#the extent of my knowledge was that a dude with black hair used fire | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

beyond-the-mirror · 5 years ago

Text

Drunk uncle Dante explains: Christmas

So recently I watched a very funny video called Drunk uncle explains Christmas and I couldn’t help but think of uncle Dante trying (and failing miserably) to explain Christmas to a very curious little Nero.

In this context, Dante is visiting his parents’ house for the holidays (Eva and Sparda are still alive in this AU) as well as Vergil and his son Nero.

This was written purely for laughs and giggles, so don’t take it too seriously. By the way, this is the video I'm parodying with this short fic if you want to check it out, although I changed a few things to adapt it better for the purpose of this story. It’s in spanish though, but you can turn the subtitles on. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

..........

It was the night before Christmas. A chilly air ran through the ever so active city of Red Grave, which currently had its streets covered in a soft and pristine layer of snow reflecting all the colorful lights that decorated every corner of the city.

People gathered together in their homes to share a most anticipated reunion with their beloved families, mouth-watering food served on their dinning tables to celebrate the holidays, as well as the numerous wrapped presents hidden underneath the Christmas trees ready to be opened.

And of course, the Sparda household was no exception to these festivities.

Tiny hands wandered around a beautifully decorated tree, its fingers feeling around the decorations that sparked curiosity and wonder in the eyes of little Nero. Tucked between the trees branches, a porcelain star caught Nero’s attention, his little fingers reaching out at the trinket. His attempt was interrupted however, when a very loud snore broke the silence that had covered the living room.

Nero turned around searching for the origin of the sound, finding out that it was his uncle Dante who had fallen asleep on the couch nearby.

“Uncle Dante? Uncle Dante, don’t fall asleep yet!”

As small hands nudged the man’s shoulder, Dante slowly woke from his drunken slumber, having already downed a couple of wine bottles (and probably a whiskey one too), though due to his demonic heritage, he only felt a bit tipsy.

“Ummm, c’mon kid... let your uncle sleep for a little longeeer.”

“But uncle Dante, it’s only seven o’ clock. Dinner will be ready any minute now, and we haven’t even opened the presents!”

“Ughh... fine, you’re lucky you’re adorable as hell.”

Dante stretched and yawned while little Nero sat on the carpet, next to the toy train set his grandpa Sparda had set for him early.

“By the way uncle Dante, can you tell me the story of Christmas? Pleeeaaase? You always have the best stories!”

Dante sat silently until he finally relented thanks to the huge puppy eyes his nephew was giving him. “Alright then. But only because I’m the coolest uncle ever right?”

“Yes! The best one too!” Nero giggled enthusiastically, which always warmed his heart to no extent.

“Ok, fetch me that book over there.”

Nero handed the requested book to his uncle, which he proceeded to open and read out loud, starting with the story.

“Alright. Long, long time ago... in the ancient Egypt-”

Nero giggled once again “Silly uncle Dante! Papa says the story took place in Jerusalem.”

“Ok, ok then. So, Mary was doing housework, ironing some clothes because their housekeeper was fired-”

“Like they did to you uncle?”

Dante sighed “No- I wanted to stay at your grandparent’s house for a few days longer, that’s it!”

“You were kicked out of your office because you owed five months worth of rent, you irresponsible imbecile!” Vergil shouted from the studio where he was currently reading.

“Oh shut up Vergil! At least I know what a condom is!” Dante rudely shouted back at his twin before proceeding with the story. “Then, an angel arrived and his name was Gabe. Gabe told Mary not to be afraid because she will have a baby, who will be named Jesus and who will be the son of God. And Mary was cool with that.”

“Wait uncle Dante, how are children born?”

“Well that’s another fun story for another time, but in Mary’s case it was thanks to the Holy Spirit. Not so ‘holy’ tho, considering he messed with Joseph’s wife.” He snorted while a confused Nero tilted his head to the side. “Okay then, Joseph doubted Mary’s virginity, so he demanded a divorce.”

“What does virginity mean?”

“It’s like a hundred dollars bill. If you keep it, it serves no purpose, but if you use it, it’s gone forever. So make sure to spend it well and at the right time!”

“Ohhh I see.” Poor naive Nero, completely oblivious to what his uncle was talking really talking about. “Also, there were divorces at that time?”

“Yep, they were called ‘stonings’“

Little Nero nodded in complete awe at what he perceived, was his uncle’s great knowledge.

“But of course Mary demanded a divorce first, and exclaimed that she was keeping all the money, the car, as well as-”

“Stop mixing stories you buffoon! That happened to you with Lady!” Vergil’s angry voice once again interrupted the story.

“Stop bringing up my personal matters in front of the kid Verge!”

“Scum!”

“You son of a-!”

“Uncle Dante!” Nero’s innocent voice calmed Dante’s nerves, allowing him to take a deep breath and relax.

“Sorry ‘bout that, now where were we? Oh! Well it was the Holy Spirit, and Joseph wanted to take Mary to Las Vegas for their honeymoon... buuut they didn’t have any money, so they settled for Bethlehem instead.”

“There were honeymoons at the time?”

“Of course! You needed lots of money tho... but one day youuu Lady, wait ‘till I hit the jackpot and then you will see!”

“Get over your problems already!” Another exasperated interruption from his twin, Dante surely wasn’t getting any rest.

“Well then. The couple arrived at a cheap hotel room when suddenly, Mary went into labor. And that’s how sweet baby Jesus was born, our Lord and Savior I suppose.”

“Whoaaa...” Dante couldn’t help but feel proud that he managed to keep his nephew entertained with his fun, albeit inaccurate, stories. “Uncle Dante, was Jesus a good person?”

“Good? He was great actually! He could turn water into wine and stuff!”

“Can I drink wine too?”

“Of course! The bible says so after all.” Dante was about to hand his nephew the unfinished bottle of wine he had kept next to the couch when suddenly-

“IF YOU GIVE WINE TO MY SON I SWEAR ON OUR DEMONIC LINEAGE THAT I WILL MUTILATE YOU BEYOND RECOGNITION!”

“Damn it!” As soon as Vergil’s voice entered his ears, he quickly retracted his hand, taking the bottle of wine and putting it as far away as possible from innocent little Nero who jumped at the immense power and fury in his father’s tone.

“Let’s continue with our story. Thus Mary uploaded Jesus’ baby pics to Twitter and the Fairly OddParents star-faved the pics-”

“Nooo uncle Dante! That’s not how the story goes!” Nero laughed wholeheartedly “Papa told me once. The star was up in the sky and they weren’t the Fairly OddParents, they were the Three Wise Men.”

“Okay okay, three men, got it.”

“Three WISE men. And they were kings!”

“Whatever you say kid.”

“And one was black!”

“A bit racist if you ask me.” Dante rolled his eyes and bit back a laugh before continuing. “So, the star told the three wise kings to follow them for God’s sake, literally, and they arrived at the stable where Jesus had been born with gifts for him. One gifted him gold, the other gifted him myrrh-”

“Wait uncle Dante, what is myrrh?”

“Let’s say... it’s a kind of herb.”

“Like the one papa once found under your bed and stabbed you with his blue floating swords for?”

“It was for medicinal purposes I swear!” Dante nervously responded, flustered by his nephew’s sudden question. “Ahem... and the other dude gifted him incense.”

“Why incense, uncle Dante?”

“They were in a stable! You ever been to one? They smell like crap!”

“What about the massacre of children in Bethlehem? Papa also mentione that.”

“Of course! Hitler was a monster, worse than any demon I ever encountered!”

“Noooo silly uncle Dante! It was King Herod! Hitler was austrian and from a different era.”

“Whoa whoa whoa kid, who’s holding the damn book again?”

“The book is upside down uncle Dante. And that’s not even the Bible, that’s papa’s favorite book.”

Once he gave a closer inspection, Dante realized he had been holding the book upside down indeed. Moreover, once he closed it to look at the cover, he noticed that it had been Vergil’s beloved anthology of William Blake all this time.

Sighing and setting the book aside, Dante turned to his lovely nephew “Look little Nero. The important thing about Christmas is that we are all here gathered as a family. It’s not about the gifts or the turkey, it’s about love, like the one of the family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph. It doesn’t matter where we come from. Joseph raised Jesus with lots of love, and that’s why he became such a good dude and sooo famous.”

Nero smiled warmly at the words, and Dante couldn’t help but ruffle his cute nephew’s soft white locks of hair, making him giggle.

“That means...” Dante continued “that even if you are not a planned child, like you Nero, we still love you all the same.”

