Chapter Text
Fenton curses to himself as he missteps and almost slips on the path. He’s quickly running out of time and light, dusk settling into nightfall faster than he’d like. This path had been scouted by others in the past, yet remained overgrown and unpleasant to tread, becoming more than twice as worse as his daylight ran out. He had drawn the short straw and was sent by the church to investigate a property deep in the woods, so guarded by the natural world with difficult flora and dense trees. The grounds had remained a mystery for long enough now, and they wanted to put the land to use if it was indeed uninhabited, but common ghost stories took ahold of the town when people attempted to venture far enough into the forest. That said, one hundred percent of the stories were absolute hearsay. No soul had made it far enough to see beyond a faint outline of the top of the spires of the mansion, no one had come remotely close enough to see the front gates (immediately returning with fake tales of the various ghouls that lived there), but that had been enough for the church to want to send an emissary. He was instructed to take a look around, assess the property, and deduce if any living soul resided on the grounds. Sent with a bag of shabby wooden stakes, clinking bottles of holy water, and a scant amount of food, his job was, quite transparently: to trespass, seize, and slay whatever witch, vampire, or occultist group that hid behind the castle walls.
He knew better. A month prior, Fenton had been falsely accused of being involved with a group supposedly plotting against the catholic church, and this was his punishment. In reality, it was his curiosity first and foremost that got him into trouble, as he was interested in this small group’s knowledge of various medicinal practices. The scientific world was small and fragile for the time being.
They were trying to peacefully eradicate him, in a way they thought was morally just. If the ghost stories were remotely true and the estate wasn’t empty, he would be taken care of by whomever madman would get their hands on him first. If the place was void, they hoped he would plainly die in the woods. The thought was enough to make a sense of rage coil up in his core and settle in his throat. He tripped again.
Judging from the time that he’d left, it had to be somewhere around 9PM, and moonlight seeped in through the trees. Green turned to silver, and everything beyond his lantern turned to black. It was common, to feel like he was being watched, in a forest where wild animals were going about their business. Yet, he hadn’t heard a sound other than himself for an hour, and still felt like there were focused eyes digging into him. He felt that in his gut. Delicately eyeing his every step and movement, the feeling shifting behind him when he turned around. When he would turn, he saw and felt nothing besides a rush of wind that blew into his face. Every time, without fail. The woods played tricks on your mind anyway. "It's nothing, Fenton" he mumbled to himself.
He assumed half an hour passed. His feet ached, and he still failed to hear anything beyond the dead silence of the forest that wasn’t his ragged breathing, rushed and heavy steps. Exhausted didn’t begin to describe how he felt, throat starting to burn, eyes begging to close. He had to walk until he arrived at his destination, if that were gates or his death, both perhaps. He would die if he fell asleep out here, and if the grounds weren’t empty, who’s to say he wouldn’t be turned away by some cruel hermit anyway? And if he came back to the town empty-handed? Would they simply hang him anyway? The air was starting to sting. Dread flooded his mind and his bill twitched as he held in tears, he would rather die off in some dusty castle than get eaten by something out here. Keep walking, arm outstretched, lantern shaking in his grasp, staring forward.
Staring. He whipped his head around and was again met with darkness and wind gently rustling the leaves to his left and right. The duck could only let out an exasperated sigh.
“Whoever is following me, could you leave me alone! I don’t have time for this…” Fenton screamed into the darkness, his pathetic shout dying quickly into a hoarse whisper. He hadn’t spoken for hours and his throat strained with the effort. He knew there was nothing there. A tired mind was playing cruel tricks on him.
Lost in his thoughts, he marched forward until a new chill forced its way down his spine. The treeline cleared, and standing a mere three yards in front of him stood high and weathered stone, directly in front of him ornate and brass gates that were cracked open a few feet. The chain connecting them seemed a sorry excuse for a barrier, the space between the gates enough for him to pass through easily. However, he was fascinated with the entrance. It was a work of art, the brass brown and green, oxidized. His eyes were drawn to the lock on the chain and he felt a strange nausea start to set in. One of fear naturally, mixed with new curiosity that intoxicated like wine. The lock was as ornate and beautifully crafted as the gate. The weight of it was oddly satisfying cradled in his hands, but he shivered realizing how shiny it was. Intricate swirling carvings and what looked like a family seal decorated all sides, eyes following as he lazily traced each one… it was beautiful. The gate looked like it had stood for centuries, gently creaking in the breeze, but the lock looked like it was made and polished just yesterday.
He should’ve been more afraid. Should’ve turned on his heels and left, should have ran back. Turning the lock in his hands, he heard hidden gears tink and settle that delighted him deeply somehow. He gently ran his thumb along the keyhole of the lock, let it fall and bang against the gate. Slowly looking upwards, the towering walls and spires of the castle made him dizzy. As if in a trance, he slipped under the chain and allowed himself to take one step after the other. He was only a couple meters in and he swore he heard the chain clink, heard the gate creak closed, but he didn’t dare turn around.
