The road rose up the hill, lined and cracked with deep gouges. Entire slabs rose and fell in uneven pits and slabs. There was a barren emptiness as Sweet Gin climbed up with the weight of her friend over her shoulder. She leaned forward, in a hunch as the claws of her feet bore into the cracks and split asphalt for purchase as she went. The air was awash with the gentle lapping of distant waves and the wind smelled wet and salty. Blowing from over the sea, the air was cold. Unobstructed as it drove across the landscape rattling the boughs of dead trees.
Above the towering boughs of ancient singed trees the billowing and rolling plumes of cloud marched across the sky. Growing darker in their progress as distant cracking of thunder echoed over the desolate landscape.
And ahead, the house towered against it.
A fence of wrought iron and red brick ran through empty fields and across the road just ahead. Behind the portal of steel a empty plaza perhaps half a mile long in length shot a straight line for the massive home on its other end. Dying gray bushes dotted the empty space between the gate and there. Halos of stripped and barren trees, and stained and eroded statues marched regularly down to and around a dry fountain.
And the house itself... Sweet Gin was brought to awe for it. She hadn't once seen a structure like that, not in a place like this. Even half a mile distant the size and scale imposed a feeling of closeness that drew all the features in on Sweet Gin in debilitating vertigo. Massive exaggerated features spanned its massive face. Its super structure rose four floors over the rest, or an additional four more if its towering sharply sloped roof was added in. It even rose beyond that in the large number of towers of tremendous size and scale that swallowed the rest.
And all of it glowed with a ghostly, lively light. The thousands of windows illuminated against the darkness in the sky, and the weary worn face of the building itself. The electrical yellow highlighting even at a distance the rich details in the wood trim around each window and each door.
The home seemed to breath. It beat. It was alive. It had about it a glow that numbed Sweet Gin, attracting her in deep to its bygone golden age.
It watched her as she drew closer to the iron bars that sealed it from the wasteland beyond. Inside its compound it presided over a world slowly dying of entropy, and of itself. Far beyond what the world outside had been stricken with by comparison.
As she was hypnotized by the distant melancholy and decadent nostalgia that rose before her, she did not notice the wet slurping. Nor the furious plodding. By the time Dinah screamed, she felt as though something had sent her off her feet. She fell, slipping into something dark.
Angry primal snarls whispered into her ears and the world faded out. Again.
***
As the world faded back she felt as she had moved. She was no longer on her feet, and the weight on her back was gone. In fact, it felt as if she had lost everything. And it took a minute, but with a jump she realized so was Dinah. A panicking thunder shot through her and she tried to throw herself up. But a ripping snap clamped her steady and she was throw back down onto her back. Blinded, she thrashed and kicked against the restraints that held her down. Her legs couldn't move. Nor could her arms. The cold steel pressed against her exposed back as she lay secured to the mattress.
The panic and fear crawled through her. She felt cold and racy as she lay naked on the bed. She couldn't see the rest of the room, but she could hear the springs under her groan. The frame rattle as she tugged violently against whatever bound her. There was a stale smell in the air. Musty, old. It tickled her nose like vinegar and the same old expired air that was so common place in this wasteland.
It smelled almost like that basement, and it worried her. “Let me go!” she wailed loudly as she thrashed into a second bout of fighting against the bed. It rattled and rolled under her, threatened to rise and tip. If she was back, she didn't want to stay. If all this was for naught, just destroy her now.
She screamed and wailed into the empty silence to get let out. Pulling against the restraints until it felt like her arms were going to break off.
“If you keep fighting you're going to break something.” a voice said calmly, smoothly. Or as smooth as tumbled rocks could be. There was dryness in there. A tired sort of tone. It cracked and sawed across each sound. Like it was dead. It froze Sweet Gin.
“You're lucky I could get to you first, m'am.” he continued. She felt as something sat down next to her. Her breath rose and fell nervously as he shuffled alongside her.
He sounded weary, almost sad. “Try not to fight, I'll remove the hood.” it said softly. The bed groaned as the speaker moved. Something tugged open around her neck, and sliding off her head came the black hood. Painting nervously she looked around, and right up into the speaker.
