The_Return
06-30-2006, 06:56 AM
Ive been kind of hesitant to post this one as it was kind of a joint project, but considering I did all the actual writing and came up with the majority of the concept and plot...here it is. I kind of recomend reading my 2 other stories here first, Descent and Eyes of the Forest, before reading this. They arent really related, but...well, you'll understand why at the end.
Hangman
June 22, 1916. Inglewood Penitentiary, as it had each Thursday since the day that they opened, was conducting executions. Although the practice of hanging had been outlawed years earlier, Inglewood continued in private, with their own subterranean chamber. The chamber, despite being a very large room, was totally empty, aside from the large gallows in the center of the room. The only way into this lair was through a trapdoor that led from what was thought by most to be the basement. The Shadows seemed to watch from each of the four corners, and the dirt floor gave the room a brown tint.
The Hangman skillfully tied his noose around each condemned soul that was sent to him. As the platform dropped, each man regretted whatever evil he had committed, however it was much too late as his neck inadvertently snapped mere moments later.
The Hangman was proud of his work, so proud in fact that if something went wrong, it would always be blamed on one of his 4 apprentices, whether it was their fault or not. The apprentices grew to resent The Hangman, however this didn’t faze him. Oh yes, he was proud of his work.
The Hangman loved his Prison more than life itself. There were points where he believed it spoke to him, told him things. Secrets, things that most people don’t know, or don’t what to know. Sometimes it even asked him to do things for it. One time, it asked him to carve symbols into the wall of a cell. The Hangman didn’t understand the symbols, but he obeyed anyway. The Hangman always obeyed the Prison, no matter what.
One fateful day, however, he couldn’t obey. The Prison gave him his order, but he couldn’t pull it off...he was not a good servant, so he had to pay. Oh yes, he had to pay a great price...
June 21, 2001. Gareth DeSilva Jr. sits by his father’s hospital bed, listening to his mad ravings. As much as it hurt to see his father like this, he knew it would have hurt more not to be by his father’s side when the time finally came for him to leave this world. Gareth Sr. had been in worse shape than ever these past few days, his raving becoming much more violent and making less sense than a pig on parade.
“Tomorrow! It’s all going down tomorrow! Oh god why? Why didn’t I stop it? Why didn’t I burn the place down? WHY WHY WHY WHY!!!” Gareth Sr. screamed, sending his son to tears. Suddenly he broke out of whatever madness was gripping him, and he motioned for his son to lean in close to him. Scared at what the lunatic that had once been his father might say, he slowly moved towards the dying man.
“Keep your daughter home tomorrow,” he whispered in his son’s ear, “Whatever you do, don’t let her leave the house.” With that his heart monitor flat lined, and Gareth DeSilva Sr. was dead.
Gareth was visibly terrified. His tears had stopped, and he simply sat there with his now dead father, shaking silently. So many thoughts ran through his head, so many crazy thoughts....
The funeral was held the next day. Gareth was surprised at how well he held himself together, greeting friends and family of his deceased father. One man in particular struck his attention though, a man that simply stood in front of the open coffin. Gareth finally approached the man, and he turned with enough force to make Gareth stumble backward.
“Who are you?!” the strange man snapped at Gareth.
“Me? I’m the deceased’s son! May I ask who you are, sir?”
“I knew your dear ol’ daddy back at Inglewood. He was the head guard at the time, I was locked up. Death Row, as a matter of fact. T’was my day to go when it all happened”
This last statement bewildered Gareth a bit. “When what happened?” he asked.
“Ya mean Daddy never told ya that story? Ya’ll missed a good ‘un, boy” the man replied. “It was right ‘round this time of year, if I recall, that crazy Hangman went even nuttier then usual and killed his apprentices, buried ‘em alive as the story goes. Drugged ‘em, and buried ‘em, one in each corner of the hangin’ chamber. He said that he was supposed to kill a couple others as well, the two fellers in one of the cells. Cell 37 if memory serves. Anyway, as the story goes, your daddy done killed the Hangman that day, self defense o’ course, and buried him under that damn gallows he loved so much. Yep, that was a hell of a day m’boy”
After telling his story, the man simply walked out of the funeral, leaving Gareth with a stupefied look on his already pale face.
June 22, 2001. Young Alice DeSilva was sitting in her history class, bored as usual.
