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concepts: dadsona is one of the dads that joseph did away with in the cult ending. imagine the absolute FREAKOUT when he opens the door to find dadsona beaming at him with a plate of brownies, laughing. (Good thing we had good medical insurance, right?) But dadsona's hands are so cold. They talk at length, but never seem to stop for breath. no blinking, either. (1/2)

(2/2) and every goddamn night, joseph can see them, standing out in the street and watching his bedroom window. just watching, ever-polite. he visits their grave the next day, and it's still there. dead, but not gone. very very angry at you, joseph. So Very, Very Angry. (SORRY IF YOU DONT LIKE HORROR JUST THOUGHT IT WAS NEATO)

((ARE YOU KIDDING THIS IS NEATO BURRITO! I don’t know how good my response will be since, for all my interest in horror, I actually don’t write horror a lot. I kinda rushed through the end of this so I could post something this week, so sorry if that's a little obvious

I’m kinda on the fence about the cult ending as a whole, because the developers already messed with Joseph’s character enough by not allowing him a truly happy ending, and it just feels like the icing on the cake of that whole shitshow. But, part of me also kinda likes it? I can’t explain why. I think any story with a More Than Meets The Eye element, I kinda like a little. And I like horror! I understand that this wasn’t the most appropriate place for it, but I like it! So! CULT ENDING WARNING FOR PEOPLE WHO DON”T LIKE/DON”T WANT TO SEE CULT ENDING STUFF

This one really got away from me, and it came out way more Amanda-centric than I think Nonny intended, but I love the idea of Amanda practicing any kind of witchcraft. I just wish dadsona had been alive to have a talk with her about practicing dark magic responsibly.))

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Amanda didn’t question it much, when the book showed up on the doorstep while she was cleaning up the house. She almost tossed it out - It was an ancient thing, the edges of the pages in tatters, the title on the leather spine almost completely lost to age. But out of curiosity, after glancing around briefly and finding no one in sight to have left it, she brought it inside.

She sat in the half-packed living room, intending to look through the fragile pages for some note to give her an explanation, and then set it aside and leave it be. She wasn’t in the mood for pranks and if this was Emma R.’s idea of a funny joke now, she was going to kill her.

A page near the back of the book was marked with a lump of dried root, and Amanda felt her throat close up a little when she read the title at the top of the page.

Returning The Wrongfully Taken

She inhaled sharply, resisting the urge to toss the book as though it had burned her, the way her instincts told her to.

Instead, she tentatively picked up the root, setting it aside as she read through the ingredients. And the ritual. And the incantation. The root, she figured, was probably the mentioned aconite. It was the only ingredient she didn’t at least have a vague idea about. It was all very complicated, but at the same time, she couldn’t bring herself to care. She’d played witches with Emma when she was little, and had started taking an interest in wicca a few years ago without really pursuing it, but this seemed like the kind of book the Wicked Witch might’ve had on her shelf. And that actually made her hopeful, in a tentative, scary kind of way, that it was real.

She didn’t know what the book meant by Wrongfully Taken. A quick glance through the table of contents said there were other necromancy spells for people who died before their time - even one specifically for people lost to the sea. But whoever had left this on her doorstep had marked “Wrongfully Taken”, and given her one of the ingredients that wasn’t found in any of the other dead-raising spells. Were they mistaken, or was she missing something?

In any case, she decided she had to try. What did she have to lose, anyway? A few bucks on ingredients and one night of her summer.

She would give up a lot more, if there was even a scrap of a chance that she could see her dad again.

Almost every family in the Cul-De-Sac had offered to let her come stay with them until she went off to college. Robert offered condolences, and Joseph told her to come by the church any time when he brought a plate of cookies by a few days after the funeral, but she understood neither of them were really in a position to take her in, even just briefly. She didn’t want to impose on anyone, but she just… couldn’t live in that house by herself, even if she could afford it. And none of her old friends seemed interested in offering.

In the end, she’d accepted Lucien and mister Bloodmarch’s offer. Damien knew a lot about plants, which was useful, and she felt a little less awkward about the whole thing since she was living with someone closer to her age who didn’t currently hate her.

And missus Christiansen came to visit quite often, which surprised her a little. She hadn’t known Mary and Damien were friends. Good friends, too, considering the way she just let herself in. It was always a little unsettling when Amanda came downstairs after all day in her (Temporary, Still-Packed) room and found her in the sitting room.

Much like today.

Lucien had called her from the door on his way in, saying she'd gotten a package (more of her ingredients, she was sure,) and she came down to find Mary sitting in the red room, drinking tea like she lived there.

“Hey there, Amanda,” she greeted casually, taking a sip out of Damien’s delicate teacups. Amanda had used them a few times, but she tried not to because she was terrified of breaking them.

“Hey, missus Christiansen,” she replied, giving her a friendly smile before turning toward the kitchen. “Lucien? Where’d you put that-” the package dropped into her hands. “Thank you.”

Lucien gave her a nod and a smile, passing her on his way up the stairs and left her awkwardly standing on the landing.

“What’d you get, kiddo?”

