The Haunted Manor

The air was cold that night. Xiè Lín’s breaths turned into a faint cloud of vapor, curling in the breeze before fading away. It was nearly Hattowen, a fact that they were keenly aware of. It was both their favorite and least favorite holiday. There was no better time to be undead, the season where the world at large finally embraced its fears of death instead of hiding from them. The crisp air, the foggy nights, the chance to tell the spine-chilling stories of the horrors they had witnessed… it was so pleasant. Perhaps it could have been the perfect holiday. But such a thing was impossible. It was far too frequent that their home was invaded by strangers: bunbii that were growing their first winter coat clutching shaking paws at their lanterns, cappari stalking the rows of gravestones waiting for a threat to slaughter, drajin smelling out the scents of spirits. Every other time of year, the old graveyard was barren. It was only during Hattowen that people came, whether on a dare or in desperate search of supernatural sightings. How funny Xiè Lín found it; that the living were so afraid of dying, yet couldn’t let the dead rest. They were a walking testament to that. 

Normally, they would have stayed home to shoo these intruders away. But they had heard recently of an old mansion that harbored some sort of secret… something about it made them stir. Perhaps it was the remnants of the adventurer they used to be, spurred on by the concept of a mystery to solve or an evil to defeat. It was equally likely to be a selfish venture: rumors of sacrifices and dark magic, though incredibly unlikely, had made them wonder if there could be another being out there like them. To meet another creature of their ilk, one never meant to exist, that walked a path equal parts unique and lonely, that was in many ways a monster beyond comprehension… the potential for kinship outweighed the reality of disappointment. 

The third option– that living in a graveyard is dreadfully boring and Xiè Lín was simply looking for a night’s worth of excitement– was in comparison much less poetic and much closer to the truth. 

The iron gate groaned as Xiè Lín opened it. It seemed to have been rusted shut, and protested being forced to give way after so long. Whatever the reason for it, Xiè Lín had left the comfort of its mausoleum to investigate this place: a rotting mansion resting atop a hill in Hallogrove. It had to admit: it expected something more grand. Though it had been an intimidating sight as a silhouette against the dark sky, up close it left much to be desired. It was of shoddy construction; something one could expect from cult members with no experience in architecture or carpentry. The paint– a dusty brown– was flaking away as if skin on a cadaver. The woodwork boasted simple spirals in an attempt at flourish from those who simply could not carve anything more complex. Xiè Lín was perhaps a bit underwhelmed. But evil could occur in any building– even one so sorry as this– and so they held out a bit of hope. 

They found it best to delay what would surely be the climax of their adventure and avoided the house itself. Instead, they were drawn to the graveyard, a familiar little slice of home so far away. Yet this one was unique: they knelt down to inspect the headstones and found that they seemed to not mark a grave at all. Instead of names and dates, each one was carved (quite crudely) with symbols of eyes, staring upwards, paired with cryptic phrases. We also watch. She sees you. The Abyss never blinks. 

Now, Xiè Lín could appreciate a touch of melodrama, but they couldn’t help but roll their eye a bit. What point is a graveyard if nothing is buried? The aesthetics were fine, but held no weight without action. So they thought at first. Just as they were considering moving on, they noticed a couple of gravestones with deeper carvings. They knelt down to examine closer. They traced a finger along the edge of the recesses. Despite the poorly-carved, wonky eye symbols around them, these holes were pristine. Perhaps they were more than just decoration… They felt perhaps a morbid joy in caressing this hole where an eye was meant to be, and even more so plunging a finger deeper into the socket. Amidst the rock, they could feel their fingertip brush against something else. A switch. Well, perhaps this mansion was interesting, after all. It seemed these cult members had at least a touch of trickery. The thought of putting real eyes into the carvings struck them. Alas, Xiè Lín only had one to their name any more.

They stood again, brushing the grass off of their knees as they rose to face the cappari statue. This must have been Macula. It was of better construction than the rest of the graveyard, as simple as it seemed. Perhaps it had been a commission: it was befitting of a cult leader to squander the coin of their followers to build a likeness of themself. It chuckled a bit. Despite the circumstances, Xiè Lín had been reminded of old friends. There were few cappari more likely to have a statue built of themself than his old teammate, Florence. His confidence bordered on arrogance, especially since their adventures had ended and his music career had taken off. Perhaps Macula was a moniker and Florence was the real cult leader. The melodrama suited him. The statue even had a hat! The brim wasn’t quite long enough, though, and the Calliope was always the one with the scepter. Ah, well. They shook their head– they could reminisce on times past after they were finished– and trudged back up the way they came. 