Whoever he was, he was not much of a man anymore. He looked much more like the creatures she had fought up and down Worcester. But he had about him an air of humanity, something that just kept him a person, despite the decaying exterior.
Worn tired eyes looked down at her. His head was balding – or rather his entire scalp was peeling off – and what few strands of hair the remained lay combed back along his skull in faded gold strands. His cheeks were shallow, and his dusty-dry lips frowned down from his chin. Loose bits of skin and muscle and veins fell from his chin and neck.
The rest of him was covered by a pressed black suit and stained white under shirt. Gloved hands rested in his lap as he leaned over Sweet Gin. “W-wher-” she started hesitantly. Looking down at her she could confirm she was indeed naked.
“Don't get worried. My penis fell off seventy-fives years ago.” he said. But it felt like false comfort of all things, “Even if it was still there it wasn't standing up well on its own anywhere.”
It certainly didn't make the occasion any less comfortable. She stammered and shifted uncomfortably, trying to roll away from the ghoul. Or as best she could being bound tight to the bed.
The room was certainly large. Over a dozen beds marched along the walls as did a number of dressers and time-destroyed personal effects. “It's not very often Widow's Hall gets new visitors.” the ghoul chuckled softly.
“Widow's Hall?” Sweet Gin asked.
“The home of his master Jonathon Goldsmen Gattsbe.” chimed the ghoul. He rose his head to the air and gloved hand to his chest, “And I am his humble servant to take your wish, Primrose Stonewood of Lancashire.”
“What's a Lancashire?” asked Sweet Gin.
“Ancient history, my lady.” Primerose bowed, standing up.
“So where's my gear then?” Sweet Gin asked. The tired ghoul walked to the foot of the bed where he went to work at the ties that bound her to the metal-frame posts. The heavy wire that kept her strapped there tugged gently at her feet as he untied them.
“Security has them.” Primrose noted, “These days there is not much purpose I have but to listen and watch the security. The Party ceases to end, but it only goes the same way every time it starts again. A hundred years has only taught me where and when I am expected, my lady.”
“Bu- I...” Sweet Gin stuttered as her legs came free. She drew them nervously up, closer to her as the ghoul moved around to work on her hands, “I- I had a friend. She was hurt. Where's she?”
“I got to her too and had the guards move her to the clinic.” the butler said, “But there we have a problem.”
“A problem? How?” Sweet Gin asked.
“I don't suppose the world outside knows anything about the Gattsbe legacy, do they?” he asked, eying the android suspiciously.
“I'm afraid I don't...” said Sweet Gin.
Primerose nodded, “I guess that's fortunate all the same.” he said uneasily, “Even the few scavengers that come this far along Long Island don't really know who he is. Just that they can get business here.”
“What do you mean?” Sweet Gin asked, “And can I get my clothes back?”
“Your clothes are locked down by now, I'm afraid.” said Primerose, “As to the scavengers, I need supplies to keep the illusion.”
“Illusion?”
The butler nodded, “We've been alive for two-hundred years.” he said, “More, really.
“The day that things changed, master Jonathon was in the middle of a three-day party. There was music, drink, food, and as much sex as any attendee could have. But then the bombs happened.”
“Bombs?” Sweet Gin asked, “What are those? Is that the Fire?”
Primerose laughed weakly, “Fire.” he said, voice rough, “That's the first I heard of that.
“But no, bombs. Nuclear bombs. I don't know who or why. But in the middle of the party we got the alarms we needed to take cover. But there were too many of us – and too many of us drunk and high – to make it to the Long Island vault. I should have known when some of us left more than early that something was up, but even then I was too blind.
“When the bombs fell, our party ended. For a time. Many of us tried to go to our homes, find our relatives. But there was no way out. The countryside was poisoned and the cars couldn't be drawn out of the garage by the valets. Computers didn't work, and no telephones were online.
“From New York we could see this bright burning fire the day the bombs hit. So we knew it was bad.
“Over time... I don't know what happened. I only learned later what we were. Ghouls. But our hair fell out, we lost our skin, our teeth. And eventually, most of the people lost their minds.
