Post by Christmas Chief on Nov 11, 2012 19:33:42 GMT -5
Chapter 4. How can we stop him?
“Help! Help! HELP!!!!”
“Oh, give it up, Pandora,” Linda said tiredly from a corner. “Using caps lock doesn’t make your point any more effective.”
“Easy for you to say,” Pandora shot back, “I don’t see you doing anything to get us out of here.”
“We’re trapped! Isn’t that obvious to you?”
“Could you two stop bickering for just one minute?” LSWannaBe demanded.
An entire four minutes had passed since the trio had opened the basement door and descended into its eerie depths, and the 667ers were already hungry, sick, and tired. The basement itself was like an octopus: cold, damp, and with more arms than seemed necessary. Literally, dismembered arms hung from the far wall in a geometrically uniform pattern. From the light that filtered through cracks in the floorboards, the threesome could see “THE ‘LOST’ ARMS” scratched above the gruesome collection. Napkins littered the floor where they had been used to clean the blood from whatever unfortunate victim made the mistake of angering someone, or something.
“Do you hear that?” LSWannaBe asked.
“What?” the other two replied.
“Typing.” And it was so. They rounded a corner, and were greeted by a girl of perhaps thirteen clicking away at an ancient typewriter. Distracted by her work, she had not heard the trio approaching, and was proceeding to stuff one of her folded papers up through the floorboards when she noticed figures looming overhead.
“Linda?”
“Moxie?”
“You two know each other?”
“What are you doing down here?” Linda asked.
“I’m the reporter. I’ll ask the questions. And my question is, what are you doing here?”
“Trapped.”
“And you two?”
“Also trapped,” Pandora replied.
Moxie clicked a few more letters into her typewriter before yanking the page from the machine and stuffing it up through the floorboards.
“What are you doing?”
“I have sources to whom I report.”
“But why aren’t you in Stain’d, with the others?” Linda inquired.
“What have you been doing here?” LSWannabe questioned.
“Who are you?” Pandora probed.
“I – I –” Moxie’s eyes filled with tears. “There is no more Stain’d. Not since he came.”
“Who is ‘he’?” Linda tried.
“Hangfire,” she said, surprising the 667ers with an actual answer. “First there were disappearances. The Bellerophon father. The woman with the hair. My dad. But then things got a lot worse.” She began flipping through her notes. “Qwerty gave us a map, sent by someone named Linda Rhaldeen – he said its destination was the last safe place. That’s why I’m here.” She wiped away her tears, and the 667ers saw some of the color had left her irises.
“Who’s Qwerty?”
“Sheesh, Pandora, did you even read Who Could That Be At This Hour? Anyway, Moxie, did anyone come with you?”
“A few others. They’re around.”
“What about Lemony?”
Moxie lifted her head a little higher. “Mr. Snicket,” she said, “decided he had business to attend to within the town.” The three 667ers looked a little disappointed, but asked Moxie another question.
“What have you been doing in this basement?”
“I followed the passageway on the map into an underground tunnel, which led me here. I haven’t left. Every potential exit I could find was locked, and the arms were absolutely terrifying.”
“How did you recognize me?” Linda asked.
“Enough answers,” Moxie said, shuffling her notes into a stack, “We have questions to ask.”
“Someone broke into my office last week,” Theodore paced in circles around Kensicle’s chair. “ ‘Who,’ I thought, ‘Could that be at this hour?’ He stopped to look Kensicle in the eye. “As it turned out, I was right.”
Kensicle, who had long since learned not to speak, looked at Theodore quizzically.
“Yes, an advanced copy of Mr. Snicket’s newest work,” he continued pacing, “How generous! How exciting! I thought. ” He stopped again. “Until I opened it.” At this point he walked over to a nearby cabinet and retrieved a vial from a rack. “Do you know what chloroform is, Kensicle? No? Maybe I can refresh your memory. Bring them in!”
A door opened as a protesting Sophie and Pen were shoved into the room.
“Bryan?” Kensicle gasped at the person pushing Sophie and Pen into the room before casting a nervous glace at the distracted Theodore.
“Ack!” Theodore exclaimed, exasperated, “I thought I told you to drug them with chloroform?”
“They wouldn’t inhale the cloth.”
“Of course they wouldn’t, you imbecile, you were meant to use force.” Bryan grumbled something unintelligible. Theodore sighed, massaging his temples. “Very well,” he said finally, “Where is the third?”
“I had to dispose of her using other means. She knew too much.”