Still having a mind to avoid the excitement of the mansion itself and figuring they had already been partially around the perimeter, they decided to follow the cobblestone path around the back. Perhaps they had hoped for a garden of some sort– if this were a compound, wouldn’t they need to grow their own food?– but were once again disappointed. If they had grown crops, they had been long suffocated by the weeds and grass. Despite this, the path itself was oddly clear: no blades of grass sprouted from between the stones and the plants didn’t even bother to bow over, as if they were afraid to get too close to the rock. Instead of circling around the building, the path snaked away into the woods behind the house. The trees grew tall and thick, but seemed oddly sickly. The branches were barren, reaching to the sky like gnarled fingers pleading for help. They brushed their hand along the trunk of one of them, and the bark peeled and chipped away in flakes and dust. They were all dead, and for a long time, if Xiè Lín had to guess. 

Well, all except for one. Growing next to a slate stone bench was a little tree, clearly young. Whatever had killed the other trees was probably killing this one, too. It was almost bare as well, a few desperate leaves clinging on with the last of their strength. Nestled in them were a few bright-red fruits, no bigger than a grape. 

As they were examining this tree, a flash of movement caught their eye. Their gaze darted to underneath the bench: a pair of pinpoint eyes shone from the shadows beneath. For a long moment, Xiè Lín stood still, staring at the creature, waiting for it to move. But they must have blinked, because as soon as it had appeared the shadow was gone. Xiè Lín stepped forward with caution, but relaxed as it came to realize the being had well and truly disappeared. It found itself chuckling a little: this was the closest to a scare they had gotten this whole time, and it was more liable to be a little animal than anything truly threatening. A little glint in the darkness told them everything they needed to know. It must have been drawn in by the shine of… they pulled the trinket out from under the bench and examined it. A golden charm, bearing the visage of an eye. Xiè Lín clicked their tongue. Whoever had been in charge of hiding this before the cult left should have been fired. Well, it was theirs now. They plucked a single red fruit from the tree– perhaps they would plant it in their own graveyard back home– and decided it was finally time to enter the mansion as they came here to do. 

The door itself was a dark wood. It was unlocked, but time and weather seemed to have warped the material such that it was stuck firmly in place. They tugged a bit on the handle, and then pushed with their shoulder, but to no avail. It seemed this would have to be done the hard way. They ran their fingers across the left edge and found no hinges, indicating the door swung inward. Good. That would make this easier. 

They took a half-step back. They lowered themself just a bit, digging their left heel into the ground and placing their right foot forward. In a flash, their paw struck the door just under the handle. A sickening CRACK erupted as the wood splintered from the force. Xiè Lín couldn’t help but smile; how long has it been since they kicked in a door? It was almost nostalgic. Once more hit was enough: the door forcibly swung inwards, smacking against the wall and sending up a cloud of dust. The whole structure shuddered. At last, though, it laid still. The will-o-wisps over Xiè Lín’s shoulders cast a faint red light into the room as they stepped inside. 

The feeling of being watched was immediate and overwhelming. It made their fur crawl. As they gave a glance around the room, they met eyes with… well, eyes. The walls– a beige-ish yellow, though perhaps once white– were covered nearly every inch in images, each one sporting eyes. They seemed to be photographs, some more clear than others, but all had the uncanny effect of following Xiè Lín as they walked. Their captions, designating them as “Experiments” of unknown purpose, faced boldly outward. But it refused to be intimidated. They stood tall, moving with a casual meander as they went about examining the room. It was simply furnished: a few wooden chairs, a red couch that had been shredded by deep clawmarks, a low table with a maroon cloth draped over… A bit of movement in the dark caught their eye. Cowering in the shadow of a golden chalice was a trembling mothmin, pink eyes staring unblinkingly at the intruder into their home. Xiè Lín smiled. They inched forward, giving gentle clicking noises in hopes of calming the creature, but it just shied away further. Poor thing. How long had it been since it had seen another person in this home? And what terrible things had it seen in those days?

Xiè Lín remembered the little red berry in their pocket and moved slowly as they pulled it out. The mothmin watched apprehensively as they placed the offering at the edge of the table and backed away. It crept forward, looking between Xiè Lín and the berry, before finally relaxing and beginning to munch. 

