Lord Godefroy like that!” He shrugged. “Maybe we need more madmen here.”
“I didn’t mean to challenge him.” I protested. “I just wanted to know why… Even if he didn’t want to tell me his reasons, he could just say that. Why would he… Oh, bro has confidence issues.”
“As in ‘he’s too confident and thinks he can beat whoever he wants’?” Bert seemed bemused.
“No.” I shook my head. “As in ‘His confidence is lower than the bottom of the Shadow Rift so he sees contempt everywhere and interprets the tiniest implication he is anything less than omniscient and omnipotent as a threat to his authority.’ He needs an alienist.”
“Can’t argue with that logic.” He shrugged, but I could feel his bewilderment: Was Godefroy’s violence a sign of weakness rather than strength? Was he more afraid of us than we are of him? Was he not invincible? I was sowing here the seeds of rebellion without even trying. Perhaps I wouldn’t have to lie to my new friend for much longer.
“You’re hurt too.” I suddenly noticed a bruise on his hand.
“Ugh…” He scratched his scurff. “I tried to pull him away from you, and he beat me. I guess I’m mad too.”
I smiled.
“He still wants you to do his mission tonight.” He added. “Said you must’ve learned your lesson.”
He looked at me with a mixture of pity and envy.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know how much it meant for you…”
“Twas’nt your choice.” He shrugged.
I had no desire to serve a master so cruel and vain, nor did I need his approval to sneak out of the manor. But what better way was there to find out what Godefroy is plotting than to participate in his plots?
“Did he tell you what I need to do?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He answered. “He said you need to go check on Foxgrove. ‘Tell him he knows what’s on the stakes, and remind him this is our common interest’.”

[TheArcaneWeirdo]

I put into these fics a lot of work I probably should put into my school projects, so I'd like some sort of verification I'm not just writing into the void. If you have a compliment, a criticsm, a theory, a reference you noticed, a fun fact about linguistics - anything relevant or irrelevant, really - reply it. Just let me know someone is, in fact, interested in Eresmus' story.

[TheArcaneWeirdo]

Chapter 3: The Scandal.

Though I was a regular visitor in Heather House, I’ve never made my presence known to Daniel Foxgrove. When he and Alice met, she’d explicitly asked me to avoid this, as to not scare him away - which I agreed to, despite the slight offence. Then, we just never found the time for a proper reveal. When Alice died, George had unfairly but understandably blamed his brother-in-law- and I, as a loyal friend, acquired a second-hand grudge. Few years later I understood how silly that was, and considered to make amends with the mayor, but by then, the twins were growing up. At the time, my father was still - as a side effect of his curse - completely oblivious to my existence, which had not escaped the girls’ notice. It had given them the impression that I (like many supernatural creatures in storybooks) can only be perceived by children - an assumption that amused me so much I just rolled along and turned invisible whenever Daniel, Lord Jules or the servants were in the room. My prank had been revealed, of course, the moment Dad returned from his travels with the Vistani, curse removed; But then Gennifer and Laurie became determined to train as monster hunters, which their Mr. Foxgrove disapproved of, and so we silently agreed to just don’t talk to him about that sort of things. Unfortunately, I was that sort of things.
And so, through this extremely absurd and extremely human chain of events, it came to pass that I had no problem impersonating another in front of a man I’d known for almost two decades. Except, of course, for the fact I had no idea what I needed to ‘check on’ about him.