“Today students, this last day of class, we’ll learn a history of our fine school.” The teacher babbled on. “Great,” though Alice, “won’t this be fun”
“Up until 1916, Inglewood School was known as Inglewood Penitentiary,” the teacher went on, “and was converted into a school on this very day. Now supposedly, Inglewood had a hidden room where they hung prisoners, but to this day nobody has found it. It has been put off by many as a simple urban legend, but records exist of executions being performed here right up until the day the shut down in 1916.”
Alice began to dose off, but before she could fall asleep she felt something pulling around her neck. As she looked around, it seemed the whole class felt the same way. Tighter and tighter, the force around each of their necks began to slowly cut off their breathing. Students soon started passing out, and the stench of death began to fill the air. Just before she took her last breath, Alice heard evil laughter that seemed loud enough to wake the dead...
His father had been right. Gareth’s little girl Alice, the love of his life, was dead, and all because he didn’t listen to his father’s last words. The loss of two close family members shattered Gareth’s sanity, and he decided to find the man he held responsible for their deaths.
He grabbed a pickaxe, and in the middle of the night he ventured to Inglewood School. The school was dark, but he knew his way almost as though a kind of intuition. He led himself into the basement, where he began to chip away at the concrete. Hours later, he uncovered what he was looking for: An ancient, wooden trapdoor. He opened it slowly, and dust flew into his face. He slowly climbed down to the subbasement of what was once Inglewood Penitentiary, and soon saw, lit by an unnatural light, the gallows that had claimed the lives of hundreds of men.
The light quickly faded however, and Gareth was left in total blackness. Suddenly, a sound. A sound of dirt being dislodged after nearly a century of stillness. More sounds. Sounds of long dead bones returning to our world after an eternal rest. Light illuminated each corner, and Gareth saw the decomposed bodies of each of the Hangman’s apprentices rising from the grave. As they neared him, Gareth ran to the top of the gallows in hops that they wouldn’t follow him. However it was no use. They followed him up and grabbed him from behind. One of them tied a noose around Gareth’s neck, and led him towards the platform when countless men had though their final thoughts. He struggled and screamed, but he couldn’t get away, and he looked down just as the platform dropped. His final stare was into the eyes of the long deceased Hangman, laughing like a madman, and oh so proud of his job...
The next day, two detectives arrived at the school. They found the hole that DeSilva had dug in the floor. They found the chamber underneath the school. And most grizzly of all, they found the corpse of Gareth DeSilva, Jr. on the ancient gallows.
“We got all all the way out here for a suicide? What did we do to get this assignment Presario?”
“No idea, Wolverton.” And they called in an ambulance to pick up the body.
Hangman
June 22, 1916. Inglewood Penitentiary, as it had each Thursday since the day that they opened, was conducting executions. Although the practice of hanging had been outlawed years earlier, Inglewood continued in private, with their own subterranean chamber. The chamber, despite being a very large room, was totally empty, aside from the large gallows in the center of the room. The only way into this lair was through a trapdoor that led from what was thought by most to be the basement. The Shadows seemed to watch from each of the four corners, and the dirt floor gave the room a brown tint.
The Hangman skillfully tied his noose around each condemned soul that was sent to him. As the platform dropped, each man regretted whatever evil he had committed, however it was much too late as his neck inadvertently snapped mere moments later.
The Hangman was proud of his work, so proud in fact that if something went wrong, it would always be blamed on one of his 4 apprentices, whether it was their fault or not. The apprentices grew to resent The Hangman, however this didn’t faze him. Oh yes, he was proud of his work.
The Hangman loved his Prison more than life itself. There were points where he believed it spoke to him, told him things. Secrets, things that most people don’t know, or don’t what to know. Sometimes it even asked him to do things for it. One time, it asked him to carve symbols into the wall of a cell. The Hangman didn’t understand the symbols, but he obeyed anyway. The Hangman always obeyed the Prison, no matter what.
One fateful day, however, he couldn’t obey. The Prison gave him his order, but he couldn’t pull it off...he was not a good servant, so he had to pay. Oh yes, he had to pay a great price...
June 21, 2001. Gareth DeSilva Jr. sits by his father’s hospital bed, listening to his mad ravings. As much as it hurt to see his father like this, he knew it would have hurt more not to be by his father’s side when the time finally came for him to leave this world. Gareth Sr. had been in worse shape than ever these past few days, his raving becoming much more violent and making less sense than a pig on parade.
“Tomorrow! It’s all going down tomorrow! Oh god why? Why didn’t I stop it? Why didn’t I burn the place down? WHY WHY WHY WHY!!!” Gareth Sr. screamed, sending his son to tears. Suddenly he broke out of whatever madness was gripping him, and he motioned for his son to lean in close to him. Scared at what the lunatic that had once been his father might say, he slowly moved towards the dying man.