“It was gradual at first, as we lingered here undying with no where to go. But by some bloody bad twist of luck we went back to the idea the bombs never fell.
“The party came back.”
Primerose paused. Sighing deeply as he stroked his boney hands across his balding rotting head. “I'm the last one with any sense left.” he said, “Master Jonathon was a dangerous man when he was alive, or more than he is now. It explains the security staff handling you and your gear, your friend probably didn't get it any better, and if you can't recover her in four hours we get to the point the party was to end, and the point that for over a century the guests restart the party.”
“Restart, what do you mean?” asked Sweet Gin, her arms free she wrapped them around her body. She shivered as she stood up right.
“I don't think there's a better way to explain it: but quite simply no one here wants to deal with the world after the party. That would be returning to the bombs. I don't know if it's all in their heads, or an effect of our decay.
“I'm the only one cursed with the foresight to see passed the carnival of Widow's Hall. And once they get to the end of the ride, I do fear what will happen to them. Coming to the end of the party will be the least merciful for them, and maybe the party.”
Sweet Gin sat in the cold, hugging close against her chest her arms. Biting her lips hesitantly. “What will happen?” she asked.
“Maybe they'll leave the mansion. Maybe they'll go feral and trap themselves inside. Either way, in Jonathon leaves so will his staff, and they're armed. And where he shambles they will go. There aren't many living people on Long Island any more. But none of them stocked as well as Jonathon.
“Bloody bastard of a gangster I will admit, even past death.”
“So then, how am I going to do this?” she asked.
“First, we need to get you clothes. I might have something that works.” the ghastly butler said, heading for the door. “Try not to leave.”
Sweet Gin sat back with her knees drawn to her naked chest as the ghoul walked out. Her head was still in a daze, and there was a welling pain on the back of her neck. She felt... Overwhelmed would be the right word. She felt nearly as she did when she had awoken in the basement of that old rickety house. Lost, confused. But despite the horror of her host, she was out of the feeling taken advantage of. Raped. It eased her in warm places.
But there was still the issue of why she was naked. But she'd need to ask when Primerose came around again. Deep in her she hoped he'd return with her clothes, with Dinah behind him healed and better. But for the handful of days she'd been on the outside she knew just as well it wouldn't be that easy. There'd be a mine-field between her and her goal. A horde of ghouls. But at least she had a ghoul willing to help.
Primerose had spoke about how they – the ghouls – lost their minds. This scared her. Faintly and distantly in the house she could hear the waxing woes of music and dry crackling laughter. Chattering and chattering like rabid animals echoed through the door. Each cackle, whoop, and holler came on a dry rattling breath. Like the talons of a beetle scurrying across dry metal.
If Primerose had it right, she would need to be out there.
As she waited on the bed, listening to the carnival outside the door she returned to looking over the room more. Between the sparse furnishings and the signs of decay and rot lingering portraits and posters hung on the wall. Many were little more than slimy black splotches on a wall decorated over with faded golden flowers and thorned vines.
Indeed, much of the room was decorated like that. Though the delightful richness had gone with the ages. The light didn't help as it weakly seeped through oily black curtains by the large number of massive windows. And even what light there was outside was weak as the storm that was blowing in earlier had grown thicker and darker. Through thick walls and cawing laughter she could hear the distant roar of constant thunder, and the blue flashes of fierce lightning.
It flashed in the windows. But it did not out-glow the dim flickering lights of the ceiling. She looked up at them with a sense of dawning appreciation. Primeroose had said two-hundred years, or over that. For so many things in the world, it was astounding that lights still worked.
The minutes waned as Sweet Gin curled herself back against the head of the bed. But Primeroose did not return. Anxiety, curiosity, and boredom crawled up onto her as she drummed her fingers against her knees. Clickity clack, tickity tock. But it did not make time go faster as the thunder outside crashed louder, and a powerful wind buffeted against the manor. Even as big as it was, and as imposing it stood the gusts tore on the side, and if faintly she could feel it move.
From the windows the glass clattered and pounded against the frames as the wind swelled against it. The sounds were terrifying, as they were mystifying as she looked from the door to the windows with a baited nervous curiosity. She threw a last tentative glance for the door as she slowly pulled herself out of the bed. Though she was alone she couldn't help to feel that she was being watched. From somewhere.