“Mr. Foxgrove,” I appeared to him sitting on the windowsil, trying to hide my nervousness. “I’m here on behalf of my master, Lord of the Ghosts. How are you progressing about your latest orders?”
The man seemed, well, like he’d seen a ghost.
“Well…” He finally mustered the courage to speak. “Tell your master I’m deeply sorry, but I’m having unforeseen difficulties.”
“Okay!” I leaned back through he window, preparing to leave, then recalled I still have no idea what’s going on. “Wait, what unforeseen difficulties?”
“She just isn’t cooperating!” He sighed heavily. “I always knew we’re going to have trouble with Laurie in that area, but Genny? Where did she get it from? She must be spending too much time wi - “
“What? Why do they need to cooperate?” I asked in confusion. What kind of conspiracy had I stumbled upon?
“Of course they need to cooperate, you idiot!” He facepalmed. “I know not if you or your master are aware of that, but over the last three-hundred years, while ye were off doing whatever it may be that the dead do when they aren’t busy torturing good citizens, the ways of the world have changed. Gone are the days when you could just - “
I covered my ears with my hands.
“Sheesh!” I whimpered. “Don’t kill the messenger! I’m new here, I don’t even know what he told you to do, I’m just - I got screamed at more than enough today, sir!”
I’m a horrible spy, I sighed. Dad would never have a meltdown in front of the man he was trying to inquire. But, well, this was a rough day, and…
Mr. Foxgrove glanced at me with surprise, and then pity.
“Poor kid…” He sighed. “You were forced into this too, weren’t you? And so young…”
I nodded.
“We’re all what fate makes out of us, I suppose.” He said in a mournful voice. “Every monster has the monster that had turned it into one. Godefroy is mine, but I shouldn’t hasten the process.”
This wasn’t accurate. Most monsters are species on their own right, born and bred. He was thinking about werebeasts - and even of those there were naturally occurring cases - or vampires. But that was beside the point, irrelevant to the pit of despair the man was clearly in.
We don’t have to turn into the monsters that hurt us, I wanted to say. We can choose to… What, to die, like I did? Doesn’t sound very hopeful. No, I have no hope to offer Daniel tonight - and still more questions than answers.
“Tell him I’m trying my best, please.” He looked into my eyes, begging.
“That I shall.” I assured him.
“You know what he’ll do if he thinks I’m disobeying.”
Only that I didn’t.