“Huh? Not planned?” Nero tilted his head in confusion. “Does that mean... I’m adopted?” Tears were beginning to form at the corner of his baby blue eyes. However, Dante couldn’t even explain the misunderstanding when a loud bang resonated through the entire house.

“DAAANTEEEEE!!!” Vergil had barged out of the studio and into the living room, furious to the point that he had Devil Triggered and with a halo of summoned swords around him.

Needless to say, poor Dante had to run for his life from his rampaging brother, a chase that was soon put to an end after Grandma Eva stepped out and reprimanded both siblings with a rolling pin and a look so stern and powerful that made them both cower in fear and respect. Meanwhile, Grandpa Sparda decided to stay and calm down little Nero, showing him his new train set until the boy was giggling blissfully once again.

Just another normal day at the Sparda household after all.

#devil may cry #dmc dante #dmc nero #dmc vergil #drunk uncle dante #christmas #fanfiction #crackfic #christmas story #lmao what am i even doing

81 notes · View notes

danetobelieve · 5 years ago

Text

Lessons In Intent || Ricky and Winston

While Ricky had many things about his home that he liked, he had to admit that his absolute favorite place was his workshop. The guest house that he lived in had a two stall garage out back, but he’d never parked his truck in there, instead opting to renovate it into a place where he could come, blast music, and work on his craft. Recently however, he’d done some more renovating inside of it, condensing his stuff and clearing up about a third of the space for Winston to use. Since they’d started really claiming their magical ability for their own, Ricky had wanted them to have a spot for alchemy or whatever else they were trying, someplace safely away from the home they both lived in. He hardly noticed the lessening of his workspace however, as he had been completely and utterly consumed with his latest project. The fact that Remmy had solved his puzzle box so effortlessly and quickly had cut him in a deep deep part of his soul, and almost all of his spare creative energies were being channelled into making a new one, a better one, a harder one. Taking inspiration from several episodes of a podcast he’d been listening to, this newest design was founded on fractals, and the strange branching paths they took. A dodecahedron by general shape, it was the designs on the sides, laid in white and stained-black wood, that had to be shifted and manipulated to cause the complex locking mechanism to release itself, revealing the velvet lined interior. It had been weeks he’d been working on it, and with the sheaves upon sheaves of schematics drawn in his loving hand laid out in front of him, only about 30% of the actual assembly had been completed. It was his rabid focus, coupled with the loud music playing from the stereo behind him, that caused him to completely not notice Winston entering their shared creative space until he looked up through his curls, “oh hey dude! Sup?”

When Ricky had suggested that Winston use the space in the workshop as their own, they had been skeptical. But they’d had a spare rig that they’d finally moved from their parents house that they wanted to set up and it gave them a good excuse to spend time with Ricky. Their lives were so full of supernatural shit now that Winston struggled to see their friend regularly. Hanging out adjacent to one another was interesting and after Winston set up that space that had been dedicated to them, they elected to spend time working on a small project. They had some questions about the extents to which enchanting could go, however it seemed to them that the main thing they had to master was the form of the spell. They started with something simple, a locking enchantment on a small cardboard box that would in theory mean that only Winston could open it. They were deep within the prep phase and ready to test out their first time attempting an enchantment. Honestly they weren’t hopeful that it would happen. After all their magic was unreliable at the very best of times and getting it to cooperate in doing something more complex then spontaneous combustion left Winston feeling somewhat skeptical at best. Entering the workshop, they nodded to Ricky. “Not much, just working on this thing.” They nodded towards the shoe box that they were carrying. It seemed prudent not to use anything of sentimental value until they got more competent.

Winston was a particularly calming influence in Ricky’s life; the young mage/wizard/arcanist always seemed cool and collected during even the most stressful of times, and some of that rubbed off on Ricky, who could veer into the borderline manic without much difficulty. Setting down the tweezers he was using to place tiny pieces of wood onto a purely decorative panel for the box, Ricky took a moment to retie his errant hair back, brushing stray sawdust out of the dark curls as he looked across the workshop at Winston, “On a shoebox? Do you have a dead pet in there? I’m not necessarily against necromancy but it seems like thats some upper tier magic that maybe you shouldn’t fuck around with until you get the basics down. Like time magic, probably should steer clear of that too.” He consulted the plans in front of him as he resumed assembling the panel; this particular face of the twelve-sided figure inspired by the fractal nature of fern fronds. One hand held the tweezers idly as the other traced over the design, muttering measurements and courses of action to himself under his breath, switching from spanish to gaelic to english and back again as his mind plotted out his next moves. He didn’t understand the magic Winston worked but, it seemed to be working out for his friend and that was really all that Ricky cared about, “If you want different music on or need it turned down lemme know. I’ve got earbuds I can put in.”

“The shoebox isn’t actually going to be anything, actually. I just wanted to practice on something without potentially enchanting it into something which isn’t usable again.” Winston replied as they set it down. They’d carried a laptop and a stack of wires for various peripherals they were installing in their work space. Their place of work was still a work in progress but they were beginning to get things closer to the way that they wanted them. Pulling down a screen that they’d mounted on an old adjustable arm they’d borrowed from the scrap pile at the station. The amount of old tech that they were able to salvage from broken or old units was mind blowing and Winston already had several boxes of scrap in their room. “I’m planning on learning how to enchant things, seems to be a lot of adding runes to stuff and then imbuing it with power but I’d be interested in looking at the potential power sources that could be involved and what that would change for the enchantment. But that’s all very theoretical because until I have been able to set up the enchantment, which I haven’t been able to do. The theory of it all is fascinating but actually getting it to work in real life has been more difficult.” Their magic was either feast or famine. They were either setting giant crabs on fire or they were struggling to cause flames to burst into existence. “You’re good dude, the music is fine. Although I think that chronomancy and necromancy are definitely beyond my scope and not something I want to fuck with.”

It had become very evident very early on in their friendship that Ricky and Winston’s minds worked in incredibly different ways, and listening to them talk about magic really drove that point home. Whereas Ricky’s mind dealt mainly in abstracts, thoughts ebbing and flowing as randomly and ephemerally as the waves that had birthed him, Winston’s was sharp and regimented, a cascading series of logical statements and hypotheses that marched onward toward practical solutions. It had never been a point of contention between the two of them, however. In fact Ricky thought that if anything it made them function better together, able to see various parts of problems the other’s mind didn’t arrive at naturally. “Well… that sounds complicated as fuck my dude. But…” the last piece of the panel slid softly into place, gentle susurration of wood on wood marking its arrival, and Ricky gently and carefully set it in front of a neatly labeled placard for the glue to dry before he varnished it, “It also sounds like you’re getting more confident in it all. Couple of weeks ago you didn’t believe your magic existed, let alone be able to spout magical theory like that. You’re coming a long ass way.” Picking up the next page of the schematic he started carefully pulling pieces towards him, humming under his breath as he did. “Work still going well?”

The separation of personality between Ricky and Winston had always had different ways of approaching the problem. They’d gone looking for roommates and found each other. At first there had been some conflict and disagreement as there was in any relationship such as theirs but they had worked through most of it and had found that they were able to live successfully in harmony. They’d learned their habits and moods, when someone needed company and when they just needed to be left alone. “Magic is complicated as fuck,” Winston still felt wildly out of their depth, they’d barely covered the rudimentary fundamentals since they’d began reading up on magic and though they had a basic understand of the core knowledge that they required they were yet to be truly an expert, “although I have made a lot of progress and I understand more, there is more then I would ever be able to cover and I’m quickly running out of resources that I can use to actually learn stuff.” They knew what world they lived in now and now that they did know they found themselves wanting to know more. “It might be new but it is fascinating, I can’t believe that I was ignorant for so long…” they trailed off and shrugged. “Works fine, it’s boring and honestly doesn’t seem valuable when I could be back here. But I still want to help people and this is how I would be able to do that, so gotta keep going.”