Rising off the bed she let her hands move to cover herself. She felt cold against herself. Her hands sharp and unkind against the sensitive bare skin. She stood up, turning to the window and moving aside the shades.
Outside was a sea of darkness that spanned for miles. Bright lights in the sky flashed and thrashed violently in a murky storm. The energy glowing in the clouds and basking them in bright hues of blue to white. The flashes sparked against the ground, illuminating the landscape in bright highlights. And in the distance the waves of a violent sea smashed themselves to the air. The crowns of each wave illuminated with the sharpness of knives as the lightning smashed the air.
Even the thunder seemed as fierce. But not as violent as the flashing lightning. Sweet Gin pressed herself up against the window as she looked up at the violent weapon. Her face and chest felt cold against the sagging melting glass. But she found herself in awe of it. She had seen the sky clear, in its deadly openness. She had seen the sky overcast, in its bleak unforvingness. But the sky burning with a thousand bursts of fire and electricity was new to her.
She felt her spine tingle as she thought about the garage, and how like there the clouds were erupting with a thousand pulse grenades. Then she wondered if The Man was still on her trail. Could he cut through to her through this? Could he still follow her.
She hoped not.
Each shock of thunder shook the window as much as the wind did when a strong gust blew over. It was amusement in awe at the very least, and she pressed herself to the window to watch it. Her eyes dancing excitedly across the clouds as the lightning burned spider-webs on her retinas and the thunder made great booming song.
But there was an off-note in that chaotic rhythm. A single hard wooden smack that made Sweet Gin jump as she spun at the window, grabbing hold of the shades with her claws. With a crack and a tear they bolt of heavy cloth tore from the wall and crashed to the ground with a crash as she turned to Primeroose standing at the door, looking diligent and unphased as the android stood wide eyed and nervous with mildew-soaked heavy duty polyester hanging from her hands.
Primerose said nothing as he straightened his back. In his hands he held an immaculate blue tumble of satin cloth. “My lady.” he said plainly.
“Uh, hello...” Sweet Gin said nervously, “Um, I-I'm sorry.” she smiled sheepishly.
“The drapes dear? Never you mind them, it's about time they came down. The carpet already went the way the rest of us did. So it's about time they caught up.”
“T-that doesn't look like it's mine.” Sweet Gin asked, carefully lifting a hand as she folded the curtains up against her.
“They're not.” he said.
“Well why not?” she asked.
“Security took your clothes, like your gear.” he said, “Somehow the robots there figured they might have been a weapon and confiscated them as such. Especially from an unregistered guest.”
“I'm afraid I don't understand...” said Sweet Gin, trailing off.
“Neither do I.” Primeroose agreed, “I didn't pursue higher education as mother said. Sometimes when dealing with those metal octopi I wonder if I would have the fortune of being dead. And not like this.
“I did have an idea thought trying to get them out.” he added, holding out the blue fabric.
“It took me a little bit. But it dawned on me you look close enough to a guest that didn't show that if you covered up your prosthesis you could play a part in their illusion to break your friend out.”
“Prosthesis?” Sweet Gin asked.
Primeroose nooded, “I haven't seen anything like that since The War. And even then, not even during those years. There are doctors of that caliber? How'd you come by those?”
“I...” she started, “Woke up with them. I guess. Someone did try to break my arms and legs. But from there it's all blank. I guess I ended up in Maintenance...”
“Excuse me?”
“I...” she started. It dawned on her that she was talking to someone who had not heard of androids and she was finding it difficult to explain what she was. Biting on her tongue she stepped back off the subject. “It's a long story.” she said, weakly backing off the subject.
The butler took the response with a grain of disappointment. “Anyways, my dear,” he continued, “I don't know how much of a name Marguerite DeVille has surviv-”
“She sounds familiar.” Sweet Gin interupted, and Primerose's face lit up. Or however a ghoul's face could be filled with sudden happiness.