“So Godefroy has the mayor of Mordentshire in his little pocket. That’s quite the scandal…” Dad tried to wrap his head around the idea. We were both used to monsters who found their ways into the high ranks of society, but… I mean, you think you know a guy, and then…
“Thank Ezra at least Lord Jules isn’t a lich.” I shrugged. “As far as we know.”
“Don’t even joke about it.” He shook his head. “So… Are we telling him?”
“Are we telling the twins?”
“That would put them in a tight spot.”
“Same for Jules.” I said. (Well, technically I wrote in illusionary letters. I can’t project my voice beyond the border ethereal - that’s how incorporeal I am, I can’t even interfere with air and create soundwaves - so that’s how I communicate with the living. Sorry I didn’t clarify it earlier, Genny and I are used to it by now so we kinda took it for granted. For the sake of the writing flow, my illusionary writing will be referred to as normal speech unless the difference is relevant. I trust you to imagine it properly.)
“Yes, but he needs to know if there’s corruption in his realm.”
“And the twins are part of this operation. Are we going to keep secrets inside the team?”
“Why are we talking as if it’s either-or?” He adjusted his glasses. We were sitting in his study, our notes regarding the mystery of Gryffon Hill on the desk, using the three hours of freedom I was given for some strategizing.
“I don’t know, I’m tired…” I chuckled. This was one of these situations where you could either laugh or cry in utter despair. “Dad, Mr. Foxgrove didn’t sound happy about this situation. He spoke about torture, about being forced to become a monster. I think he’s being blackmailled, or paying the price for some pact he’d long regretted. If we convince him we can solve the problem, he could prove to be a valuable ally here.”
“Try to discover what Godefroy has on him.” He nodded.
“Well, that’s going to be hard.” I remarked.
“Why?”
“Godefroy… Doesn’t respond well to questions from his inferiors.” I explained. “When I asked why he chose me for this mission and not another, he…”
His expression shifted into concern. I intended to save him the details, but I quickly found myself sharing all the horror I’ve endured over the past few days. I think I might have seen him shedding a tear.
“That son of a - “ His voice broke. He took a deep breath, then said what every sane parent would say in this situation. “You said you can resist his pull. When you feel it again, do so! Don’t go back to that accursed place! I shouldn’t have sent you in the first pla - “
“ - You didn’t send me, I volunteered.” I interrupted. “I told you, this is a mission for a ghost. No living man could enter that house and stay such, not for long enough to find out what we need to know. How many times have you risked death or worse to discover information that could save lives?”
“This is different - “
“ - Why?” I asked. “Dad… I know I still look like a child. In some ways I still think and feel like the teenage mess I was at the time of my death. But I have the experience of an adult. Of a monster hunter. All those times when you were risking your life? I was watching. Trying to help. Sometimes I saved your butt by giving your comrades the right clue in the right time or by distracting a foe! You couldn’t see me, but I was there all along! Every book you’ve written, I read picking behind your shoulder! Every battle you’ve fought, I was watching your moves! I’m as competent and devoted to the fight against evil as any other hunter you’ve worked with, maybe more than most. If I choose to make this sacrifice, what right do you have to take that choice away from me?”
“The right of a father to protect his son.” He sighed. “But it’s not like I could ever protect you, could I?”
“It’s not like then.” I shook my head. “I know that’s how it feels - you’re leaving me again at the non-existent mercy of a powerful undead. But it’s not the same: Then, we were both victims, torn from eachother by force, clueless about the world we were thrust into, and did our best with the little power we had; Now I choose to face the danger, so that I may save others. I can defend myself - I’ll stay in character as long as it serves the investigation, but if worse comes to worst, Godefroy will find that a dog kicked too many times eventually bites back - and we’re not alone in the darkness.”
“You’re putting yourself in a situation similar to the one that traumatised you, in hope of coming out victorious.” He remarked. “This is a common tendency among survivors, and it rarely leads to anything good.”
“Again, you made a career out of it.” I responded, and he rolled his eyes. “Dad, we already had this conversation last week. It’s too late to change our minds now. If I don’t come back, Godefroy will realise there’s a ghost in Mordentshire that’s free from his control. He’ll find us, and he’ll realise it was really stupid on his part to tolerate a monster hunter living a few streets away.”
“It’s not an entirely bad idea,” He pointed out. “It’s usually better to draw a monster out of its lair than to invade it.”
“Yeah, but later. After we figure out what’s the deal with him and Foxgrove, and why he has so much power over other undead. It feels like more than a mere salient ability.” I insisted. “This recklessness isn’t like you, dad. Don’t let your love - or your guilt - blind you to reason.”
“I won’t.” He assured. “But Eresmus, promise me that if you have to flee, you’ll do so. Even if it breaks you cover, even if it seems to ruin the operation, even if it puts me at risk. There’s no shame in a tactical retreat, and no heroism in a pointless death.”
“I promise.” I nodded, and suddenly felt the familiar sense of gravitation that had disturbed me ever since we moved in to Mordent, and was so strangely freed of tonight. “He’s calling me back. I shouldn’t keep him waiting. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.” He… tried to hug me without passing through me too much. He was getting pretty good at it. “Farewell, my brave son.”
“Farewell.” I hugged him back. “And… Dad? You are protecting me. The reason Samuel van Helsing’s story works so well is that he has no support - no one he could be used to extort and no one he could reveal Godefroy’s secrets to. That’s the reason he let me know about Mr. Foxgrove - he wanted me to realize that he controls everyone and everything around here, and that I can go all the way to Blackburn’s Crossing with the most scandalous secret in Mordent and there’d still be nothing I can do about it. I could be his most rebellious servant and still the most trustworthy one. But the ruse would have been pointless had it not been a ruse. Tactically - A spy isn’t worth much if he has no one to report too - but also psychologically. I could never play that character had I not known it’s a lie, a nightmare I’d wake up from. You’re the ace in my sleeve, Dad. The fact I have back-up. The fact someone does care about me. The fact that after the horror, I can go back home and expect a warm welcome. It gives me a power types like Godefroy can never understand - they need everyone in the universe to worship them so they won’t feel like a piece of useless trash, while I only need one man who believes in me.”

I hurried back to Gryffon Hill, pondering about how parents and children never stop being parents and children, even when said parent is in his late seventies and said child is a fourth-magnitude ghost. I reported to Lord Godefroy about my mission, and tried - as well as I could without sounding upperring - to advocate for Daniel and save him from whatever punishment he was dreading. When I was done, I headed back to Bert’s room - but as I got up the stairwell, I looked down and saw a dark figure with a face so scarred it looked almost like it was sewn from separate pieces.