“Fine,” Theodore said, and turned back to Kensicle. “The jig is up,” he told her, “Take us to your leader.”
“Help! Help! HELP!!!!”
“Oh, give it up, Pandora,” Linda said tiredly from a corner. “Using caps lock doesn’t make your point any more effective.”
“Easy for you to say,” Pandora shot back, “I don’t see you doing anything to get us out of here.”
“We’re trapped! Isn’t that obvious to you?”
“Could you two stop bickering for just one minute?” LSWannaBe demanded.
An entire four minutes had passed since the trio had opened the basement door and descended into its eerie depths, and the 667ers were already hungry, sick, and tired. The basement itself was like an octopus: cold, damp, and with more arms than seemed necessary. Literally, dismembered arms hung from the far wall in a geometrically uniform pattern. From the light that filtered through cracks in the floorboards, the threesome could see “THE ‘LOST’ ARMS” scratched above the gruesome collection. Napkins littered the floor where they had been used to clean the blood from whatever unfortunate victim made the mistake of angering someone, or something.
“Do you hear that?” LSWannaBe asked.
“What?” the other two replied.
“Typing.” And it was so. They rounded a corner, and were greeted by a girl of perhaps thirteen clicking away at an ancient typewriter. Distracted by her work, she had not heard the trio approaching, and was proceeding to stuff one of her folded papers up through the floorboards when she noticed figures looming overhead.
“Linda?”
“Moxie?”
“You two know each other?”
“What are you doing down here?” Linda asked.
“I’m the reporter. I’ll ask the questions. And my question is, what are you doing here?”
“Trapped.”
“And you two?”
“Also trapped,” Pandora replied.
Moxie clicked a few more letters into her typewriter before yanking the page from the machine and stuffing it up through the floorboards.
“What are you doing?”
“I have sources to whom I report.”
“But why aren’t you in Stain’d, with the others?” Linda inquired.
“What have you been doing here?” LSWannabe questioned.
“Who are you?” Pandora probed.
“I – I –” Moxie’s eyes filled with tears. “There is no more Stain’d. Not since he came.”
“Who is ‘he’?” Linda tried.
“Hangfire,” she said, surprising the 667ers with an actual answer. “First there were disappearances. The Bellerophon father. The woman with the hair. My dad. But then things got a lot worse.” She began flipping through her notes. “Qwerty gave us a map, sent by someone named Linda Rhaldeen – he said its destination was the last safe place. That’s why I’m here.” She wiped away her tears, and the 667ers saw some of the color had left her irises.
“Who’s Qwerty?”
“Sheesh, Pandora, did you even read Who Could That Be At This Hour? Anyway, Moxie, did anyone come with you?”
“A few others. They’re around.”
“What about Lemony?”
Moxie lifted her head a little higher. “Mr. Snicket,” she said, “decided he had business to attend to within the town.” The three 667ers looked a little disappointed, but asked Moxie another question.
“What have you been doing in this basement?”
“I followed the passageway on the map into an underground tunnel, which led me here. I haven’t left. Every potential exit I could find was locked, and the arms were absolutely terrifying.”
“How did you recognize me?” Linda asked.
“Enough answers,” Moxie said, shuffling her notes into a stack, “We have questions to ask.”
***
“Someone broke into my office last week,” Theodore paced in circles around Kensicle’s chair. “ ‘Who,’ I thought, ‘Could that be at this hour?’ He stopped to look Kensicle in the eye. “As it turned out, I was right.”
Kensicle, who had long since learned not to speak, looked at Theodore quizzically.
“Yes, an advanced copy of Mr. Snicket’s newest work,” he continued pacing, “How generous! How exciting! I thought. ” He stopped again. “Until I opened it.” At this point he walked over to a nearby cabinet and retrieved a vial from a rack. “Do you know what chloroform is, Kensicle? No? Maybe I can refresh your memory. Bring them in!”
A door opened as a protesting Sophie and Pen were shoved into the room.
“Bryan?” Kensicle gasped at the person pushing Sophie and Pen into the room before casting a nervous glace at the distracted Theodore.
“Ack!” Theodore exclaimed, exasperated, “I thought I told you to drug them with chloroform?”
“They wouldn’t inhale the cloth.”
“Of course they wouldn’t, you imbecile, you were meant to use force.” Bryan grumbled something unintelligible. Theodore sighed, massaging his temples. “Very well,” he said finally, “Where is the third?”
“I had to dispose of her using other means. She knew too much.”
“Fine,” Theodore said, and turned back to Kensicle. “The jig is up,” he told her, “Take us to your leader.”