“Her name still survives?” he asked, enamored, “Marvelous, tell me, what songs of hers have you heard?” she said ecstatically. He was rushing over himself, and somewhere in the rapid stream of grunts and growls that were words his eyes looked ready to roll out.
“I-I only saw her name on a poster...” said Sweet Gin. Primerose's sudden burst of excitement shocked her.
“For shame.” he mumbled, “In any case,” he added, holding out the clothes in his arms, “I pulled these from Jonathon's last mistress’s room. She never wore it once, and it had been sealed in a bag for two-hundred years. It'll be more than new enough to impress your way through the bags of bones just outside.”
“Mistress?” Sweet Gin asked nervously.
“She was one of the fortunate to die two-hundred years ago. Don't worry about the crazy bird.” said the Butler.
Sweet Gin stared at Primerose, chewing her tongue uncomfortably as she looked from him to the clothes. The ancient butler looked back puzzled as she looked to the bed. “If you need a moment, I'll turn the other way.” he said, walking to the table and gentle letting down the blue satin.
“Thank you.” said Sweet Gin as he turned away. Uncomfortably she dropped the curtain as she went to the bed, picking up the richly shining dress.
“While I was looking into the clothes I checked in on the status of your friend.” he said as Sweet Gin unfolded the long blue eloquent gown, “She's being kept in the clinic for now. Though the master's goons have already fell in on the room so they're no doubt holding her to move later. I'd advise you to deal with them to get her out.”
“How am I going to do that?” asked Sweet Gin, raising her arms to look at the dress. Her voice trailed off to a breath of bewilderment as she saw the dress. Still pristine, for the most part. Silken material hung light as air. A heavy blue and golden lattice of embroidering wound through the torso, working in on long simple sleeves. They'd hide her arms.
“Master keeps a well stocked armory. I don't doubt he has many guns of whatever type you need.” he said, “You could find something silenced, perhaps. No one would miss it. I know I would not, deplorable things.”
“So where's that?” the android asked as she pulled at what she could find to decipher the strange puzzles that was pre-war dress. The gown wasn't nearly as simple as the outfits she'd become familiar with. But none hadn't ever been nearly as feminine.
“In the basement levels, you'll need to move across the foyer hall to the kitchens where the nearest cellar access is kept. The other is in the tool shed in the back-yard but I doubt you'd want to go out in the current weather.” Primeroose quipped smartly, “Are you OK back there?”
“How do I work this?” Sweet Gin asked defeatedly.
“Try slipping it over your head. Many of my brothers could hardly work around a brazzier so I doubt I'd be able to help.”
“A what?”
“Never mind.” Primeroose mumbled.
Sputtering and cursing under her breath, the android surrendered to simple defeat and threw the elaborate dress over her head and swam through the ocean of fabric until she could find the other end. “And I would advise if you can from being too shocked about the guests.” Primeroose said, “I don't know how much in the way of self consciousness will break their illusion and get us all killed. So you're not going to see any mirrors. I had to take precautions as the manor's new residents went away from the world.”
“Where am I going then?” asked Sweet Gin, pulling the dress down over her. The watery, wavy fabric fell down to just above her ankles. Nervously she closed her muddied toes. Maybe they wouldn't notice the metal.
“You finished?” Primeroose asked, half turning.
“I am.” Sweet Gin proclaimed.
“Excellent.” the old ghoul smiled, showing her to the door, “Make it quick.”
***
Sweet Gin stepped out into the hall. Out from the deadness of the wastelands and the side wings of the mansion she very quickly found herself in the wraps of ages old decadence. Towering high above her to where she was sure the ceiling could have far surpassed the actual ceiling was a large, gilded, and silver vaulted ceiling that shimmered with the flickering lights of a hundred two-centuries old fixtures. Hanging from brass hooks long velvety curtains eaten at the edges by moths fell in shredded ribbons to the mired marbled floor below. Gold and faded white marble covered every surface and dark moody panels of wood framed the walls in a thick and heavy wainscoting carved with wearing images of animals and plants.