[order99]

One of the more original takes on the Van Richtens saga...Bravo!

Looking forward to more as you feel the inspiration...

[TheArcaneWeirdo]

One of the more original takes on the Van Richtens saga...Bravo!

Looking forward to more as you feel the inspiration...

Thank you! I'm in the middle of working on the next chapter!

[TheArcaneWeirdo]

[Author's note: I love Jane Austen, and yet so far I never managed to finish a single one of her novels.
I always start off thrilled by the clever narrative, the sassy dialouges and the often still relevant social commentary, but then proceed to grow increasingly bored by the complete absence of plot. I don't know about you, but personally I can't read 300 pages of nothing but minor aristocrats talking about who marries who. I need the suspence, the action, the incredibilities, the danger to the fabric of the universe, the cool magic swords...
However, I absolutely delight in small measures of minor aristocrat talking about who marries who, if it's written funnily enough. Thus, for years, my greatest ambition had been to write a story that features an Autsen-like sideplot co-existing with a more fantastic conflict, with most characters on either plotline largely oblivious to the other.
So when I started reading about Ravenloft and stumbled upon Mordent, a domain based on the English countryside, I seized the opportunity to finally execute my evil scheme. At first I started a story about my beloved OC Talyn Truefinder (An eccentric young wizard from Toril with hypermobility, a fondness for cool rocks and a tendency to casually venture into the most dangerous places in D&D multiverse) helping Dr. van Richten investigate a haunting threatening to ruin a young couple's wedding due to mysterious family drama - But then I realised the greatly superior potential the Weathermay-Foxgrove family has for this, and Talyn's complete unnecessarity in a setting already featuring multiple adventurers.
And so, I hereby present to you the first fruit of my Plan B. Enjoy! And don't worry, you'll have more ghost stuff next chapter.]

Chapter 4: A Respectable Young Lady

Note: Though this is meant to be Eresmus’ story, we have concluded that it could benefit from the additional context provided by my own POV on the events. - GWF

I fidgetted with the edge of the blue woolen thread as I scanned again the notes on the board.
- A news article about the Tasilien Siblings, a pair of Darkonian artificers who went missing a month ago - last seen on Gryffon Hill.
- The final words of Richard Elmington, a ghost Laurie and I had hunted last year, before we’ve driven him away from the body of the miller he’d possessed: “You don’t understand! He’d claim me, like he claims all the dead in this town! You’re forcing me into the service of a greater evil than either of us can imagine! He ruled this land before ye, and he will reign once morrrrreeeeeee!”
- A picture taken by an offworlder with a strange device, featuring the semi-transparent figure of a middle-aged man in fine clothing - suspiciously resembling a portrait of Wilfred Godefroy, a nobleman who unalived himself three centuries ago - standing in front of what seemed to be a crowd of ghosts. (Said offworlder had appeared on Uncle Rudolph’s doorstep one evening, midwinter, half-mad and badly injured, claiming to be the only surviving member of an adventuring party that was held captive in the manor. Uncle Rudolph responded as if he’s used to this sort of thing - which, knowing his personal history, he is; Though I’m proud to say that thanks to our combined efforts, the man was spared the fate of Harmon Ruscheider or Antonin Madren. He was currently hospitalized in the Saulbridge Sanitarium, and last I checked his condition was improving.)
- The report of Jane Westcote, who claimed to have been haunted by spectres for six days until they - seemingly of their own accord - left the house; Confused, Jane followed the spirits, and saw them flying towards the hill. But… Well… This was Jane Westcote.