Ricky carefully set the tiny wooden gear he was carving before he allowed himself to laugh, “I think that might be the understatement of the century, my dude. Magic seems CRAZY complicated… and I am literally an animal that is sometimes a person. Your shit makes my shit look simple.” He resumed his work, leaning over the table-mounted magnifier that allowed even him, with his terrible vision, to do the tiny minute work this project required. “I’m crazy proud of you dude,” he kept his voice low, willing himself not to breathe too heavily as he talked, “I’m sure when you exhaust your resources here, there’re other places you can get stuff from. I’m sure there’s some like… dark web for magi. Mages? Spellsluts? I dunno what you magically self-identify as.” The music continued on around them as they both worked and as he set down the finished gear, Ricky picked up another piece of wood, its future form sketched on it in pencil, “Well I mean don’t be too hard on yourself, dude. A lot of the not-normal parts of White Crest work pretty hard to keep ourselves under wraps. You probs had to have some like… magical coming of age before you could even be ready to see the stuff that’s lurking behind the scenes here.” His hardened look of concentration softened slightly into a fraction of a smile as Winston kept talking, it was one of the many things that bonded them together, the need to help people and do good, “Life isn’t all magic and monsters. You gotta leave time for the normal stuff too. The helping people stuff.”

“Magic is crazy complicated but it seems to be so inherent within our world now that I wonder if perhaps there have been examples of scientific observation that is actually just magic,” Winston replied quietly before shrugging, “Is shapeshifting not magic in someway?” They weren’t really expecting an answer but it didn’t exactly seem like it was a natural thing that had evolved. Though Winston was far from sure about that. Ricky's admission of pride made Winston feel happy, they hadn’t heard it like that before and a smile dragged across their face. “Thanks dude, I am crazy proud of you too, I know this has all been … something.” Skylar, magic, cursed chests on a beach, it was all a lot for them to deal with and Ricky has led the charge. “Exactly, I get the impression that we live in an area that has a lot to offer for this sort of thing and I guess I’d just call myself a spell caster for now. Though a spellslut is a good one.” They considered their past ignorance and shrugged. “It’s whatever, I don’t understand how anyone can live in denial about these things after having their first encounter with it, that makes no sense to me, if you’ve had a brush with this then how could you deny it?” Setting the box down, Winston began working on the enchanting circle that they would need to draw before they could do their magic. It was precise work but they had spent a long time practicing it. “Sure, but it is the magic and monsters that I find interesting…”

“It is, and I’m there’s a lot of overlap between science and magic in ways that we don’t necessarily expect.” Ricky sent the small piece of wood down on the bench, replacing the thin file he’d been using to grind its teeth back in its spot on his tool tray, more engrossed in the conversation than the carving, “Oh it’s absolutely magic. But it’s…. Sorta a loose kind of magic? Like. It happens. It’s a thing. One moment there’s a man, the next there’s a seal, and the sort of in between is less regimented than some other kinds of magic I think. But yet it’s totes magic. Just… involuntary magic. Or at least it’s magic that exists in a way that encompasses me so fully it at least appears involuntary.” Pushing himself back from his work table he moseyed over to the electric kettle and flipped it on, dragging a mug down from the shelf, “You want some tea?” He shrugged as he listened to the water start to heat up, “Denial is a powerful thing,” an unmistakable air of bitterness crept into his voice, “Just look at Skylar. Demonstrably not a human, knows the solution to her problems, refuses to accept that or the fact that she has agency in the level of misery in her life.” Ricky idly watched as Winston started to draw something, that he assumed was in some way tied to the magic he was trying to work on a shoebox of all things, “They are interesting. You know, up until you’re cursed for a month or something wrecks your dining room or a hunter tries to kill you. But. I definitely think just plain old human life would be way too boring for me.”

“I’m starting to see that a lot in everything that I read, this exchange of energy for magic is interesting, I wonder if it could be harnessed differently.” Winston was thinking out loud, they weren’t expecting an answer yet. There was a lot of hardwork that they still needed to do. “Nah I’m good man,” they said as they looked up at their friend. They moved the marker that they were using in a specific motion, marking the box in the way that they had memorised. “I wonder how that came about,” they said generally curious, “this is all so cool, is it evolution, was it magical, was it a mixture of the two, I doubt we’ll ever actually know but even the possibilities are completely fascinating.” They considered Skylar’s situation quietly, frowning to themselves and shifting somewhat uncomfortably at Ricky’s words. They knew that they were right, but that didn’t make it any less of a bitter pill to swallow. “I hope that she works it out, I’m getting really scared for her.” They paused for a second and gazed at their shoes. “Well, I don’t want to condemn or deny anything here, but I don’t think I would want to go back to not knowing. This is a world with so much potential and it’s almost being wasted by all these people who are too ignorant to engage with it.”

As the kettle whistled, Ricky turned it off and filled his mug, plopping a tea bag in before moving back to his bench. “I think it’s one of those things where, if there was a distinct point where magic infected or changed evolution, it’s so far in the past and so buried in myth that short of legit time travel or oracular vision you’ll never find the clear point of separation. But it would be interesting, to know exactly how things like me came into being.” He pulled a trap full of tiny and well-labeled gears towards him, and set the schematic where he could easily read it. He’d checked a ton of books on locksmithing and clockwork out from the library, some of which they’d had to call in from other branches, and had given himself a series of progressively worse headaches trying to comprehend everything in them, but they’d all come together to make what he hoped was a diagram on paper that could be accurately mimicked in reality. “Mmmm.” he made a non-commital noise at Winston’s comments, retying his hair before bending to his intricate work, “Well. Me too. But also. Not my problem anymore. I tried being nice and supportive, I tried forcing her hand. She’ll figure it out or she’ll die and nothing I do will change that those are the only two outcomes.” He didn’t have the mental capacity to respond to the tail end of Winston’s comments, as he was entirely and wholly focused on the work of assembling one of the locking portions of the box, “Those people are dumb and will be purged by their own idiocy.”

Honestly, looking back at this with the blessing of hindsight, Winston would realise that things could’ve been left for a minute. Starting a semi complex incantation to enchant something, especially for the first time was a questionable move when you took into consideration the fact that Skylar might well play on their emotions. But they shrugged at Ricky and sat down in front of the box, shutting their eyes and slowly beginning to try and draw upon the well of power that they knew lived inside of them. They slowly and carefully began to chant in Latin, the incantation they had found was originally written in Latin and they’d spent all of their time committing it perfectly to memory. The tune that they had drawn onto the box began to glow faintly as they chanted and though they didn’t realise it at the time, the mixture of emotional turmoil at what could potentially be happening to their friend Skylar and what was some poor Latin pronunciation was enough to send things wrong. The rune glowed brightly and arch’s of arcane energy sparked from its surface. “Uh, Ricky,” Winston said having stopped chanting, “I might have fucked up.”

Up until this moment, Ricky would have never known that magic had a smell. But it was there, over the smell of sawdust and wood varnish; acrid and ozone and pervasive. He hadn’t really been paying attention when Winston had started chanting, too engrossed in the minute trickery of his own projects. It wasn’t until that smell filled his sensitive nose and he heard them stop chanting that he noticed something was wrong. “Fucked up… how…?” He haltingly got up from his workbench, unable to look at the shoebox across the room, with how blindingly the arcane light sparked and flew off it. “That seems… very very bright. For a shoebox. Is uh…. is it dangerous?” It wasn’t long until Ricky had to press his hand to his eyes, the light too bright, stepping in front of Winston to shield them from… whatever might be about to happen. He could feel the light as an almost physical force, the magic pressing in on and against him and as it rose to a crescendo there was a brief moment where he wondered if he was about to die in a magical accident. Then. As suddenly as it had started it was finished, the room nearly pitch black after the incandescence Of magic gone wrong. “Win?”

“I don’t know how I fucked up, but it definitely is not meant to look anything like that,” Winston replied as they tried to draw the power back into themselves before realising that it was too far gone and whatever happened and they weren’t going to stop it right now. A bolt of arcane energy struck the panels of Ricky’s box and then the light exploded into the room and Winston was knocked off of their feet. Blinking, they managed to get rid of the spots on their eye and saw that the garage that they were in had been entirely encased with the various surfaces of Ricky’s puzzle box. “Uh, this apparently is how I’ve fucked up, I was just trying to put a locking enchantment on the box and it must’ve done something drastically wrong. Winston felt weak. Very weak. As if a good portion of their energy had been sucked from their body.

“Okay I didn’t want to say anything because I don’t know shit about magic but that definitely didn’t seem like what you were trying to do.” Ricky reached down to offer his hand to Winston to help them up before he looked around at what…. He assumed… was still the garage. “Oh fuck.” Ricky didn’t see the carefully organized shelves and supplies that he was so proud of, instead he saw intricately carved pieces of wood arranged in a hauntingly familiar fractal pattern, and above where the door outside should have been was instead a very familiar set of initials; an R and C carved to look like a stylized wave. “So. Uh. Magic is uh…. About intent? Did I hear that somewhere? Maybe? Does uh… does it have to be your intent? Because… I might have been really fucking focused on the box. Like super focused on the box. Which… might be… why it looks like… the box maybe ate the garage? Or something like that. Either way. We might be in trouble. You’re smart right?”