And shambling all through the hall wandered the blankly gawking ghouls of Widow's Hall. The rotting sagging figures of men and women drifted lonesomely through the towering and devouring maw of the house with placid distant stairs. Gobbing with butchered tongues and slurred throats an unpleasant rattling speech. Calling on matters of subjects the android had no context for. From their shoulders their suits and dresses hung in lost tattered, or filthy caked vests that did more to adhere to their decomposing exterior than be anything like a formal covering.
Their existence in the noticeably decadent and lively hall – untouched seemingly by the long and aggressive march of time – was an uneasy and unsettling contrast. Standing in the door frame she suddenly wished that she could just slink back into the darkness behind her. Into the long, dark, untouched catacombs that were the old servant's quarters of the mansion. But she had been forced out by Primeroose before he disappeared. Presumably into the thronging masses of the undead that shuffled irradiated in the lightly spoiled castle. And looking at them – men and women alike – Sweet Gin could only remark to herself in frightened awe how similar they looked.
Dryness, Irradiation, or just a cruel fact of some process of leathering they had taken on stiff and plastic appearances. Their skin pulled taught over mouths with teeth bared like rabid animals. Their hair fell in loose clumps in front of their face. Peering out from behind were their beady blackened eyes. Cataracts faded many, graying them or completely whiting out their vision. And anything that hung from their faces or bodies did so until it had stretched like melted candle wax.
She had to start somewhere though, and it wasn't here. She had two and a half hours left to find Dinah and get out. Which shouldn't be hard, she was only in the clinic.
With a hesitant foot she stepped out into the milling and cackling horde of the undead. Nervously with arms pressed to her sides she wound through. Careful to not touch any of the mummified, or slimy walking corpses that filled the hall. They were as loud as they were smelly. They drowned out the crackling music that was being piped in through high-hanging speakers.
It was hardly the most pleasant of communities the android had the fortune of witnessing.
Between the shoulders of the ghouls walked a large number of servers. Many slacked down at the shoulders and the backs. Forced to hobble on uneven legs as they held at their shoulders serving trays filled high with cracked glass and murky bottles. Even amid the repulsive smell of the ghouls the faint sickly smells of what floated from the bottles twisted into her nose. Faint suggestions of Turpentine and industrial chemicals.
The gawking and lost chattering of ghouls followed after her ears as she pressed along. Eventually peeling out of the horde of hideously deformed monsters packed into the hall. And from the gilded and shimmering hallway into a dimly lit, and all the more full side-hall way. Sweet Gin could feel herself freeze as she stepped aside, watching with eerie apprehension as a man who looked to be literally melting from his skeleton slumped passed. A suit that must have been nice clung to him, frozen by centuries of grime. It was now a shadow of a shadow.
In comparison to the foyer hall just behind her, the hall way here was meager by design. But in comparison to everything Sweet Gin had ever seen still rich all the same. Flickering and dimmed LED lights lining the corners between the floor and ceiling offered soft pure-white illumination that waned and flickered dimly. Stained white wallpaper hung peeled back from the wall like the flesh of the house's guests. And the ceiling maybe some story and a half above sagged under the weight of a house above, with hairline fractures running along the length, at the worst exposing dangling bare wires.
The music was even stronger here. Likely on account of the lower hanging speakers Sweet Gin saw perched in hidden cradles at the joint between wall and ceiling. A quick and excited horn accompanied by the quick and fast-switching strumming of some deeper instrument to brassy drums. It was a new sort of thing, and obviously trying to keep up the party atmosphere as Sweet Gin slinked along lost in the winding halls of the mansion's guts.
“Excuse me miss.” a grating voice said kindly from behind Sweet Gin. The sound of someone speaking made her jump tensely in her skin. She could almost feel her limbs unscrew as her mind raced with how to respond. Or at least to if whomever would lunge to gnaw out her throat.
She turned nervously, wearing a broad tense smile. Standing behind her stood a short, sagging lady-ghoul. Her back hunched over far over her lower body, and even in her dress her breasts sagged like empty punching bags from a bitter barren cage. Her face was craned up looking at Sweet Gin, the ghoul wore a twisted – if polite – sort of smile as she peered with beady eyes through melted-out glasses. “You look familiar, dearie, have I seen you somewhere?” the old zombie inquired.