“So what should we do next?” I asked Laurie. My long-time partner-in-crime was sitting upside-down on the ceiling, the result of my latest graviturgy experiment, which she was thoroughly enjoying. “Talk to Jane again?”
“You know how Jane is.” She grunted. “She’ll say the spectres had received their orders from Strahd von Zarovitch if she thinks it’ll get us to like her.”
Jane Westcote, a distant relative of the deceased Lord Burton Westcote too far removed for her father to have an actual claim to his title, was determined to regain her family’s place in Mordent’s high society - a goal she thought could be achieved by befriending the Weathermay family. Unfortunately, her way to go about it was to try and attract our attention with tales of what she thought was our new hobby: The supernatural. We’ve tried to explain to her multiple times that monster-hunting is serious business and that she’s interrupting our work, but to no avail: Each time she smiled and said sarcastically ‘Of course, of course!’.
“So should we try the mad offworlder? What’s his name - Yaniv?” She nodded in approval. “We anyway should check on the poor chap.”
“Yeah,” My sister shrugged. “Or we could talk to Jendalis. You know what they say about Per - ”
“George Jendalis?” I sighed. “Oh, that would be a lovely conversation! ‘Hello, sir! Can you please tell us about the night when your wife died?’ Laurie, he’d slam the door on your nose!”
“I was thinking about Micheal.” She clarified. “He’s a medium, and he has to know something about that night!”
“Micheal?” It wasn’t like I had something against the guy, but there was something uncanny about him. Of course, one with my career goals ought to deal with uncanny types at one point or another.
“Eresmus likes him.” Declared Laurie, as if that was the ultimate measure of a man’s virtue. “I hope he’s okay…”
I nodded. It’s been four days since our favourite ghost had departed on his espionage mission, while Laurie and I were left to look for whatever clues we could find outside regarding The House on Gryffon Hill. “I’m worried too. But Smore’s can take care of himself - remember what he did to the Hag of Idlethorp?”
We smiled. That was a sight to remember.
“Both Micheal and Yaniv could provide useful information.” I agreed. “Who should we visit first?”
“I think we should go to - “
“Right now,” Father broke in, frowning. “You two aren’t going anywhere. Frederick is coming over for supper.”
“Dad,” I sighed, “In case you didn’t notice, we’re working on a case. This is more important than - “
“ - That’s was you said last time we invited Fredrick - ” He noted,
“ - Mrs. Bennet was actively being molested by a weretiger - “
“ - and the time beforehand - ”
“ - We had to get to Idlethorp and give Nelirda the Naughty the obsidian figurine before midnight - “
“Who’s Nerilda?”
“A hag we had some issues with last summer…”
“The two of you were making deals with a hag?!” He shuddered. “Dammit, girls, half the time I don’t even know what trouble you’ve gotten yourself into!”
“Welcome to parenting adolescents.” Laurie sighed. I let go of the spell, and she fell on her bed, bouncing.
“Anyway,” He stared us down, “Unless there’s some other peasant that’s being eaten by a lycanthrope, this time you will not be avoiding your duties as hosts. Laurie, wear something reasonable - “
“ - These are perfectly reasonable trousers!” My wonderful tomboy twin protested. “And Genny can’t practice her graviturgy spells on someone wearing a dress! That would be so awkward!”
We both knew well that our dear father wished I wasn’t practicing spells at all, but Daniel Foxgrove had long ago realised that his wife had left him to handle with a pair of unstoppable forces of nature.