Winston laughed. “Dude what gave it away that that wasn’t what I wanted to do…” they shook their head as they looked around them, “was it the flash of arcane light or the fact that I’ve turned our workshop into a giant version of your box… this is why you don’t fuck around with magic and I really should have known better but instead I fucked around with it, fuck fuck fuck fuck.” They looked around and moved over to the wall, placing their palms on the smooth surface of the wood. It was soft and well crafted beneath their touch. This was definitely something new. “Magic is definitely about intent and if you’re intent was to make a box and my intent was to lock that box then I am a little worried that we might well just be fucking locked in here,” they looked around the room, no doors or windows or even seams for them to pry open, “so we’ve got to find out a way out of a locked puzzle box.” They were well and truly fucked. They were going to die in here. Sweat beaded on their brow and Winston forced themselves to remain calm. They had to breath. There was a way out of here they just had to find it. “I am definitely not smart.” They looked around, what did they have to work with?

“To be honest it was the blinding light and the almost 100% assuredness that I was going to die in a magical explosion. That pretty much made me confident that wasn’t your intended use of the spell. I’m pretty confident in the assessment that you don’t want to kill me.” Ricky scratched the back of his neck as he wandered around what was once his workshop. Whatever the spell had done with his box it hadn’t made a perfect copy. That would have been easy enough to solve; he’d spent so long drawing up the plans he could solve his own box in his sleep. But it had at the very least seemed to take the spirit of his box and transfer it into the prison cell they were now locked in “well I’m dumb as a box of bricks. So. That’s not great. But…” he trailed off a little as he looked at the walls, “okay okay okay. So. The original plan. Was about conversion. Take the original design and convert it in order of ascending scale into a different one.” Furrowing his brow he waved his hands around as he tried to explain. “I read a lot of books about fractals and clockwork and locksmithing in the last couple weeks. We just have to figure out what is the base pattern of the new design and that’s a good starting point.”

“I’ll be honest, there’s no way to know we aren’t dead but I plan to continue operating under the assumption I am still living until I know better.” Winston was starting to wonder if it was really safe for them to continue experimenting with magic in the house, they doubted that they had actually taken the proper precautions and if they made it out of this it was important that they took more steps to make sure that something like this didn’t happen again. “I don’t want to kill either of us if that makes you feel any better but of course there is apparently a limit to what I can handle.” They gazed at the array of shapes on the walls around them, they were trying to work out the shape from the lines facing everywhere. “Okay, so we solve the pattern, do you have any idea what the pattern might be?”

“Well… I’ve just been operating under the assumption that because I still have… you know… rational thought and understanding, we’re alive. I don’t believe in any sort of afterlife. But. I could be entirely talking out of my ass.. Because I’ve also never been magically bound in a facsimile of one of my projects before. So. brand new territory all around.” Ricky wandered around the border of the workshop, running his hands over the polished wooden pieces. “It would have been easier if your spell had directly copied my box. That would have been fine. But it just sorta picked up the vibe and went with it.” He pulled a piece of charcoal from a table and drew a box around a section of wood, “This looks like the fractal base. What all my schematics referred to as Pattern Prime. Original plan had three steps. Pattern Prime turns into Pattern Alpha, Pattern Alpha turns a larger section of the box into Pattern Beta, Pattern Beta turns a larger section of the box into Pattern Gamma, and then Pattern Gamma locks into the other panels of the box to finally make Pattern Omega. Only six of the twelve panels actually had moving pieces that connected to gears. The others were dummy panels meant to throw Remmy off the scent. So… yeah. That’s where we’re at with this. I mean I have axes in here. But somehow I think that’ll make it worse.”

“Plato had a theory that when we die we as humans ascend to a plane of rationality and understanding, maybe we died and went there.” Winston wasn’t trying to be morbid. They didn’t really think that they were dead. But this situation was one of the more absurd ones that they had found themselves in. They couldn’t imagine the level of energy that it must have required for them to make this happen, even if it were accidental. They already felt exhausted. But they knew that it was possible that to resolve this they would have to expend more. Maybe they would have to start carrying an energy bar with them at all time in case they accidentally went too hard with the magic again. “It would have been easier if I could handle the most basic enchantments without locking us within a modified version of your puzzle box,” Winston was frustrated, apparently it didn’t matter what they did to learn they still were far from in control of their magic and there were very real consequences for their actions, “but also know I am judging you for calling them Pattern Prime, Alpha, Beta, Gamma and Omega. Wouldn’t it have been easier to call them pattern one, two, three, four or five?” They smiled gently despite the situation. “I wouldn’t advise axes either, I would like to keep as much of this intact because I don’t know what damaging an incorrect enchantment might do…” they shuddered to think, “Do you think that the actual mechanism could’ve been applied to this?” There was no physical mechanism in their garage normally.

“I’m sorry you’re gonna judge me for pattern prime and then sit here and Plato it up? You’re making it smell like nerd in here.” Ricky stuck his tongue out at his roommate and shrugged “that’s what some of the books called them so I just went with it. Also. I’m not human. So. I dunno if your Plato thing applies” seeing no other immediate recourse, Ricky wiped his charcoal covered fingers on a rag and set about making himself another cup of tea. “To be fair to you, dude, we don’t know how magic reacts to the presence of a non-human. I mean. I’m at least in some way magic, just not in any way with practical applications. That doesn’t seem like it’s setting up a good controlled environment for you to test your abilities in. You’re just starting out. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Looking around he idly bobbed the tea bag in his mug; sharp smell of citrus filling the air. “I mean. Confinement aside. This is honestly super fucking impressive. You turned a whole building into a magical prison! That’s awesome! If we weren’t inside it would be more awesome but hey. Beggars can’t be choosers.” Carrying his mug he moved to a section of the wall, pressing his ear against it as he attempted to slide a bit of paneling. “It doesn’t sound like there are gears behind it. This might just be a purely visual lock”

A wry smile danced its way across Winston’s face. “Yes that is exactly what I am going to do and if you have a problem with the stench of intellect then I can’t help you because that isn’t me.” At least they could still have a good time even if they were potentially going to die in this room. They looked at Ricky and nodded. “That is a very good point, I forgot that you were a seal, you look remarkably human for a seal you know that?” They looked around the room. They knew that Ricky was trying to make them feel a bit better by offering them the possibility of a way out of responsibility but they didn’t think that they could blame this on them. “I don’t think that the presence of a non human would have really affected it, maybe it did, but it might as likely been a problem with concentration or an error in the enchantment that I physically drew onto the box.” They would have to design a template to ensure that this was mitigated as much as possible in the future. They looked around the room as more energy drained from them and pulled open one of their draws and pulling out a protein bar in an attempt to refuel with something that would battle the energy drain they were experiencing. Rubbing their eyes free of tiredness, Winston adjusted their lenses. “Impressive sure, concerning that I am capable of doing either barely anything or fundamentally changing the reality of a situation… this is not what I had meant to do and honestly the fact that it turned out like this is somewhat worrying, although at least we know that we can create something like this in case we need it.” They reached out and placed their palm on the wall, and took a step back as they were staggered by the experience they felt. “I can’t find physical gears, but there seem to magical like, lines, almost as if we could line them up like the original puzzle box…” they looked at the panel Ricky was examining. “Turn that ninety degrees, that way the line will line up with the panel to the left and right and then turn the panel above it 270 degrees and that will complete a shape.”

“It’s certainly not me. I am a confirmed and notorious moron. Any stench of intellect therefore has to be coming from you.” Winking, Ricky took another sip of his tea, “well that’s the point isn’t it. That I look human. Have to confuse all you landlubbers. Hide in plain site and all of that.” Being trapped in a magical box that may or may not contain just their souls since they may or may not have been dead already was surprisingly relaxing since he was stuck there with Winston. “If I ever need a magical prison, which, given the concentration of Hunters in town I might, I’m going to come to you because this is impressive.” He put his hands where Winston indicated and made the directed changes, watching as the dark and pale wood morphed into a different pattern “okay now you do to the same thing on the panel over there by the belt sander. The way mine worked you have to do each transformation on each panel as a group. So they all get the final switch at the same time.” Now that Winston had figured out the base pattern they were meant to be changing on the walls, Ricky felt a lot better about their chances. He was definitely more useful in the action portions of a plan, and now that he had action to do he could finally be helpful, “see. You’re the smart one.”