Amanda felt a lump in her throat as she turned from the stairs to Mary. Damien and Lucien mostly left her to herself. Offered themselves up if it seemed like she needed an ear, but letting her grieve alone when she needed. So they hadn’t really asked about her packages, or why she asked the questions she did. Maybe that was why, after a beat, she decided to share.

“Oh, you know. Dittany, copal incense, myrrh oil,” she hummed casually, giving a shrug as she pulled the tape off the box. It looked like this one also contained the death’s head hawkmoth she’d gotten from an online specialty store that worked with a butterfly sanctuary. She figured she could give it to Damien once she was done with it. Mary gave a hum of interest and Amanda paused, catching a whiff from her cup.

“What’re you drinking?"

“Elderflower tea. With a little chervil and mugwort. Little something a friend of mine cooked up, thought I’d bring some over for Dames. You wanna try?” she asked, lifting the pot. Pausing a moment, Amanda gave a small nod, taking a seat across from her and setting her package aside as Mary poured her a cup and held it out. There were still flecks of ingredients floating in her cup - she knew people did that, but it struck her as odd for some reason.

“Never took you for a tea drinker, missus Christiansen,” Amanda hummed thoughtfully taking the cup as carefully as humanly possible.

“I’m not really. But I’ve been told it’s in bad form to have wine before noon,” she returned, leaning back and taking a sip through her smile. “And call me Mary, kiddo. I’m not the stickler for formality that Damien is.”

Amanda managed a chuckle at that, taking a sip and feeling… strangely comfortable, for the first time in a while. She hummed in satisfaction, leaning back a bit herself.

“This is really good,” she hummed without really realizing she’d spoken. Mary smiled, and suddenly looked very tired.

“I’ll pass along the compliment,” she stated, setting her cup aside. “My friend’s a real hippie type. Apparently this stuff is supposed to heighten your connection to the spiritual plane,” she added, her tone a little intentionally dramatic. Amanda nearly spit out her tea, but she managed to maintain composure and swallow like a normal person.

“Oh. Really?” she asked carefully,

“Oh, yeah, she’s really into all that stuff. Tarot and lunar cycles and all. Not really my thing, but hey, tea’s good,” she hummed. Amanda paused a moment, taking another long sip from her cup, almost forgetting how delicate the porcelain in her hands was. This all seemed… a bit too convenient. Mary had a friend who was into what sounded an awful lot like witchcraft. Mary brought over tea that was supposed to help someone connect to the spirit world. Mary lived right next to her old house and would certainly not look out of place leaving something on her grieving neighbor’s doorstep. Amanda swallowed hard.

“Mis- Mary, I-”

“I’m home!” Damien called from the door, moving through the house with a dramatic flourish that made his cloak whirl.

“Welcome back, Sweetpea,” Mary called. Amanda swallowed her words, forcing a smile when she felt Damien place a hand on her shoulder, clearly glad to see her out of her room. Mary stood to hug him and Amanda finished her tea, standing carefully to go rinse out her cup.

On her way toward the kitchen, she glanced back, and managed to catch the meaningful look Mary shot her. She gave her a nod, and the older woman seemed to relax just a touch further into Damien’s arms. Swallowing hard, Amanda turned and retreated. She had work to do.

Amanda felt drained, but satisfied. She’d followed the instructions to the letter. She’d performed the ritual exactly as the book had said, and now she knelt before her father’s grave, quietly counting the weeds that had started growing on the turned earth. The book said the spirit might take a few minutes to manifest, so she wasn’t going to get nervous about whether or not it had worked yet.

She hadn’t gotten another chance to talk to Mary, which was regrettable, but otherwise didn’t bother her much. She couldn’t tell if it was just bad luck or if Mary was actively avoiding her, but she chose to believe it was the former. Still, she could’ve used some help with all this. Even if Mary actually didn’t know, she would’ve liked to meet this mysterious ‘friend’.

She shook off the thought and crossed her legs, picking up a thermos full of the tea Mary had given her - Well, given Damien. Semantics. It wasn’t bad, just weird. The moon was full and bright, casting white light on her as she turned to lean on the headstone and took a swig of the earthy, almost bitter mix.

“You gonna share?”

Amanda gasped, nearly dropping the thermos as she looked up at the voice.

“Dad!”

She threw herself at you, and you grunted when she pushed you to the ground, landing firmly on top of you, arms around your shoulders. Groaning, you hugged back, smiling as you looked down and ruffled her hair.

“Alright. Let me up, sweet pea. Dead or not, being crushed isn’t great for the old man bones,” you hummed, coughing for emphasis. Amanda laughed through her tears, kissing your cheek and sitting up.

“God, I’m sorry, I just..” She leaned in as you sat up, wrapping her arms around you and burying her face in your chest. Your clothes felt wet and salty, but she chalked it up to her tears and didn’t question it. “I’ve missed you.”

Your smile softened and you tucked your daughter close, resting your chin on her hair.

“I missed you too, Panda,” you murmured, kissing her hair. Clearing her throat, she sat back again, wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her jacket.