“I-” Sweet Gin started, “Maybe. I don't know...” she stuttered, “Do you know anyone in Worcester perhaps?” she asked, strained. She might have ended up getting him or her killed. Whichever was merciful.
“Oh I don't know, I haven't even been that far north.” the ghoul woman croaked, reaching up with a gnarled clawed hand to scratch the twisted brambles which was what was left of finely tailored hair, “But how about you miss? What are you doing. I swear I've seen you before.”
“I'm... Just...” she thought for a moment... Looking at the hobbled creature before her she was reminded of Dinah. If her back had broken. And for some reason the raft... And eating. “I'm looking for something to eat.” she said shyly.
“Oh well yes, I don't blame you!” the old ghoul said with a dry distant laugh. It felt like it wasn't supposed to fit. Or work. Like somehow she felt something was off, “Well dearie I don't blame you for being lost. Johnny keeps a big house. But I think I know where I can help. I think I know my way around.” she laughed.
“Y-yes...” Dinah said weakly. Primerose said that the cellars were near the kitchen. Maybe that'd be a start.
“Well, let me show you. Follow me dear.” the old ghoul said, lowering her head to squint down the long hall as she hobbled off. She was amazingly fast for a woman over two-hundred, and she talked faster. Like a madly chirping bird.
***
Somewhere between the foyer hall and the kitchen Sweet Gin had gone deaf to the old woman's chattering. Somewhere between stories of a “dog” that was named “Abernathy” and her youthful adventures in the back of a blue Corvega V8 she had lost the ability to actually care. For once, something had outlasted her curiosity. But for however much it was worth the ghoulish hag had delivered her to the kitchen. For better or worse. And done not only that, but helped her get inside.
There wasn't much going on, and much of the kitchen had dulled. Not even the glow of the lights could make the impressively large room any less gloomy than it was, or on to par with the rest of the house. Grease and grime covered every inch in tasteless splashes. The stainless trimmings of the table surfaces, the ovens, the refrigerators, and even the knives had given way to time. Though not really rusting, it had lost luster and merely lay flat in the dusty confines.
All over the room barely human figures hung over broken brooms and laid half-alive across the counters, groaning gutturally to themselves as they stared lost at the far walls. The cooks and kitchen staff hardly acted like they even registered Sweet Gin and the granny's presence.
Thrown rather literally in the corner sat a pile of sealed faded-blue boxes. Off-white, red, and yellow decals decorated the face, and on those faced outward read the words: “SUGAR BOMBS”.
Sweet Gin couldn't say she was ever familiar with such a thing.
“Well here it is Dearie.” the old ghoul said in a motherly tone, “I'm sure the cooks here will help you with what you want. Or do you need me to whip them in shape?” she asked.
“No, no I don't think that'll be necessary.” the android mumbled as she inched near the Sugar Bomb boxes.
“Oh, well. Enjoy yourself now.” the lady said smiling, “Do I know you?” she asked again.
“I- no, I don't think so.” the android responded, kneeling at the pile and picking up one of the boxes.
The ghoul grandma shrugged indifferently before turning and plodding out the door. Leaving Sweet Gin alone with the grumbling and moaning kitchen staff. She turned the box in her hands over and over, trying to make out what it was. Evidently it was edible.
“SUGAR BOMBS BREAKFAST CEREAL.” the box declared loudly, “Twenty percent more tasty. Now with added freshness!”
She stole a glance at the indifferent kitchen staff as she dug her claws in. The tearing of cardboard cut clear through the kitchen. Though there were some more invigorated moans of protest at the disturbance and some shifting bodies, they didn't otherwise care as Sweet Gin pulled out a single cereal piece, dropping it gingerly on her tongue.
It was sweet as shit.
She liked it.
Her tongue tingled with a pleasant wash of sweetness. And the piece crunched in such a pleasing way it sent a ripple down her spine as she swallowed it down. It was chilling, and it wasn't long until she was scarfing the small pieces down by the clawed fist full as she scurried about the room looking for the storied cellar access. Her blue dress rippling out behind her and flaking with cereal dust. Disenthused muttering from the half-there kitchen staff followed her as she gave them wide births, and dug through the doors.
Eventually she found those stairs.