“So how’s your grandfather?” Frederick Weathermay, a tall, dark and allegedly handsome man I had the misfortune of calling a second cousin, poured an unreasonable amount of gravy over his roasted chicken.
“He’s been a bit unwell recently,” I answered, “But his hearing is perfectly fine, and he’s sitting right next to you, so you can ask him.”
Grandpa Jules offered me a look of gratitude.
“I beg your pardon, M’Lady.” He apologised. “I was merely trying to develop a conversation - “
“ - And doing it badly.”
“If so, I accept your informed criticism.” He grinned. “Would you care to instruct me on the matter?”
“Unfortunately, that would be a blind leading the blind.” I shrugged. He kept pouring the gravy. “I am constantly told by my father that I’m incorrigablly rude myself.”
“And yet, rudeness itself, when used properly, can be a fine tool in conversation.” Did he mistake the gravy for some sort of a soup? “A man can achieve many a great thing by being rude at the right way and right moment.”
“Indeed,” This was a measure of wisdom I had not expected in Fredrick, “But only at them. You see, rudeness is a bit like gravy - a bit of it can improve an otherwise bland course - or discourse - but an amount beyond the limits of good taste is just plain disgusting!”
He looked down at his plate, now completely flooded. Laurie chuckled.
“I like it that way.” He explained in embarrassment.
“I think,” Grandpa Jules noted, “Genny is afraid you’d leave none of the condiment to the rest of us.”
“Fear not, fair maiden!” He exclaimed “At least half the container is full.”
“Technically,” I nitpicked, “It’s all full - simply half with gravy and half with air.”
He offered me the aforementioned container, which I took - carefully dripping a tiny pool of gravy on the corner of my plate and dipping a slice of chicken in it.
“It is fascinating,” Frederick remarked, “To meet a lady so wise in the ways of science.”
“I had good tutors.” I shrugged, taking a bite of my chicken.
“Are you interested in chemistry, Frederick?” Grandpa asked.
“No, not at all.” He shook his head. “I’m more of a swordsman than a scholar.”
So you’re just surprised by the prospect of a female superceeding you in her intellectual merit.
“I’ve never seen a reason why one cannot be both, given sufficient time and training.” Laurie shrugged. “I have some affinity for research myself, though Genny is the true woman of science among us, and am quite the swordswoman.”
“The girl’s uncle had given her a couple of fencing lessons when she was younger.” Father muttered apologetically. “Nothing to worry about, really.”
“Oh, it was more than a couple.” Laurie rolled her eyes. “Daddy, if I wished to sound humble I would have spoken so myself. Frederick, if you’d like to test my skill with the blade, you’re more than welcome to - I’d love some practice. Are you staying for the night? We can duel tomorrow morning in the garden!”
He seemed horrified by the concept.
“I’m afraid not, M’Lady.” He shook his head. “Your father had invited me for the entirety of the coming week, which I hope we’d spend together with other lovely pastimes, but I’d never dream of fighting a lady!”
“A decision that would undoubtedly contribute to your longevity,” I grinned, “When the said lady is my sister. She’s slain a bear once, you know.”
“I had no choice, it was bewitched by a hag to attack us!” She said shyly. “I actually feel a bit guilty about that. It reminded me of my old teddy bear, Ursula.”
“Oh my goodness, I almost forgot about Ursula!” Grandpa chuckled. “We’ve given her away to the Madisons, didn’t we?”
“No, eventually Lina didn’t want it.” Laurie shrugged.
“She’s still hidden between your pillows.” I revealed, and she blushed. “The teddy bear, not Lina.”
“A vital clarification.” Grandpa commented sarcastically.
“Stranger mistakes have been made, and stranger things have truely occured.” I responded.
“My mother has a strong opinion against teddy bears.” Frederick mentioned. “She never allowed any of my sisters to have one. In her mind, a girl accustomed to playing with the figures of beasts rather than men would grow up to forgo the company of the latter.”
“Imagine hating such an innocent thing!” I tittered. “Imagine being like ‘Oh, I can’t stand teddy bears! All the sweetness - “
“ - And softness - “ My sister joined my taunting.
“ - And fluffiness - ”
“ - Something ought to be wrong about it!”
We laughed our heads off. Only father, for some reason, didn’t seem amused.
“Frankly, we had faced an evil animated doll once,” I admitted, “But it was a wooden doll, not a stuffed toy, and it was shaped as a human.”
“A little boy with purple lips,” Laurie added. “And a red cap. He dipped it in the blood of his victims, like the aponymous fairy. The reason he’d turned to evil is that he was given to a spoiled kid as a birthday present but then thrown to the garbage a month later because of a crack in his left arm, so he also always sang to them sinister parodies of birthday songs.”
“We assumed he was burnt with the rest of the barn we found him in, and the murders indeed stopped,” I finished, “But we can’t be sure. He could still be lurking somewhere. If you ever hear a voice slowly singing ‘Happy Deathday to You’, know that the Crackhand Killer is after you.”
For a moment, Fredrick seemed as if he was going to scream in terror. Then he took a deep breath and asked:
“Is it a routine matter for you, Miss Gennifer and Miss Laurie, fighting such unnatural beings?”
“Ugh, kinda.” Laurie shrugged.
“Only under adult supervision.” I assured him, though as of late Uncle Rudolph had been supervising our investigations less and less. He wasn’t as young as he used to be, and he seemed to think we are - or soon would be - ready to take his place as monster hunters.
“What kind of adult - “
“Genny is referring to Dr. van Richten - You must have heard of him!” Grandpa explained. “He’s a close friend of our family, and the girls have always been fascinated by his occupation. I was wary of this apprenticeship too, at first, but they had saved the town a couple of times…”
Father’s face was paler than a few papers I’d written on.