“Keep your daughter home tomorrow,” he whispered in his son’s ear, “Whatever you do, don’t let her leave the house.” With that his heart monitor flat lined, and Gareth DeSilva Sr. was dead.
Gareth was visibly terrified. His tears had stopped, and he simply sat there with his now dead father, shaking silently. So many thoughts ran through his head, so many crazy thoughts....
The funeral was held the next day. Gareth was surprised at how well he held himself together, greeting friends and family of his deceased father. One man in particular struck his attention though, a man that simply stood in front of the open coffin. Gareth finally approached the man, and he turned with enough force to make Gareth stumble backward.
“Who are you?!” the strange man snapped at Gareth.
“Me? I’m the deceased’s son! May I ask who you are, sir?”
“I knew your dear ol’ daddy back at Inglewood. He was the head guard at the time, I was locked up. Death Row, as a matter of fact. T’was my day to go when it all happened”
This last statement bewildered Gareth a bit. “When what happened?” he asked.
“Ya mean Daddy never told ya that story? Ya’ll missed a good ‘un, boy” the man replied. “It was right ‘round this time of year, if I recall, that crazy Hangman went even nuttier then usual and killed his apprentices, buried ‘em alive as the story goes. Drugged ‘em, and buried ‘em, one in each corner of the hangin’ chamber. He said that he was supposed to kill a couple others as well, the two fellers in one of the cells. Cell 37 if memory serves. Anyway, as the story goes, your daddy done killed the Hangman that day, self defense o’ course, and buried him under that damn gallows he loved so much. Yep, that was a hell of a day m’boy”
After telling his story, the man simply walked out of the funeral, leaving Gareth with a stupefied look on his already pale face.
June 22, 2001. Young Alice DeSilva was sitting in her history class, bored as usual.
“Today students, this last day of class, we’ll learn a history of our fine school.” The teacher babbled on. “Great,” though Alice, “won’t this be fun”
“Up until 1916, Inglewood School was known as Inglewood Penitentiary,” the teacher went on, “and was converted into a school on this very day. Now supposedly, Inglewood had a hidden room where they hung prisoners, but to this day nobody has found it. It has been put off by many as a simple urban legend, but records exist of executions being performed here right up until the day the shut down in 1916.”
Alice began to dose off, but before she could fall asleep she felt something pulling around her neck. As she looked around, it seemed the whole class felt the same way. Tighter and tighter, the force around each of their necks began to slowly cut off their breathing. Students soon started passing out, and the stench of death began to fill the air. Just before she took her last breath, Alice heard evil laughter that seemed loud enough to wake the dead...
His father had been right. Gareth’s little girl Alice, the love of his life, was dead, and all because he didn’t listen to his father’s last words. The loss of two close family members shattered Gareth’s sanity, and he decided to find the man he held responsible for their deaths.
He grabbed a pickaxe, and in the middle of the night he ventured to Inglewood School. The school was dark, but he knew his way almost as though a kind of intuition. He led himself into the basement, where he began to chip away at the concrete. Hours later, he uncovered what he was looking for: An ancient, wooden trapdoor. He opened it slowly, and dust flew into his face. He slowly climbed down to the subbasement of what was once Inglewood Penitentiary, and soon saw, lit by an unnatural light, the gallows that had claimed the lives of hundreds of men.
The light quickly faded however, and Gareth was left in total blackness. Suddenly, a sound. A sound of dirt being dislodged after nearly a century of stillness. More sounds. Sounds of long dead bones returning to our world after an eternal rest. Light illuminated each corner, and Gareth saw the decomposed bodies of each of the Hangman’s apprentices rising from the grave. As they neared him, Gareth ran to the top of the gallows in hops that they wouldn’t follow him. However it was no use. They followed him up and grabbed him from behind. One of them tied a noose around Gareth’s neck, and led him towards the platform when countless men had though their final thoughts. He struggled and screamed, but he couldn’t get away, and he looked down just as the platform dropped. His final stare was into the eyes of the long deceased Hangman, laughing like a madman, and oh so proud of his job...
The next day, two detectives arrived at the school. They found the hole that DeSilva had dug in the floor. They found the chamber underneath the school. And most grizzly of all, they found the corpse of Gareth DeSilva, Jr. on the ancient gallows.
“We got all all the way out here for a suicide? What did we do to get this assignment Presario?”
“No idea, Wolverton.” And they called in an ambulance to pick up the body.