more of my other category 10 Stan post
https://www.tumblr.com/woolfie-artz/779572654588968961/i-wanna-add-this-too-stan-as-a-ghost-does
The reason Ford goes to cabin (i’ve decided its a couple miles out of the town of Boring, Oregon. because i can.) is because his last attempt at studying a category 10 ghost didn’t let him properly study them, so hes hoping this ghost might be more cooperative
So, im thinking when Ford gets to the cabin, there’s been so much rain that there’s a insanely deep puddle that may as well be a pond with its depth around the house, but not a single bit of it touches the house, instead effectively acting as a sort of moat. This doesn’t deter Ford in the slightest, instead intriguing him more.
Once passing the moat, the first thing he notices is old, dried blood on the porch, accompanied by a tooth right next to it. Ford had assumed the ghost haunting this place had been here for a long time, but hes not so sure anymore. he continues on, however now more cautious.
The cabin is dark, damp, and looks like it’s ready to collapse at any second, quite honestly. the first room he goes into is the dining room. it’s clear there was a struggle here, from how the things in the room look haphazardly thrown around, and the old, dried blood left in a large patch left on the table on a spot where one could assume someone was pushed against during the fight. the only thing which seems undisturbed is a white, poster sized towel pinned to the wall. the sole sign it was even there during the struggle was a single bloody hand print on the left side of it, yet it was still hung nicely on the wall.
“We can use this as the flag of the Stan o’ War, Sixer! and everyone’ll know it’s us cause it’s got out names on it too!”
Ford walks towards it, muttering“this looks familiar” under his breath, but then a rattling is felt from the floorboards and anything touching the ground, such as shelves, falls over, slamming so hard against the floor they crash through the floor and cause the window in the room to shatter. barely avoiding being flattened by these things, he makes the wise decision to run the hell out of that room.
throwing the door closed behind him as he gets into the hall way, the time he takes to catch his breath and regain his bearings, he notices the pointing and pictures on the walls and such. the faces are all torn out, and most of them have bloodstains on them. the only ones still in pristine condition are the few which depict ships at sea. it all brings a deep, twisting put in his stomach, his throat already feeling tight as he fought back a subconscious need to cry.
he forces himself to continue on, going into the living room.
there’s possums nesting in the ripped up furniture, and for a second Ford catches himself thinking I bet Stan would’ve loved to see this.
there’s no blood here, or any sort of gore. the closest there is to that is a taxidermy possum sitting on the mantle, and Ford almost lets out a chuckle at the irony of the fact that a family of possums have chosen to live in the room which displayed the preserved corpse of another of their species.
now, as mentioned before, there was no visible blood or gore in this room, but there kitchen block, the one where cooking knives are held, lays haphazardly sideways right next to the couch, knives having spread in front of it which tells the story of it being thrown down on that spot.
Ford take it upon himself to clean it up, because it posed the risk of one of those possums stepping on the knifes and hurting itself. Shanklin came to mind at the scene. To this day, as childish as it was, Ford still believed that animal’s abilities to stab mysteries was impeccable. to try and make sure the possums don’t see him as a threat as he approaches, he says to them “please don’t mind me, I’m just going to clean this up.” though he knows it will make no real difference in how the animals react. not a second later, something jumps him and starts scratching the hell out of Ford’s neck. he ripped it off, throwing it hard against the wall on instinct. the attacker was dazed, and this gave Ford the chance to observe it better. it was poorly stitched, the face all wonky and janked up. it was the taxidermied possum.
the other possums immediately saw him as a threat tabs followed suit in attacking, Ford soon mobbed by them. not without injury, he manages to get them off of him and get out of that room, though the door was loudly being scratched on by the animals.
Ford knows he should leave. he should’ve never gone in. the tooth on the porch shouldve been was got him to leave, but he felt like he had to stay, to figure out just who the spirit is. he feels a pull further into the house. and that pull he follows.
it leads him to the bathroom. the mirror was shattered, and if he thought the blood in the dining room was bad, this place was a new level of horrible. more of it was covered in blood than not. this especially concerned the tub, it practically drenched in crimson and despite refusing to look any closer at the gruesome scene, he could’ve sworn he saw chunks of flesh and hair in there. Hair that looked identical in color to his own.
Ford decided he had enough of this room very quickly, and as he walked as fast as he could out of the room, he stepped on a creaky floorboard. the door slammed shut and locked, and the shower, tub and sink faucets all started rattling. Ford slammed himself at the door, trying to break it down before he had a chance to find out what that rattling was leading to.
He was not afforded that chance as they all started spewing blood, which started to flood the room. the door wasn’t budging. all his attempts to break the door down only scrapped him up and added his own trickle of blood to the pool beginning to well up around his feet. he scrambled to grab the lock picking set he only kept for ghost hunting, and as he tried to pick the lock with his shaking hands, all else he could do was hate his younger self for thinking he’d never need his mothers lock picking lessons.
it was up to his mid thigh by the time he finally was successful, and he sprinted further into the house just on instinct of getting away from that room. near the end of the hallway, the floorboards broke beneath him, and when he looked down, instead of just seeing wounds from the sharp edges of the wood scraping into his leg, he saw something much more gruesome.
His foot was wedged in the ribs of a corpse. a corpse with a mangled face which must’ve looked just like his own before whatever happened to it came to pass. the Jaw looked like it was barely hanging on, one half of it completely de attached from the rest of the head. it looks like most of the organs had been removed, the only ones left were things like the intestines and golbladder.
Ford knew why he felt that pull. why there were knives near the possums, why the towel with a handprint looked so damn familiar. it was Stanley. Stanley was murdered and Ford didn’t know till now. how long had it been since it happened?! weeks? months? years?! the realization hit him harder than a truck. he threw up.
eventually Ford pulled himself together enough to pull Stan’s body out from under the floorboards. he wasnt gonna let his brother go without a proper burial, if he’d even be able to let him go at all. the entire house started to shake, every drawer slamming open and shut, open and shut, open and shut. Ford knew he had to get going if he wanted a chance at survival now that he’s disturbed his brothers corpse. his brother’s corpse. he felt even sicker every time he thought those words.
he carried himself and his brother to the front door, but it wouldn’t budge. he remembers the window in the dining room, and sprints to there.
he has to catch his breath in there, all the most dangerous objects already fallen. he rests his hand against the wall, looking down with intention to look at the ground, but instead he sees the corpse in his arm. he looks up and sees that he’s rested his hand on the towel from before, blood staining to make his own hand print on it. it looked so much like that banner from their childhood room. he can’t stand it here anymore. he climbs out the window while being as careful as he can with his poor brother.
by the time he steps onto the last step of the porch, animals with the same blank eyed stare gathered around the outside edge of the most as leaves started to cyclone around one place.
there was a half eaten dear, a wolf with a hunter’s bullet right between its eyes, a bear which looked incredibly ill and emaciated, alongside many other animals in similar conditions.
the form of the spirit madre itself visible, and it looks the same as the corpse.
“PVZEV OV ZPMNV ZPIVZWB!”
His voice screamed with his eyes shut tight, the vocal fry sounded just as painful to hear as talking must be with the extent of the injuries
Ford barely managed to muster up a quiet
the ghosts eyes flew open, and a face of recognition lead to all the animals collapsing back to inanimate corpses, the expression quickly turning to relief, then confusion, then anger, and finally to sadness