“Okay, first things first. I need to know. The spell I used, it implies that you were taken, not that you just died. What- did something happen? Before the boat sank? After? I just. I need to understand.”

You paused a moment, expression going cold as you remembered. Flashes of ropes. Of warm water getting quickly colder as you sank. A dark cave rank with the stink of rotten earth.

“Joseph,” you murmured, though it came out more like a growl.

“Mister Christiansen got out alright. The coast guard picked him up and-”

“Of course he got out. He’s the one that sank the boat,” you murmur, something dark coming over your look. Amanda froze up a little at it, zombies and vengeful spirits catching in her head for a moment. She shook them out and reached up, placing a hand on your face.

“Dad?”

You sigh, placing your hand over hers. The darkness faded and she let out a tiny sigh of relief.

“It’s… A long story, Manda Panda. I don’t think I understand most of it myself, but…"

“Dad. Tell me.”

So you did.

Joseph blinked in surprise at the knock on the door, setting aside his book and pushing to his feet. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Maybe someone from the church? It was fundraiser season, too, he recalled, the mere thought of cheap-tasting chocolate bars making his expression sour briefly.

Clearing his throat, he straightened his clothes and put on a charming grin before reaching for the door knob.

“Hey there! How can I.. help…”

“Hey there, Joe! Been a hot minute, huh? It’s good to see you!” you greeted jovially, quietly relishing the way the color drained from his face.

“Oh. Um. Yeah! It. It sure has,” he nodded, eyes flickering from your smiling face to the plate of brownies you held, to the clothes you wore - just slightly damp, the same ones you were wearing-

“These are for you, by the way. Make sure you get one before the kids get to ‘em, kay? Made ‘em with hot fudge,” you grinned. Even with the cheerful curl of your mouth, Joseph could see something in your eyes. Something not quite right. They were the same shape, same color, but… brighter. Too bright. Just on the near side of glowing. You were still talking, something about his kids and the recipe you used and health insurance. You went on and on, and never took pause long enough to breathe, nevermind get a word in. So he feigned listening until you finally stopped. It took him awhile to realize that you were waiting for an answer to a question.

“Oh, I, uh,”

“Joseph? You alright, man?”

Joseph looked past you, spotting Mat out on the sidewalk, giving him a smile that betrayed concern.

“Oh, I’m alright, Mat. Just enjoying the morning air,” he assured, cheerful as ever. You raised an arm to wave, but Mat was already moving on, not even acknowledging your presence. Turning back to Joseph, you kept smiling, still unblinking, placing the plate of brownies in his hands before he had time to realize he was taking them.

“He’s a real sweetheart, that Mat,” you hummed thoughtfully, cocking your head slightly at Joseph in a way that made a shiver shoot down his back. “But most of the people around here are good folks. If anyone did anything to hurt any of them- why, I might just have to kill them over it!”

You laughed, even as Joseph suddenly felt very cold. Words like that should not make someone like him shrivel and retreat, but under normal circumstances, you were mortal, which you clearly weren’t anymore because he’d felt the life drain from you and how was it you were even standing here?

“Heh, sorry if I spooked you with that one. Amanda’s been getting me on the “Fatalistic Humor” game her generation’s got going on. Figure it’ll give me an edge with her friends,” you added with a shrug. “Anyway, I gotta get going, but I’ll see you around, yeah?”

You started away from the house, still smiling over your shoulder, waving at him. He paused a moment before the feeling came back into his legs and he stepped inside, closing the door with a sour expression and dumping the plate into the trash.

“Like home you will.”

The thing was, he didn’t stop seeing you.

You were in the window at the Coffee Spoon. Crossing the street downtown. Ducking into shops to escape the rain or the heat. And no matter where he saw you, you always met his gaze. Always with that same cheerful grin and those dead, cold eyes. He’d thought himself impervious to intimidation up until this point, when he started panicking in front of his neighbors. They didn’t suspect anything though - save Robert, perhaps - just thought he was a man wracked with guilt over the death of another neighbor. He actually said your name once, when he saw you over the fence during a barbecue, and Brian had reassured him that it was just his eyes playing tricks on him.

No one else had seen you.

He could go into a shop you had just left, describe you to everyone in there, and none of them would have seen you.

Not that he did that. That would make him look like a crazy person.

But it was unsettling. You shouldn’t be here. Even with the level of ability humans had, necromancy alone shouldn’t have been able to bring your soul back from where he’d stuck it. But here you were. Everywhere. He couldn’t go more than a few hours without seeing you, unless he stayed inside all day with the curtains drawn.

Even when he did just that, the nights were worse.

His dreams were plagued with you. They could start innocent, even sweet, before devolving into a horror show, his own tactics and methods turned against him in a way that made him sick. And when he woke, he automatically looked to the window - the only dim source of light from the streetlamps outside. And there you stood, still smiling with cold, dead eyes.

He had guided evil this far. This should not be enough to turn the tables on him. But here he was, more and more scared of a dead man.

How the mighty fall.

Why did I never show off these cuties already~?!

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-PChan

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