Satisfied, Xiè Lín turned their attention to the stairs. It wasn’t confident in their structural integrity. They held onto the handrail tightly as they took their first step and listened to the wood groan in pain. With each new step, they gently probed the floorboard with their foot, testing they wouldn’t snap before trusting them with its full weight. It was a slow process and gave them ample time to imagine what it would find when it finally reached the top. Though their informant had assured that the tales of blood rituals were exaggerated, they silently hoped to see something truly horrifying. All of the pieces added up to it: a cult sequestered away in the middle of nowhere, hints towards experiments on innocent Ranebo, wood floors that were porous enough to soak up the bloodstains… 

Unfortunately, that horror would not come here. What greeted them at the top of the stairs was a rather plain-looking study. A dusty purple carpet, a low wooden desk just the right size for a Cappari but laughably small for Xiè Lín, and bookshelves full of literature were everything here. They swallowed disappointment and pursued the shelves. Most of the books seemed to be tomes of science– or pseudoscience. Flux, astral projection, alchemy… it seemed these people had spread their metaphorical gaze across the far edges of knowledge in their search. But for what…?

One final book, so innocuous Xiè Lín nearly skipped right past it, was leather-bound and without a name. It was hand-written, with thoroughly written notes labeled neatly day-by-day. A journal. They would read it in its entirety later. For now they skipped to the end. 

It took some strong measures to get the fallen caparri to talk. But finally we know the details of the ritual. It requires sacrifice of innocent life without their full death. The existence of Drajin make this possible- to damage a bound object without destroying it should bind them and allow the creation of the Abyssal Eye. Two will be enough, no need to arouse suspicion. Soon we will have all the power we need.

Xiè Lín’s mind raced as their hands trembled. There were a thousand leads to follow: fallen cappari, the Abyssal Eye, the power this cult sought, the possibility of a Drajin not quite dead and not quite alive… They took a moment to sit, not caring about the dust and grime on the floor as they tried to piece together fractured thoughts.

Fallen cappari… they were thrown back momentarily to the day their once tight-knit group fell apart… The shadows that formed into a blade, piercing through Earnest in a moment that had been peaceful a heartbeat before, the snapping sound of Severian’s halo shattering, the stillness, the smell of blood… when Xiè Lín calmed down, they would realize that the likelihood of Severian being at all involved in this was minimal. He was far from the only fallen cappari on Ranebo. But in that moment, anything felt possible. 

What even was this Abyssal Eye? Some artifact that required the contradiction of half-death, dealing perhaps with flux or the abyss or some power beyond Xiè Lín’s understanding. The ability to see everything, to shift time… and why? Just for knowledge’s sake? And what kind of damage could that Eye really do…? They thought back to the drajin they met just that day, asking for Xiè Lín to bring them the Eye. What was Xiè Lín being dragged into?

Any Ranebo with a modicum of sense would have backed out at this point. They had come here for a bit of Hattowen fun and had instead plunged themself into a conspiracy in which the very fabric of time was becoming corrupted. It went far beyond what a single Bunbii could handle. They wanted to leave, to find help, to get someone older and wiser to fix this like a child begging their parents to assist them. This was far out of their league, even with all of the adventuring they had done in their past. 

…But something else kept them firmly rooted in place. Sacrifice of innocent life without their full death. The concept of an undead ranebo was rare. So rare, in fact, that nearly everyone Xiè Lín met dismissed the possibility they were truly undead outright. How many times had they gotten curious or even disdainful looks? The scoffs and rolled eyes? The questions asked in an attempt to trip them up and expose their unlife as a lie? Even their own teammates, back in the days they lived and worked and traveled the world together, seemed to hold doubt in the back of their minds. But if what this book said was true… this posed the chance for another of their kind to exist. And all they needed was one. Just one person who understood. As they sat in that derelict mansion in the middle of nowhere, that possibility, that hope, ignited them. And they knew they couldn’t leave until they had seen this through to its natural conclusion, regardless of how dangerous that conclusion may be. 

They stood again, dusting off their clothes for a moment and tucking the journal safely in the fluff around their neck. They began to open every drawer on the desk, scrounging thoroughly for any information that could be relevant. Inside one were files, perhaps hundreds of them. With a little bit of prodding and arm strength, they were able to pull the drawer off its tracks and out of the desk entirely. It would be coming with them, its secrets plundered in the safety of their mausoleum over the next several weeks– or months.