“You know that you’re quite literally studying art..” Winston pointed out with a frown, “I know that you don’t think you’re an intellectual or anything but you’re smart. I can’t do half of the things that you can…” they shrugged gently and nodded, “you do a very convincing job of looking human and acting human…” they smiled, “I was fooled for a long time and I lived with you. In hindsight the signs were all there.” They laughed and shook their head. “I wouldn’t expect anything more like this from me, this is something that is way beyond me, entirely accidental, not what I wanted at all and I wouldn’t want to even attempt something like this without more guarantees, this trial and effort escape isn’t something I ever want to risk repeating.” Winston followed Ricky’s instructions and began rearranging the panels of the walls. It was good that Ricky was there to help them otherwise the actual practical application of the changing of the panels would’ve certainly escaped them for much longer then it had Ricky. With their help however they were able to make the prescribed changes. “I’m the one who can cast spells, it is a little different.”

“I’m plenty talented, don’t get me wrong. I’m an incredibly skilled craftsman, as evidenced at least in part by this fucking prison we’re in. This spell is a little bit both of us I think. But one of my students explained it in a super nerdy dungeons and dragons way once. I’ve got shit intelligence, but plenty of points in wisdom. I’m not book smart for damn sure. But. I’m intelligent in other ways.” Ricky couldn’t help but laugh a little, “a lot of the supernatural is right there if you know what signs to look for. But.That’s the problem. Humans don’t know what to look for. So. It’s pretty easy for us to slip between the cracks” he vaulted a low bench to get to the other side of the shop and mimic the change they’d affected on the first two panels on a section half hidden behind a bookshelf. “Bah. That’s just you selling yourself short, draoi. It’s beyond you now. It’s accidental now. That does not mean it’ll be accidental or beyond you forever. You think I started out making boxes like this? Statues like that?” He gestured to the other side of the shop where a half-finished statue of icarus, wings melting as he fell, stood on a bench, “hours and hours and hours and hours of practice. Shitty duck after shitty duck until they became less shitty.” He stood on a bench to reach a higher portion of the wall, shifting and twisting panels until the second iteration of the design fell into place. “Mimic this on your wall. This is one of your shitty ducks. You just need to put in more hours. Don’t forget that you’re fundamentally altering the fabric of the universe. That’s gonna take some fucking practice.”

“Ricky, as much as this might amaze you, we don’t actually live within a dungeons and dragons game. Now I know that might indeed be somewhat mind blowing.” Winston laughed gently and shook their head. “I’m fucking with you, I think that you’re right. We don’t know what we’re looking for, but you guys seem to and that is where we compliment each other. But unfortunately I do think that you’re right and that this is an amalgamation of this stuff. A combination of both my magic and your magic too. Not necessarily in the most ta but it is still there.” They shrugged gently and sighed, feeling a little deflated. “I know that it is something that has to keep going, I know that it is something that is going to take time to learn, but I can see all of these amazing possibilities, I can see all of these amazing things and feats that I could be doing to help people and I can’t because I have only just found out about this.” They sometimes wished that they were like Penelope or Morgan, they both knew exactly what they were doing and how they were going to do it. Winston would give almost anything to have that kind of courage and confidence.

“You know I really hope we’re not dead because this is a lot of sass to spend eternity with. If this was dnd I’d have some dope armor and as I currently don’t have dope armor I’m unfortunately very aware this isn’t a fun fantasy magical world.” Ricky looked at the walls, eyes following the patterns until he saw the crossroads he was looking for. Unfortunately they were nearly at the ceiling, which meant he was standing on his tiptoes on top of a workbench trying to shift the panels “you’ve got time dude. You’re 24. You’ve got years to get good and do all the amazing and helpful bits of magic you’re dreaming of. There’s no doubt in my mind that you’ll be capable of it one day.” He jumped to get the last piece in place before clambering down and moving to the other side of the workshop to do the same on another panel. “Just use them as stretch goals. Some people keep pictures of what they want to look like on the mirror. You can just keep spell descriptions.” Finishing the panel he was working on he looked around the prison, “there should just be one more mutation. Then we find out if we’re dead or not!”

“I really hope that we’re not dead because I’ve yet to fulfil my dream of actually owning dope D&D armour,” Winston quipped back in reply, “not to mention that dying in a bizarro prison box realm isn’t exactly my idea of fun.” Nervously, Winston watched Ricky stretch as they adjusted the ceiling panels and did their best to help out. Their balance was much less adept then Ricky’s so they took it much slower. But they were determined to help. “I know, I know, everyone always says that there is time for everything but inherently isn’t that a lie, there won’t be time for everything. There’ll definitely be time for new magic don’t get me wrong, but what if I don’t get to do everything I want?” It had always been a fear. They didn’t want to leave White Crest but they also knew that if they stayed forever they might miss out on some stuff. Looking around them, Winston looked for the final thing that they would have to change. “Any idea what we’re looking for?” they said as they scanned the room through their glasses.

“I made a joke to Deidre about having cool ass armor and now I have the distinct impression it’s gonna show up at our door one day. I think she has entirely too much disposable income on her hands.” Ricky couldn’t help but grin as he looked around the room to try to figure out the last set of steps to unlock their magical prison. “Hey. This was a bizarro prison realm house but we made it a bizarro prison realm home.” Ricky let his eyes drift out of focus slightly as he wandered the room, trying not to see the details but only focus on the big picture, “well that’s just part of being alive. Not even human. Just alive and mortal. The fear that you won’t have time to do all the things you want to do, accomplish all the goals you want to accomplish. But there’s really no way to plan or prep for the great vastness of possibilities that life is. You can’t prepare for every outcome. So. I guess you just do what you can and try not to regret anything else.” His strange erratic orbit of the room stopped abruptly as he saw what he was looking for. “There!” He pushed a stack of notebooks aside and started to rearrange the pattern on one of the walls “it’s gotta be that. Do that on your wall and I’ll get the third one and that should, fingers crossed, be the final pattern.”

“Deirdre is weird, I don’t know why she would have an excess of income but she is definitely the type of person to spend an absurd amount of money on something like armour, but i think that fae cultures — which is a phrase I NEVER thought that I would say — anyway fae cultures are kind of different to ours, which is why Deirdre is y'know Deirdre.” Winston had a knot in their stomach and was far from convinced that they weren’t dead. But this was their mess to clean up and they were determined to do it. At least that way they would know about the fate of their own mortality. “There is no one that I wish I could get stuck in bizarro realms with more then you.”

Winston was kind of curious as to what was real and what was fiction. How did you actually tell these things apart? It wasn’t like there was an encyclopedia monster book or anything. Ricky seemed to have spotted something that he thought was important and Winston was quick to follow his instructions, slotting his part of the wall into the allotted spot that Ricky had suggested. “Okay, it is in place, now we have to do the third one right?”

“Oh thank god you know about her. It’s getting really hard to keep track of who knows who is what. But yes. If I remember stories my mom told me about them, bestowing favors upon mere mortals… like me and you… in the form of spectacular armor is right up her alley, as a fae.” He cast his gaze around the room as Winston moved and changed the wall they were near to align the patterns into what Ricky hoped was the final and correct position, “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in awhile, dude. I appreciate that. We’re bizarro prison realm buddies for… well… I sure as fuck hope not for life but for as long as it takes to get out of there.” Finding the last spot on the wall behind a bench, Ricky dragged the heavy set of shelves laboriously out of the way, fingers shaking slightly as he moved the wall into the final piece of the puzzle. As the last piece slid into place he heard, and felt in the pit of his chest, a click, and turned to see exactly what he had hoped for; a panel sliding back onto itself, revealing a button on the wall roughly where the door should have been, “That… should, and I”m really going out on a hopeful limb here, be the button to unlock this enchantment. We did everything like the box operates, and it revealed a button like the box does. So. It’s your spell dude… you wanna do the honors?”

“Honestly, I know exactly what you mean, the number of times I’ve almost ‘outted’ someone in a supernatural sense is ridiculous. And it’s not like you can act as if you know or it’s a normal thing because then all the normies will get their pitchforks and torches out and I can’t be bothered with a literal witch hunt.” Winston laughed at their own comment before continuing their train of thought. “Though I will admit that I’m hopeful for the armour, for your sake. Not that you’d ever use it. It’d be good furniture.” Winston turned and looked at Ricky before shrugging. “I mean it dude, I don’t know that there are many people that I would happily keep living with, ironically you being a seal hasn’t really changed that.” Looking as Ricky activated the next section, Winston was amazed as a panel of the wall slid backwards and revealed a button. “Well,” Winston replied swallowing nervously, “I guess here goes nothing.” They took a step forward and pressed the button on the wall, watching it compress and click into place and nervously waiting for their potential and inevitable death as the room was enveloped in a bright magic light.