The path led into an overgrown courtyard. Overgrown as it was, it still looked cared for, an organized mess. The stones of the walkway were cracked and covered in tangling vines and dead leaves, yet it was easy to walk through, inviting. Rose bushes and strange statues covered the majority of the garden, and everything beyond the path looked hectic and untamed, but the pathway remained kept and lush with flowers. The smell eased his nerves as he deeply inhaled and breathed out slowly.
Everything drew him to the door. Everything made him feel like he needed to be here, needed to walk up the steps. Just as before, wind blew from behind him like it was pushing him up the steps. He would've guessed that the house would've been as extraordinary as the gate, but he still sucked in a gasp seeing the stained glass windows and details, the front door towered over him. He almost delighted in how the garden looked from above, finally looking over his shoulder at the jungle of statues and roses. Against his better judgment, he blew out the lantern at set it on the top of the steps.
Fenton's hands halted on one of the brass handles on the double doors. His senses were overloaded. Tightening his grip, he shut his eyes hard and tried to listen, but he could only make out a strange whirring and tried to push it away as his imagination. The hardest gust of wind yet whistled and startled him enough to rip the door forward and stumble inside. Divine intervention from God themself couldn't have prepared him for when his eyes opened.
The foyer was clean and beautiful, exquisitely maintained and vast, and was a stark contrast from the view from outside. However, the light was dim and limited. What he initially thought were candles were curious little lamps, no bigger than his fist, that were attached to sconces on the wall and seemed to generate light without the use of fire! Now that held his attention, and his vision adjusted to the lack of lighting in a matter of minutes as he inspected the little glass oddity. Turning his gaze upward, he gasped when he saw a large brassy chandelier lit with the same devices on the wall, glittering as it gently swayed. Who wouldn't be entranced by such a thing? Was it magic? Everything in his life thus far told him it was, but something about it seemed so real… so concrete, he wasn't dreaming and yet every fiber in his body was trying to say that he'd been asleep ever since he stepped beyond the gates.
"And how'd you wander in here?"
Hearing the sudden voice felt like ice water being dumped on him. Fenton frantically grabbed for a stake out of his bag out of reflex, the shock forcing his heart rate to skyrocket as he frantically turned in circles. He felt jittery and started to become dizzy, hearing three delicate "tsks" that were always behind him no matter how fast he spun around.
A hand on his shoulder froze him and made him drop the dull piece of wood and he regrettably heard it clatter on the ground. Electric humming sounded as he saw the lights pulse brighter.
"You intend to kill me with that blunt little tool? I do hope my hospitality won't be in vain."
The voice came from nowhere, but felt like it was closer than ever, feeling breath on his face no matter how much he leaned away from it.
"Show yourself." Fenton managed in a whisper.
Materializing inches from his face appeared bright eyes, pale feathers, and a beak turned into a grin. The man of the house stepped back and took a theatrical bow. Fenton ruled out various entities when combining the disappearing act and the fangs, and he kicked the stake behind him in a shabby attempt to be polite. The ghoul cocked his head and chuckled.
It was safe to say that Fenton cycled through a hundred emotions. He wasn't expecting this one, maybe he was too tired? His face felt warm, and he wondered briefly if he was under hypnosis. It couldn't be the case if this vamp had just become visible. Keep your guard up. Expensive looking clothing and such a warm expression were all supposed to be tricks, right?
He blinked, felt a familiar rush of wind and this time caught him in his peripheral vision. His stomach dropped. Hours, the gate, the door-
"I apologize. I didn't mean to frighten you, it's been some time since I've had any company… Fenton."
His tone was so soft and smooth, and the duck was so tired, this wasn't fair. He relaxed, loosened up. Lower your guard a little…
He finally found the energy to speak up. "Who are you and why haven't you killed me yet?" Some of his words were slurred, he wasn't thinking clearly if he wasn't running. His limbs felt like lead and he couldn't do that if he wanted to. Maybe he'd stay the night and would see how long he lasted.
"Oh!" The eccentric chicken cleared his throat and stepped around his side, making a mental note to walk instead of float to seem less threatening, try as he might, "How rude of me! Dr. Gearloose, I mean- uhm. Call me Gyro."
Fenton breathed an exhausted sigh, and confused himself the most when he felt himself smile. "Doctor… you know as well as anyone that I've been walking for hours. Have somewhere I can rest before I drop dead? I'd like to wake up from this weird dream tomorrow." He felt his eyelids heavier than ever.
"A dream- I see. Come with me." Gyro looked puzzled but gently took his hand with two of his own to lead him up the stairs.
Drop your guard.