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[3rd] Milton

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avatar Punkamoar
Retired Moderator
Level 50 : Grandmaster Gent
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“So, what do you say? Who am I, and what is my name?”


“I don’t know, and how would I? I’ve never seen you before in my life! I was lost in the woods, and with thunderheads rolling in, I came in here. I swear, I do not know you!”


“You liar! I give you until daybreak to tell me my name, or else I will kill you. You have free rein of my mansion. Maybe my mementos will jog your memory… Stephen”


As Stephen recoiled in shock at the use of his name, his host disappeared off of the dais he had stood not a second earlier. He stood, mentally chastising himself for seeking refuge in such an evil place. The wooden walls were left unadorned in the entryway where he stood. Rain and thunder resounded through the vaulted windows, as the torches flickered up to the balcony where his strange host had stood. Stephen’s first thought was to run for the door, but as he turned to flee, the floor fell from below him, and he found himself falling into darkness.


He blacked out as he hit the floor, be it for a second. As he regained consciousness, the shafted light that streamed through the hole above, giving a shadowy visage of the cellar he was in. Chests sat in their own darkness, wall sconces sat empty, and the sound of water eked through the floorboards . A small crack of light betrayed a door hidden the shadows. As he got up, he felt a slight give in his leg, which manifested fully in a slight limp. He hobbled toward the crack of light, beginning to truly fear.


The door opened into a large room, well lit by several jack-o-lanterns. There were paintings on the wall, some showing large fires, and others of dark mining shafts. The room had a door on the right, and crescendoed directly in front of where Stephen stood. There was a bloody depiction of a human, etched directly into the wall, which bore an uncanny resemblance to Stephen himself. Below the scarlet effigy, there were words scrawled, also in a dripping red. They said “YOU DID THIS”.


Clearly off-put, Stephen began walking as quickly as his limp would allow him towards the door. He opened it, and found it opened into a long passage. The well-finished wooden walls of the previous room gave way to rough hewn cobblestone, and the lanterns were exchanged for torches in brackets. The stones were slick and uneven, and a damp smell hung in an almost visible vapor. He saw four doors, each across from the other. It opened into an antechamber at the end of the corridor, which appeared to have stairs leading back to the main level. His ambitions soon came to an end, as his foot caught on an out-jutting stone in the floor. He crumbled to the ground, landing sharply on his injured leg. Biting back a scream, he began to crawl towards one of the doors. He needed to rest.

He made for a door, but he found them all locked. His leg was screaming in pain, and he knew it was dislocated. After making it to the end of the corridor, he collapsed onto the bottom stair. Finding where the bone was bent, he applied quick pressure in the opposite. The pain was unbearable, and Stephen couldn’t handle it. He blacked out.


As he woke up, his head swam in the residual pain. He tested his leg, and found it moved much more freely. Pulling himself up, he, leaning heaving on the railing, walked up the stairs.


Peering out of the doorway at the top, he found himself back to the foyer where he had started. The floor where he fell through was still there, but the door wasn’t. It was that moment when he realized he wasn’t getting out, and his only hope was to find out who his host is.


He walked up the stairs, to the dais where his host had stood. He saw three doors, one straight back from the stairs, and the other two on the left and right sides of it. Knowing his life depended on finding his host’s name, he walked to the door on his left. He opened it, and retched.


There were two skeletons, sitting on chairs. An abhorrent stench of rotted flesh permeated every inch of the room. Behind each of the chairs, there were highly detailed portraits, like the ones he saw in the basement. Though, instead of fire, darkness, and blood, these were flattering portraits of, Stephen assumed, the two skeletons pre-mortem. One was a strong-looking young man, around nineteen or twenty, and the other was a teenage girl, hair pulled down over one shoulder. Both were so perfectly rendered onto the canvas, Stephen momentarily forgot about the stench, and just stood in the beautifully macabre scene.


He closed the door, and went to the next. Behind it stood a large picture window, crackling loudly with the rain hitting against it. The rain was still falling, but he could tell it was waning. There was one single chair, facing towards the window, with a chest sitting next to it. He opened it, and saw a bloody stone sword sitting in it. It was then Stephen’s recollection began to take off.


Before he could collect his thoughts, he noticed a microcosmal shaft of light begin to crack through the window. Knowing he had mere minutes before daybreak, he grabbed the sword out of the chest, hid it inside his shirt, and ran to the next room.


On his way, his vision was clouded by images from his past, images he had buried deep in his psyche. He saw visages of a street brawl, houses on fire, and being hailed the victor. He could still hear the blood curdling screams of his enemies, he could still feel how heavy his sword felt that night, and how he gave that blade away to a child who looked on, the child's eyes watery from the weight of his new freedom. That night was his best answer, but still, he did not know who his host was.

He tried the door, but it was locked shut. Stephen reeled around, absolutely frantic, trying to find any shred of evidence, any singular clue as to who he has dealing with. But the sun rose on his panicked fervor, and like clockwork, his appeared behind him.


---------------------


“Stephen, it is dawn. What say you, what is my name?”