“God I know exactly what you mean. I’m always just like… oh god…. Who knows what. I feel like I need a super complicated spreadsheet just to try to keep track of who knows what identity, my own included.” Ricky beamed over at his roommate, “Oh come on man. You know I would wear that shit all the time at home. Making brunch? Wearing my armor. Sorting the mail? Wearing the armor. Vacuuming? Wearing the armor.” Ricky couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking his head, “At least with a seal man hybrid I’m not leaving fish guts around. I’ve got some human sensibilities.” Ricky would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t shaking a little as Winston approached the button and pressed it, another blinding flash of magic he could feel in his bones filling his field of vision as he hoped the spell that bound them in the garage was unravelling. When the bright light faded he was overjoyed to see the garage back to its normal state, and the door showed the trees outside the garage, “FUCK YES!!!!” He shouted, vaulting a table and throwing the door open, “We’re not dead!! We solved the puzzle spell and we’re not fucking dead!!!!”

“I’ve just resorted to always being incredibly vague and hoping that I never say anything that needs too much explaining. It’s like living a million falsehoods all at once and not knowing which one you have to resort to next.” Winston was pleased that they weren’t the only one struggling with it. “That seems like it would be incredibly inconvenient and potentially uncomfortable to be constantly wearing a suit of armour. Especially whilst vacuuming.” They paused and shrugged. “I can deal.” Winston blinked several times at the light as it enveloped them and then as quickly as it had come it was gone. Winston stood there for a moment, dazed and confused by the entire situation. Then they realised that they had made it and for the moment were in fact very much alive. Sighing a very deep relief, Winston slumped backwards into their desk chair and grinned. “Ahaha!” they hooted with glee, “Fuck dude we actually solved it, I don’t think your puzzle box is hard enough dude.” They grinned and looked at the very mundane shoe box that they had failed to enchant, pulling their glasses off and rubbing their eyes exhaustedly. “I think I’m done with enchanting shit for today.”

#p: ricky #para #wickedswriting #lessons in intent

9 notes · View notes

sending-the-message · 7 years ago

Text

I’m severely regretting posting a photo of my great-grandfather online by kapekilp

I posted a picture of my great-grandfather over to r/OldSchoolCool a few days ago. I posted it on my main account (not this one). I regret posting it. It’s turned my family’s lives upside down, opened up possibilities I’d rather not even contemplate, and thrown into question everything I thought I knew.

I was scanning some old family photos onto the computer for my Mum. I’ve always been fascinated by my great-grandfather – my Mum always has so many stories to tell me about him, and how he brightened her childhood – he was truly a remarkable character. Plus, he was a particularly handsome man – I’ve always loved that photograph of him, with his chiselled face and his dark eyes staring into the distance. He wasn’t looking directly at the camera. It’s the only photograph we have of him. My Mum says he was caught off-guard by that photograph, because he normally never liked having his photo taken.

Before I posted the photo, I was pretty certain he’d be a sure-fire hit with the online crowd. And I was right. But you know, at the same time, I was still surprised by the extent to which people agreed actually with me – the photograph shot up to thousands of upvotes very quickly. My great-grandfather was internet famous.

I got the usual ‘Oh my goodness your great-grandpa was soo handsome!’

and ‘Is your great granddady single?!’ comments.

Also: ‘Hey, can we have a picture of you, OP, so we can see how much of the good looks you inherited?’

The first few comments made me smile and feel oddly proud of my genealogical inheritance. After a while it started to get a bit creepy, as some people started to cross boundaries and take things too far – I started to feel guilty.

Sure, there were some beautiful, respectful comments, discussion and questions – but as the popularity of the photograph steadily increased, so did its exposure to the world in general, and that was when the less-than-savoury characters started coming out of the woodwork.

I never knew my great-grandfather, but from everything that I’ve heard, he was such an upright, almost regal sort of man – well-bred, well educated, respectable and dignified. A true gentleman, and he had been greatly loved and revered by my family. And now, it felt like an oxymoron, this clash of worlds – having my amazing, dignified great-grandfather on display for the ugly underbelly of the internet to ogle and make crude remarks. It felt like I was violating his memory; like I was literally whoring him out for my own personal gain. And what gain? A few arbitrary internet points?

I was about to remove the post – when two things happened, in fairly quick succession. First, someone kindly offered to colourise the photo and asked for details about hair/eye colour etc. I asked my Mum for details. She had been very close to her granddad, and she could remember everything very well. The most striking thing about him – that you couldn’t see from the black-and-white photograph – was that he had two different coloured eyes: one a deep green, and the other dark brown. In the black-and-white photo it just looked like there was a shadow over the darker eye.

When the colourised version came, it was beautifully done. They got the shades exactly right. That made the whole ‘online sharing’ experience slightly redeeming, I must say. I showed my Mum, and it made her cry. I’d almost been afraid to show my Mum, because she had loved her grandpa greatly, to the extent that she still didn’t like to talk about the end of his days – all I know is that it had been an extremely traumatic time for her. She sometimes still tears up, if something happens to remind her about the end.

Anyway, a few minutes after the colourised version was posted for everyone to see, someone responded.

‘Hey there. I know this is going to sound really weird, but after seeing that colourised photo of your great-grandpa, I know a guy who looks EXACTLY like him! Seriously! He comes into my coffee shop almost every day so I see him a lot. It’s like his doppleganger or something! I’m going to take a photo and send it to you tomorrow morning. I swear, it’s exactly like him!!’

I checked out the poster’s history, and it didn’t look like he was a troll or anything. I don’t know, something about his entire post history and earnest way that he’d written the message, made me believe him, and feel mildly interested about the promised picture. His enthusiasm seemed genuine, and so I was intrigued to see this alleged doppleganger. Most likely it wouldn’t look like my great-grandpa at all, though, I was sure. After all, we’re often told by friends that they know someone who looks exactly like so-and-so, and when you see the proposed ‘twin’ later on, it’s usually quite disappointing.

So I just replied:

‘Hey, cool! I can’t wait to see the photograph of my ancestral twin, haha.’

And then soon forgot all about it, basically. The next day, though, I got this message:

‘Hey. So, I know I promised a photograph, and here it is. Just a quick disclaimer: I was hoping to get a straight head-on shot of the guy. I asked him if I could take his photograph, and he asked why, and I tried to briefly explain without sounding too stupid. Basically I told him that there was a picture on the internet that looked just like him, and I wanted to send his picture to a great-granddaughter of the dude he looked just like. It sounded progressively weirder as I tried to explain it, haha… It made me realise that things that are perfectly reasonable on the internet can sound so utterly bizarre in real life!

Anyways, I don’t know why but he got quite angry and wouldn’t let me take his photo. I mean, fair play to him, not everyone likes their photo taken to be shared on the internet. But I mean, it was weird how his attitude just did a 180… he’s always so friendly and nice and he tips really well. I would have expected him to say ‘no’ nicely. But it really upset him. He was very curt with me. I got the sense now that this’ll be his last visit here, which is a shame, because he seemed like a cool dude before all this :(

Anyways so, I didn’t want to let you down after the build-up yesterday. Plus, the fact that he seemed so annoyed meant that he likely won’t come back, and so this would be my last chance to get a photo! So I know this is really iffy, ethics wise or whatever, but I sneaked a photo anyway, haha. He had to stop at the door – he held the door open for someone coming inside. So I *was able to snap a quick pic, but he wasn’t looking right at me, which is both why I was able to take the picture, but also why the picture isn’t that great.

It’s a side-pose so maybe you won’t be able to see the resemblance as well as if it had been from the front. But seriously, I still thinks it looks just like your mom’s grandpa. I hope you’ll agree. Let me know what you think.’

Given the lengths this poor guy had gone to in order to attain this picture, I was quite amused, so I clicked the photo with neutral expectations. The man was visible in side-view, but I had to admit he did bear a passing resemblance to the colourised version of my great grandfather. Maybe he was a distant relative, somehow. It bears noting that the guy who sent the photo was practically on the other side of the world to me, and to my knowledge, I have no relatives in America, so this is really unlikely.

I thought the ‘doppelganger’ photo would amuse my mother, who of course, had known her grandfather very well. It would be interesting to get her opinion on it, I thought.