Perusing a few added more intrigue. Entry 37 seemed to pin the sudden influx of large, kaiju-style creatures on the meddling of Macula and their people. But that didn’t seem right. This had happened only a few months before… hadn’t their guide mentioned that the cult had left this building two years prior? And on that point, this building looked as though it had been abandoned for decades, not just a couple of years. Whatever had happened here, it seemed as though Macula had succeeded at least in warping time. They neatly tucked the file back in place and set the drawer on top of the desk to be retrieved later. For now, it was time to finish their investigation. 

The final set of stairs led upward to the attic. The room was bathed in pale light, shining through a large triangular window. The moon was full. It was like a giant pupil, staring Xiè Lín down behind eye-shaped glass. Between them was a simple stone slab, atop which a teddy bear sprawled out lifelessly. Next to it was a hunting horn with a long, jagged crack trailing up its side. This was the sacrifice they had been looking for: objects bound to drajin out there somewhere that existed between life or death. Carefully, they lifted the bear. Its head flopped to the side, weighed down by an overly large button that had been crudely sewn in place. With surgical precision they severed the thread holding the button in place and extracted it. They examined the bear closer. They knew tragically little about drajin: would sewing up the exposed eye hurt them? Or would the repairs be beneficial? They thought to ask their guide when their mission was done and tucked it and the horn away safely. They took one final glance out at the stars, gave the miew a quick pat, and returned down the stairs. 

They wasted no time pausing to taste the fresh air. They hurried back to the cemetery where this had started– it felt like a lifetime ago– and locating the headstones with eye socket carvings they had found before. In one they placed the charm from under the bench– it created a satisfying click as it nestled into place– and in the other the eye button. At last, they could pull open the little compartment below. The rock inside glowed a faint red, a signal of the power the unassuming artifact held within. Was this really the Abyssal Eye? It didn’t look like it, and yet Xiè Lín had never been so sure of something. They tucked it away safely. Their mission was over. It was time to go. 

As they reentered the mansion to grab the drawer of files they had left upstairs, they were interrupted by a soft clicking sound. It was the mothmin from earlier, having shuffled out of their hiding spot and looking up at Xiè Lín hopefully. 

“I have no more fruits,” they said sadly. The mothmin stared. “However… this house is no place of honor. Should you like, I have an equally dreary and quiet home to keep you safe in.”

They extended their hand. The mothmin hesitated, crept forward, sniffed… before finally crawling into their hand and looking up at them with pleading eyes. Xiè Lín chuckled. 

“Alright, let’s go, then.” They placed their new companion on their shoulder, and soon the two of them were out of Macula’s mansion for good. 

“Jeez, I didn’t say you could loot the place,” the drajin teased, watching as Xiè Lín set down the drawer of files, the journal, the teddy bear, the horn, and the mothmin before finally pulling out the Abyssal Eye. They took it gratefully in their paws, turning it over and over to examine it.

“Perhaps your tale should not have intrigued me so,” they replied, “It has given me desire to research this dreadful tale in full. And that includes what you know.”

The guide smiled softly. “Maybe another day. I don’t have much time now.”

“I will heed your call whenever you wish. When can this be done?”

They blinked. It was as they opened their eyes again that they realized what was happening in front of them. The drajin seemed to be fading away, along with the Abyssal Eye clutched in their paws.

“It’s difficult for me to get the energy to manifest. I can only do it during the week of Hattoween when the veil is thinnest. Thank you for giving this to me. I hid it so they couldn’t use its power for evil, but…” They shook their head, a mix of sorrow and bitterness in their voice. “They got to me before I could get it myself. You have freed me of a great burden… thank you…”

“Wait–!” Xiè Lín called, their head spinning as they tried to process this information. They had so much more to say, more to ask. But it was too late. In the blink of an eye, they were gone, with Xiè Lín left alone. 

As their mind started to settle, they glanced down and noticed a card in the grass.

A token of my gratitude. I owe you one.

-Aeolian

Slowly, Xiè Lín smiled. They carefully gathered up their things. They could be patient. It would be a long 365 days, to be sure. They would count them down rigorously. But what was one more year, after all the others they had waited? Xiè Lín had found not just another ranebo who existed in the space between alive and dead, but a new friend. And that was worth every moment.