“I...I don’t know. I remember the village, the fire, the thugs, but I do not remember you.”


The tension in the was unbelievable. The look in the host’s eye was absolutely fiery. Stephen felt like running, but the stairs were blocked by the host. His heart sunk further and further, until the host finally spoke.


“Follow me, you cur. Maybe seeing your damage will stir your… lacking memory.”


The man began walking towards the locked door, being sure to bump Stephen heavily on his shoulder on his way past. He dug in his pocket, and pulled out the key. As the host opened the door, Stephen knew that no matter what happened, he would not make it out of the mansion alive. The door was thrown open, and the handle hit the wall with a thud.


Inside, there were no windows, no paintings, no adornments of any kind, save large bloody letters. Each was fully the size of a man, and wrapped around the entire room. Once he saw what they spelled, Stephen stood still, not knowing how to respond.


They spelled out “MY NAME IS MILTON


---------------------


“Milton, that kid from the village. I gave you my sword at the end of the battle. How could I have forgotten you? And why have you done this? I saved you and your family, your entire village even, from the thugs who had taken over. Why are you so angry at me?”


“You… you dare to say you saved my family? I waited here, making this entire mansion to show you how you wronged me, and you still do not know how you did? My brother had joined those thugs to protect my sister and I from them. He was preparing to assassinate their leader, to disperse them from the village. But no, you had to show up and take matters into your own hands. Without consulting the village elders, you took it upon yourself to kill every single one of their men, my brother included. And you, you had the nerve to hand me your sword, the sword you used to kill my brother not minutes ago. My sister was so distraught, she ran away. When I saw she had left, I went out after her, but it was too late. I found her hanging from a tree, slain by some evil men. And yet, you think yourself the hero?

“The fires that night destroyed the greater part of our house, so what was I to do? I took the bodies of my brother and sister, stowed them in the basement, and began constructing this mansion, knowing some day you would come here. The bodies you saw in the other room? The family that you murdered. The room in the basement? My effigy of you, oh great hero! You destroyed my life, and it is time I destroy yours.”


Stephen stood, frozen to the spot. Shock was written all over his face, as the words Milton said to him began connecting dots from that night. “You made this entire mansion, just on the off chance that one day I find it? That’s absolutely psychotic! Look, I never knew that my actions that night had such a negative impact on your life, and I’m sorry, but imagine the life you could’ve had if you weren’t obsessing over me? You’ve ruined your life just as much as I have. Killing me won’t fix your problems. You will not feel better about yourself afterwards. You will have wasted your life on vapid ambitions, for what? The knowledge that I am dead?”


Stephen pulled out the sword he had stashed in his shirt, and charged Milton straight on. As he ran, he did not see the tripwire laid out on the ground. Charging over it, Stephen heard a slight click, and turned his head in enough time to see a charge flying towards him. It exploded into him, causing a large fireball to engulf the room. Stephen flew backwards, and slammed into the wooden wall, falling to the ground. He dropped the sword, and before he could reach for it, Milton had grabbed it and slashed his legs. Stephen wailed in pain, until Milton put the sword to his throat.


“I didn’t make this place to show you what you did to me. Well, I did, but that was never the end goal. This was. I built this place, and put all of my demons into it. And now, as you burn with my family, they will get the best funeral I could give them. I will put them to rest, and leave you here to die in agony. You said I wasted my life focusing on you, but I disagree. This is the only way my catharsis can be realized.


“I leave you here with my family, to burn with them. Goodbye Stephen, and burn for what you’ve done.”


---------------------


Milton walked out the front door, and up to the top of the hill outside the manor. He stood, watching the flames engulf the mansion. Knowing his lifelong enemy was burning inside, he smiled, for the first time since Stephen walked into his village with a stone sword and strong sense of bravado. He walked down the hill, leaving all his demons burning behind him.





Eyyo, this is my entry, clocking in at like 2050 odd words. Hope you like it, if you see something I did wrong, tell me in the comments.
CreditIDK, Zath and Lost read it I think, my brother might've as well.
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  • 1blackhawk
  • Level 15
  • Journeyman Ninja
  • November 27, 2017, 5:40 am
Try not to use all caps in your paper because you will get more points for punctuation. Instead, use adjectives and adverbs to describe how your character yelled.
  • Punkamoar
  • Retired Moderator
  • Level 50
  • Grandmaster Gent
  • November 27, 2017, 5:44 am
Good catch, I'll try to figure something else out quick

-EDIT- using adjectives and adverbs wouldn't have worked, since every time I used caps, were either to dictate that they were used in the actual story (i.e on the bloody wall writing), or found in large blocks of dialogue, that I couldn't break up just to say "he yelled loudly", or whatever. I did make the wall writing bold, and changed the caps found the dialogue to lowercase with italics to show emphasis
  • Zatharel
  • Level 44
  • Master Sweetheart
  • November 27, 2017, 3:51 am
Milton (Library Assistant)
  • Punkamoar
  • Retired Moderator
  • Level 50
  • Grandmaster Gent
  • November 27, 2017, 8:33 am
Milton (Insecticide Technician)

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