I took over my laptop to her and showed her the photograph. She glanced at the screen, first absent-mindedly, and but then she did a double-take. She couldn’t take her eyes off the screen.

‘My God,’ she said, putting her hand to her mouth. She leaned into the screen, peering at it. ‘Can you zoom in? On his face?’

I zoomed in as much as I could without making a pixelated blurry mess of the face.

She stared at him for what seemed like ages.

‘My God, it looks just like him,’ she said, finally. ‘I mean, honestly. Just like him. I mean – even…’

She ran her fingertips over the screen so earnestly and lovingly.

‘Do you see the slight scar there? On his cheek, near this ear? He used to tell me stories about how he got that. A different story every night. I was so little – I’d sit nestled on his knee and gaze up at that scar, sometimes until I fell asleep. And – ’

She gasped and pointed at the scar on the man’s hand, which was clutching the cup of coffee. His sleeve was slightly lifted back. There was the trace of a scar protruding from his forearm, extending onto the back of his hand.

‘That one, too. That one was so prominent. It was a deeply-cut scar. I could feel that one underneath my fingers when I held his hand. It seemed huge to me, then, underneath my small hand. He’d tell me stories about that one, too. Silly little stories, to amuse me. Fights that he’d gotten into. Or mythical beasts he’d wrestled.’

She sighed and smiled, lost in her happy childhood memories for a moment, and then, I guess, the bizarreness of the situation hit her. The man holding the coffee in this modern photograph, was a young man. And yet he had the face and accurate identifying features of my mother’s grandfather.

She sat down heavily on the chair next to the table.

‘How is this possible?’ I asked, voicing the obvious question for both of us.

‘Could it be a hoax?’ she said. ‘Could this man – who sent you the picture – could he be playing a trick on you? These internet people can be so clever with their – their Photoshop stuff, can’t they? Could they have worked from your original photo?’

‘Well… yes… maybe but…’ I trailed off. I mean, it was the only possible explanation I could think of. Anything else would be too bizarre.

I brought up the original photograph, the one where my actual great-grandfather was facing towards the camera more head-on. The scar near his ear wasn’t visible due to the angle of his face. His hand wasn’t in view at all, either.

My mother and I both took in these details, wordlessly. She stared at me, her eyes wide.

‘This is impossible,’ she said. ‘It can’t be possible.’

I sat down next to her. We sat in silence for a while. My blood was ringing in my ears. There had to be some explanation, surely? It had to be a trick, or a joke, somehow. Or just a really, really weird coincidence?

Having said that, the picture wasn’t that great quality. You could see the scars once my Mum had pointed them out, but not before. So maybe it was like an optical illusion, like one of those ‘hidden pattern’ type things that aren’t really there, but you make yourself see them, and then you can’t unsee them. Maybe it was like that, and the scars weren’t really there, and we saw them because my Mum expected to see them, because the man’s face looked a bit like her grandad, and she’d made me see them now, too. Hey, it could be a prominent vein on his hand, or the lighting, or something, and the lighting had caught it just right.

I said all of this to my Mum, and she nodded along, but I could tell she wasn’t convinced.

‘I suppose…’ she said, and then she trialled off. ‘But…’

‘What?’

‘It might have something to do with what happened at… at the end.’ She was staring at the floor, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her hands were shaking, and she seemed… frightened.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked, carefully.

She shook her head.

‘I’m being ridiculous,’ she said, and she just got up, and left. Her whole body was trembling, and I could see tears on her face.

You have to understand some backstory, even though admittedly I don’t know all that much. Mum has never spoken about those last few days, despite my previous careful prodding. All I know is, it was a traumatic time when she lost him. It was some sort of violent accident. I know no details beyond that. She still has nightmares about it, and was in therapy for some time. I was itching for details when I was little, but I had eventually made peace with the fact that I might never know. Any small details had been like gold dust.

She talks about him all the time, his life, his character, passing on his wisdom. But never about those end days. Not to me (and never to my Dad, either, because I’ve asked him). It’s basically ‘restricted territory’ for our family to discuss. I think, partially because of the mystery around his end days, and what an amazing person she describes him to have been – I’ve always been so intrigued by this man’s presence in our family history, and the bond my mother shared with him, how he had shaped her character. I guess it’s because of this general awe and intrigue that I’d scanned that old picture into my laptop in the first place, and then why I posted it online. Because I wanted to share his essence with the world.

So, of course, my natural curiosity was on fire when she just walked away like that…. So close to telling me more, and clearly in some sort of turmoil. And she thought – whatever it was that happened at the end – might be related to this? This modern-day man walking around who looked like him? How on earth is that even possible, and what the hell was it that happened?

I really wanted to go after her and just open up my flood of questions, but she seemed in that unreachable mood again, liked she often did when she was reliving her traumatic memories. I could hear her crying and I didn’t want to open any wounds.

So I just sat there awkwardly, my nerves a squirming bundle of unease… and confusion and an uneasy feeling of fear, I guess. I was trying to process things but just coming up blank.

The modern photo was just a coincidence, we were seeing scars where there were none, and I’d managed to open up a whole can of traumatic worms for my poor mother, probably messing with her mental health. I should have known better than to post about this sensitive subject online at all.

My mind was made up, then, to delete the post – and forget all about it.

I logged into my account and I had hundreds of new messages. I’d been offline most of the day, because my Mum and I had been discussing the new photo for quite a while. I opened my inbox with a bit of a sigh, expecting more of the same general comments of jokes and compliments and the occasional lewd remark.

Except, what was posted just amplified my unease by a thousand. I have no idea what to think. I’m terrified now…. I think I’ve opened up a Pandora’s box in our family history.

Here’s what happened: after that guy posted the modern photo of my ‘great-grandpa’ in the coffee shop, along with the colourised version from the other user… there had been a barrage of comments. Here is just a sample that I copy/pasted and saved at that time (there were many, many others, though, some that I didn't even manage to read):

(Edit: I've now quickly edited out their usernames, sorry if this messes up formatting)

User 1:

‘Dude… this is gonna sound pretty random, but that guy looks just like a mythical figure famous in my hometown. They say he’s evil and has a flying beast at his behest, that he’ll summon, if you cross him. The sounds of its helper-creature’s screams are enough to kill you. We have an old portrait of him in our Town Hall, it’s basically part of our heritage. They say that many years ago he and the Screaming Falcon wiped out half the town population because they mistreated him. I’m going to post the portrait tomorrow. Same chimera eyes and everything! Freaky!’

(Reply to the above):

User 2:

Are you from my hometown? I won’t post the exact place b/c doxxing… but are you in South America? We have exactly the same legend here! Except we call him something different. We call him the Cunning Eyed One. They say he has two different coloured eyes because his flying minion can see through one of his eyes. Anyone he doesn’t like… anyone with attitude… the monster flies over immediately. Its screams are enough to paralyse you and pulverise your flesh, just from the sound alone. I used to be so scared whenever I heard screaming during the night. My mother would scare me and my brothers with the Cunning Eyed Man all the time whenever we misbehaved. And there are old people here who swear they’ve had run-ins with him, or know someone who has. Everyone thinks he’s real. I got thrills when I saw you mention the legend.’

(Reply):

User 1: I’m not from South America – I’m from a tiny town in Eastern Europe! How scary that you guys have basically the same legend over there! I’ve never heard anyone else mention this legend other than here in my home town.’

User 3

Wow… now that you post those two photos… I have an old book of legends. One of the illustrations is of a handsome dark haired man with two eye colours. They say he’s a cruel monster disguised as a man, uncannily clever. Anyone who fails his tests is woken up to the sound of screaming, and the screams make their flesh rot and fall off. It’s described in so much detail with historical eye witnesses and stuff. The man looks like the photo here (sorry, OP, no disrespect to your grandpa, but it looks so much like him). This was an old legend from a small, remote Scandinavian village, I think. I can’t remember the name they gave to the monster. I’ll dig out the book and post more details. The way it was described gave me the creeps. Never heard anyone talk about this before, it was a really obscure legend.

