Mortuus crouched in the ash beside the charred bodies of Jason and Isadora. He'd witnessed Jason burning alive, and he suffered the whole time. Mortuus stood up, the ash falling from his pants. "You... You didn't deserve this... Either of you..." He mumbled quietly.
Stepping tentatively through the threshold, Mortuus felt the lingering tendrils of his hallucination slowly release their grip on his senses. The once distorted and surreal walls began to connect and take on the familiar solidity of reality, the disorienting haze of his mind gradually receding like mist before the dawn.
Within seconds, the illusory facade dissolved, revealing the eerie familiarity of the Andrews' house's current condition. The creak of floorboards beneath his weight and the soft glow of sunlight casting sharp shadows along the walls— all served as anchors tethering Mortuus to the tangible world. Yet, even as he stood amidst his surroundings, the echoes of his hallucination lingered, leaving him to grapple with the unsettling juxtaposition of truth and illusion.
The house was once again silent and in a state of disrepair. It was still situated deep in Angus Woods and poked out from the jagged rocks of Rusdgar Ridge. As Mortuus walked through the house, he could see what was once a beautiful interior, which now resembled a carnival haunted house ride. The wallpaper on the walls was peeling and revealed the wood beneath; the floorboards creaked and groaned under Mortuus's boots; the lights that still worked had a hissing sound to them whenever he flicked a switch.
There was already a single light on in the house, shining underneath a door gap down the corridor. Sounds of agony, like the wails of a ghost, came from the room. The closer Mortuus got to the door, the louder the sounds were. The door had an imposing feel as if it were warning him to turn around.
Mortuus grabbed the door handle and turned. It stuck to the doorframe like the front door as he tried opening it. It was such an old house that in order to open the door, he had to put his shoulder into it. "H-hello?" Mortuus called sheepishly into the room as he peered in.
The only things in the room were aged and damaged—an old, beaten-up armchair with faded aqua coloring and a side table with scratched and knotted wood grain that seemed weather-damaged. The walls were so pale green that they resembled swamp water and had a yellowish tinge from years of sunrays and smoking. In the chair was a stout man with a crisp gray beard and concave features.
The man's face was darkened from years of isolation, and despite his heavy build, he was somewhat skeletal. His hair was scraggly and clung to him in hardened clumps. His eyes seemed to hold the most unnerving amount of youth, and he observed everything. Mortuus stepped into the room and stood beside him. He wasn't aging; he was decaying like the wood around him.
The man continued to stare out of the massive window, which was covered in so much dust that Mortuus was surprised he could still see anything. "Why do you stand so far but watch so closely, Peter?" the man murmured in a voice so crumbly that Mortuus could hardly hear what he was saying.
Mortuus stepped up from behind the man and asked, "How do you know Peter?"
The man stayed silent, breathing in raspy, labored breaths as his eyes seemed to focus on something through the window in the distance. He finally spoke after what felt like an eternity. "I... I know many things... Things that most consider... Forbidden..."
Mortuus couldn't help but notice that each word the man uttered seemed to drain him. The man lifted his arm shakily to reveal a silver locket with its chain wrapped intricately around his fingers; his thick fingers struggled to press the small button at the top, which only brought tears to his eyes. Mortuus walked towards him and clicked it open so he could reveal the photo.
"In life... I was a father... J-Jay... Jason..." The man struggled to recall and could only stutter the first name of who he once knew himself to be. Mortuus nodded and asked him, "Andrews? Jason Andrews?"
The man coughed a hoarse laugh under his breath, a laugh that seemed to conceal the pain of loss and torment. "Yes... A name I have nearly forgotten..." Mortuus reasoned that this man was indeed Jason Andrews, despite how little confidence the man showed in recognizing his own name. The man could hardly move his neck to look at the photo. The photo depicted Jason giving his daughter a piggyback ride in the rain, and both of them were laughing in it. It was an old photo, but the memory seemed to be fresh in his fractured mind.
Mortuus thought for a moment as he looked at the picture. "How long have you been here?" he asked very slowly, considering his words as if one word could shatter this fragile man. Jason coughed violently, and his lungs seemed to be struggling to do anything. "Is... Is it still seventy-four?" he asked so quietly that Mortuus nearly missed the sentence altogether. Mortuus shook his head before responding. "No, it's nineteen ninety-nine..."
Jason sighed heavily, his voice croaking, and looked as far down at the picture as his neck would allow. "Hmm... Twenty-five years..." He murmured, his voice stretching each word as the gravity of it hit. Mortuus sighed as he thought about what Jason had witnessed. Jason had been sitting in this position for so long that most of the bones had calcified and now refused to move.
Jason turned his head as far as his body would allow, trying his best to look Mortuus in the eyes. "I... I've been watching you... Peter..." He said through his gravelly and shattered voice. Jason coughed and continued, "The day... You d-died... I-I was there... Watching from the shadows..."
Mortuus walked closer to be in his view. "What do you mean 'watching me'?" he uttered. He didn't like being called Peter; that name was as dead to him as the body he walks with. Jason breathed in a raspy breath. "I... I see why he chose you... What Mallard saw..." He explained as best as his body allowed him to.
Mortuus knelt beside him, "Mallard? He... He saw us as monsters."
Jason sighed and lifted his hand slowly. He watched it open and close, a shadow merging into his hand in wispy puffs of black, gold, and purple. He seemed hesitant to respond as he watched the clouded hand move in unison with his own hand of flesh and blood.
"We... We brought back something with us..." Jason murmured. "Some may say demons... or monsters..." He coughed again, this time so violently Mortuus was expecting his lungs to show. He then drew in a breath, "Crater Hollow's demons... They were here before... us..."
He didn't once look up from his hand as it opened and closed. He just breathed in like static on an old radio. He turned his hand over and laid the palm on his armrest. A shadow, or rather one of those 'Hallows' as Alex had called them, materialized within the nothingness around them.
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