“Genny, Laurie - A word!” He signed us to join him in the corridor after the main course was finished.
“What?!” Laurie sighed. “We joined the supper. Participated the conversation. Genny did her best not to act like an anti-social kitten - “
“ - You cannot simply brag to our guest about your ‘hunts’, sweethearts!” He exclaimed. “You’ll frighten him off! How are you ever going to get married this way?”
“Dad,” I raised an eyebrow. “You can’t possibly suggest that one of us should marry Fredrick!”
“I can and I do.”
“But he’s our second cousin!” I protested.
“Exactly.” He shrugged. “Distant enough to avoid the awkwardness and the possible medical issues, but close enough to inherit.”
“If a woman marrying outside of the family was such an issue,” I pointed out, “Laurie and I would not be considered potential heirs in the first place.”
“No one had ever expected you to.” He admitted. “But let us be honest. Your uncle George is off hunting werewolves in Nova Vassa or wherever he’s gone now, and not coming home anytime soon. Jules isn’t getting any younger, and when he’s gone… It’s going to be one big bureaucratic mess anyway, but it will be a little more acceptable if you marry someone of the proper position.”
“Dad,” I stared him, “You speak of Grandpa as if he’s on the verge of death. I know he’s ill, but unless the two of you had been lying to us - which would be vile and vicious of you - he very well might live another decade.”
“And where would the two of you be at the end of that decade? Hunting Wyvrens in Forlorn?” He sighed. “I don’t know, Genny. I don’t know. I feel like I’m losing control of everything. We barely talk to eachother anymore, half the nights I go to bed knowing you’re out in the dark and cold tracking some unspeakable horror, yesterday the landuarer found animal dung in your dress - “
“ - What? Oh, that was horrendously irresponsible of me!” I shuddered. “To let the bat dung get wet like that? I shouldn’t have left it in my pocket! Thanks for reminding me, I need to acquire a proper component pouch.”
“Why on earth would a respectable young lady such as yourself need to carry bat dung in the first place?!” He facepalmed. “Why are we even having this conversation? Can’t ye find an interest less likely to result in your untimely death?”
“Monster-hunting is more than just ‘an interest’ to us.” I protested. “It is a holy duty, to protect our people from the creatures of the night, and - “
“ - Speak for yourself,” Laurie tapped on my shoulder, “I’m in for the cool magic swords.”
“Why must I feel like I’m begging my daughters to retain some semblance of normalcy?” I looked at us, puppy-eyed.
“Cause you refuse to accept our magnificent weirdness!” She answered. “Do you seek to trap us in marriage before we escape your grasp and run away?”
“I seek to save our family’s status and reputation.”
“Uncle George’s adventures have all but improved our family’s reputation.” I noted.
“There are certain things,” Father said slowly, “That a man can perform with his dignity unscathed, while a woman cannot - ”
“ - In the eyes of men.” Laurie completed.
“ - In the eyes of polite society - “ Father corrected.
“ - Whose rules are largely written by men.”
“So now you hold a grudge towards half of humanity?”
“No,” She grunted, “Only the individuals in it who belittle the other half - Which up until now I’d not counted you among.”
“Great!” Father sighed. “Now I’m the bad guy!”
Laurie started walking back into the dining room.
“Lau - “
“What?” She raised an eyebrow. “Are we going to let Grandpa and Fredrick finish the pudding all on their own?”


[Author's note: BTW, Fredrick's mother's argument against teddy bears was (allegedly. I heard about it once in a podcast.) an actual criticsm that was raised when the toy was first introduced. I'm not sure how reliable the aforementioned podcast was, but if it is, here's the proof people would find a way to complain about literally everything.]