User 4:

’OMG I know what you guys are talking about! We have a similar legend in India! In the village where my parents were from! I am SO EXCITED to hear others talking about this! My mother would tell me about something that happened to her aunt when she was little by the (rough translation) ‘Cruel, One-Eyed Demon’ with his Helper, the ‘Screaming Devil’. They call him one-eyed because they said he could only see through his dark eye, or he closed one eye to look at you through his good eye. I’m going to have to type out that story properly for you – I’m going to get my Mum to tell it again. Seriously, me and my cousins loved and hated that story in equal measure, it was so scary and we’d never sleep afterwards! We’d freak each other out by screaming in the middle of the night and scare each other awake. My older cousin did that once and I peed the bed, I was so scared (TMI, I know). All the elders in our village would tell us about it when I visited back home. OMG I am so thrilled that other countries have this same demon guy in their history too! It makes it so much scarier… like he really roamed the world. Wow, I can’t wait to tell my cousins. This is, like, all my childhood excitement/fears rushing back!’

User 5:

’We have a very similar urban legend in the place where I am from. They say he’s immortal and he flies from place to place on the back of his winged screaming monster thing… it had a name, can’t remember it. They have different names for it. They say that he had different coloured eyes, one evil and one good, and depending on how he felt about you, he would use one or the other to look at you. If he looks at you through the black eye, you’re screwed, basically. I also remember something about the screaming. It was my grandpa who would tell us kids stories about him, that he heard from his mother. Pretty cool to see it being talked about on here. My family is from a small village in China, but haven’t heard anyone else mention it. I thought the stories died out with my grandpa.

User 6:

’I’m blown away. Honestly. I thought this story was just an urban legend confined to my family, or something! I had a great uncle who swore he saw this man with unusually uncanny, beautiful, eyes, that were two different colours. He was almost hypnotised by them. The man – who my Great Uncle always swore up and down was not a man, but rather a monster of some kind presenting himself like a man - was very strong, and my uncle was very scared. My great uncle was working in a factory on the night shift. This man managed to bend metal with his bare hands, or something, because he was angry. My Uncle was freaked out, and he managed to get away from that place, came come with a high fever. The next morning the people who were there at his work that night were found literally pulverised. On phone, will type out whole details later if anyone interested. Can’t believe others are mentioning this same sounding man in other parts of the world that match up to what my great uncle said. Never really believed it fully until now.’

User 7:

’Guys. I had that photo open in my browser, and my grandma walked past – she’s visiting us. I’m not lying I swear. She saw the photos and she did a double take and just froze. She’s saying the man’s a ‘terrible creature’ from her childhood. I’ve never seen her like that before. She was legit scared and asking me where I got the photos, why I was looking at him, where were these photos taken, was this man still alive, where was he…. and she was getting all worked up… she just left our house and she’s gone home now, really abruptly. Won’t answer my calls. She seemed really upset and shaken. I swear I’m not making this up.’

(Reply): ’Which photo? OP’s great gramps or the new pic?’

User 7 (replying to the reply): ’Both. I was comparing them side by side, just out of curiosity. I never expected a reaction like that. I’m really freaked out. And reading other replies here, even more freaked out. I’ll see if I can get anymore info from my grandma when she calms down.’

User 8:‘I feel really sorry for OP. Turns out her great-grandpa looks just like a legendary demonic monster guy.’

User 9 (replying to the above): ’What if OP’s gramps really is this monster guy? Everyone swears it looks just like him, and it’s his likeness that’s triggered all this discussion…’

And on and on. Many legends and lore of a man who apparently looks JUST like my great grandpa, with two coloured eyes, one green, one dark brown, and different stories but all sharing very similar elements to the lore that follows this man all around the world. Lots of people saying they heard this legend, these stories around this man/monster/demon.

But here’s the worst part.

I felt really tired out reading all that stuff. I mean, obviously, I reasoned that they’ve just latched onto the fact that my great grandpa just happened to have the same unusually coloured eyes as the man in these legends. But with my Mum’s reaction earlier I was just feeling bad and overwhelmed I guess, so I just left the laptop and I went to sleep. There were hundreds of comments I still hadn’t read, and I’d changed my mind and I didn’t want to delete the discussion just then, because there were so many people involved and the whole thing was just buzzing and taking on a life of its own, and so I felt like I’d be rude just to cut it off abruptly when there were so many people so excited.

Besides, it wasn’t even about my great-grandpa anymore, it was just that his multi-coloured eyes had unearthed a legend that people had thus far just kept tucked away in their little corners of the world until then. At that point, I was even slightly proud that my photo had managed to bring to light a hidden, very interesting sounding, obscure legend that many cultures seemed to have their version of. I felt I would enjoy the discussion more when I was better-rested.

I wanted to take another look at the updated discussion in the morning, so I left the laptop in the living room, with the page open.

Big mistake.

I woke up this morning and my Mum was sitting by the laptop, reading it all. Her face was white as a sheet, honestly. Even on her worst days she’s never been like that. Even on the days when she’s had nightmares that reminded her of how her beloved grandpa died… even when she’s been reliving the trauma, I’ve never seen her look like she did that morning.

I was kicking myself for leaving the laptop open, so I snapped it shut, quickly, so she couldn’t read more (kind of rude, but it was basically to protect her) and I just tried to laugh the whole thing off. She wasn’t in a great place, mentally, anyway, because my stupid post had probably awakened further traumatic memories for her about his death and just… I really felt awful to have pushed her to this point. The discussion about the legend of the two-coloured eyed man was an off-shoot and unrelated, she had no business reading about it in her anxious state.

‘I know, Mum. It’s weird how there’s a legend about a creepy figure… with similar multi-coloured eyes!’ I laughed. ‘I guess there must be something in our collective unconscious about people finding chimera eyes scary, or something. So they built a legend around that.’

She stared off into middle distance, her gaze still fixed on the place where I’d closed the laptop monitor.

I tried to talk about other things, I rambled on, actually. And she just sat there, transfixed. In shock.

I was getting really scared now, so I got her a glass of water. She took it, just absent-mindedly, and held it, but didn’t drink it.

I was feeling terrible, there were goosebumps on my arms. Somehow, reading all that ridiculous, hyping up and exaggeration of the lore surrounding a two-coloured-eyed man had messed with my poor mum’s head. Was she having a mental breakdown? I really was such an awful human being for throwing my family’s sensitivities to the mercy of the internet like this. I was wondering whether to take her to the doctor.

She put the glass down. And got up. She walked into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. I could hear the sound of her retching.

I ran behind her and stood at the door helplessly, crying too, now, really, seriously, feeling like such a terrible person for opening this whole thing up. People on the internet think they can say what they want and run their mouths and create theories and not realise that those careless comments and hysteria can really impact people in real life. How dare I open up my family, my poor Mum, up to that sort of stuff? She was having therapy for his death, she still had regular nightmares, for God’s sake. Why did I ever think this was a good idea, and why had I let her be exposed to those horrible, persistent people getting their kicks from relating their stories?

When she emerged, she was puffy-eyed and hoarse.

‘I’m so sorry, Mum,’ I said, and hugged her, held her tightly, trying to squeeze away the bad feelings, somehow, to protect her from all that bad stuff. To fix her through sheer determined love. I really, really, hate seeing her when she has one of her anxiety attacks. It was a constant fear of mine, to see her in that broken state, when I was little. If you’ve ever seen a parent in a vulnerable state, you know exactly how awful, how scary, how heart-breaking it is. ‘All that stuff on the internet, it’s so stupid, I’m so sorry…’

‘It isn’t stupid,’ she said, in a small voice. She basically pushed me away. ‘It’s what I’ve feared, all these years.’ She was looking at the floor.

‘Ok… so, Mum, I think we need to go see the doctor this afternoon…’

‘I heard the screams,’ she said, looking at me in eyes for the first time. ‘I heard the sound of the screams. When I was little…. I saw the…’ She coughed and put a hand to her mouth, and I thought she was going to be sick again. But she wasn’t. She swayed a little, but steadied herself.

‘I had no idea about the scale of things. I had no idea he was… I mean, I guessed a little… but… Oh God! I was always so afraid to face the fear I always had. I loved him so much. I never wanted to face it.’

She covered her eyes and started sobbing – deep, gut-wrenching sobs – and then she went into her room. She hasn’t come out.

I really have no idea what to think, how to feel. I can’t even concentrate on the newer posts and messages I received. I’ve deleted the original post now, with its photo and discussion. I just can’t handle it.

I feel numb, but there’s this definite sense of terror, too, eating away at the back of my head. I feel so many large, unwieldly thoughts that make no sense, just clanging around in my brain, getting larger, like echoes, but I can’t focus on any one coherent thought. None of this makes sense.

Edit: I just went for a nap, and woke up to find a letter from my mother. She’s written something for me and I think she’s gone out for a walk. I think it contains more info, finally, about my great-grandpa. I’m going to read it through and will try and update.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

0 notes