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Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

Fascinator’s eyes flutter open as the room began to focus on him. It was hard to see, there was barely any light to illuminate the area. But he could tell the walls were made of concrete, uneven and bumpy without any finish. The air was cold and damp, the faint scent of something rotten causing him to gag. Goosebumps covered his exposed top half, he really needs to get some pajamas. The floor was dirty, he could tell the soles of his feet were pitch black from it. As his eyes refocus in the darkness, blurry without his contacts in, he could tell where he was. He was in his basement, the familiar cruelty old wooden stairs with one step broken to the right and to his left the piles of old clothing with the washer and dryer. Fascinator rubbed his temples, how did he get here? Maybe it was a prank or something by Headphones or even Knittens. They always were troublemakers, like the time he woke up on the roof.
He stretched his back, sitting up on the chair he was sitting on before a glint in the darkness caught his eye. A long rectangle mirror propped onto a chair facing him, and in the reflection, there was another on his left side. His throat dried, a feeling dread overcoming him like his own body found an aversion to this setup. Screaming at him. Begging to run up the old wooden stairs and run from the suffocating damp air to the safety of above and into the warm light of the worn out lightbulb of the kitchen.
A weight sat on his shoulders, preventing his legs from even budging an inch like chains and straps were wrapped around his ankles to the legs of the chair. He could barely move his own wrists, only turning them to see his dirty dusty hands, black soot smeared on his fingertips. Fascinator began to panic, his chest heaving as his own lungs were squeezed. Eyes darting wildly he tries to feebly jump out of the chair, but he stayed still. His own body didn’t want to listen to him, a tingle climbing up his spine and the hairs on his neck standing as a cold sensation rises from the ends of his toes, climbing up his ankles and calves, enveloping his waist and his shoulders. Like the feeling of cold water drowning him and dragging him underneath the waves. Chest burning and heaving, he let out mangled coughs as he tried to suck in air. His gaze focused forward, the gazes in the mirror watching him. Trying to breathe, he bent over, the spell over him fading as he clutched his knees. His hands bumping into the metal box on his lap. All of his attention was absorbed into the scenery that he didn’t even notice.
The box was dingy, the tin was dented and scratched. His hands were shaking and shivering as he pried the lid open. The hinges making a low creak noise as he peered to its contents. Withered newspapers and documents piled up, stained yellow but the headlines were still visible,
“5 Murdered at Local High School,”
“Suspect, Fellow Student Responsible?”,
“Families Cry for Justice but Ignored,”
“Recent Idol a Killer?”, etc.
All the tabloid crap expected. Fascinator could feel himself getting mentally exhausted just seeing these papers, the publicity of this story haunted him for years, it was time for an end. This was surely a prank by Knittens, the kid always teased him about it without understanding the bad reputation messing with it could cause. He still got indie amateur film crews trying to get him to confess to a crime he doesn't even remember. It was like kicking a dead horse if you hung, quartered, tar and feathered, and turned that horse into glue afterward, in that order. Rubbing his temples from the bad memories it brought he muttered under his breath,
“I thought I buried this crap… Looks like I’ll have to burn it now.”
Picking up the dingy box, he scoffed at the contents but a little piece of fabric caught his eye. Moving the papers off, he scooped up the old and tattered bow pin with contorted feathers. It was an old namesake, one of the few things his parents gave him from the hospital all those years ago. The old fascinator somehow took hold of his hand, he couldn’t drop into the box if he wanted to.
He just stared at it. Studying each rip, each tear of the cloth in the ribbon as well as how it folded and tied into its shape. Well, he knew what he was named but still, it was more than a simple piece of eye-catching headwear. Like finding that missing puzzle piece underneath the couch, at first you don’t recognize it’s potential but as the gears in your head turn, you recognize its importance. But like that old jigsaw puzzle, you’ve forgotten its origin so you’re stuck there. Holding it. Studying it. Trying to remember. His vision began to blur, colors melting out of their fuzzy lines, becoming a giant mess of different shades and tints. His pupils focusing and yet the less he could see. A disembodied voice smiling from the left,
“Hope you like your gift.”
Judgment had begun.
Eyes rolling back, darkness engulfed his vision before a glimmer of the flames in his hand flickered into view. Fascinator was no longer sitting in his rotting basement with that old dingy box. He sat in a chair where shadows danced and pranced from the flame floating in his open hand. That’s when he noticed the blood caked underneath his nails and the dried streaks staining his hands. Yet no panic, no fear, just a tranquil feeling of peace, floating in the ethereal river. Rising from his seat like the weight disappeared, he faced forward, always forward. The sputtering flame crackles but there wasn’t any heat from it, it’s tiny light illuminating the dark twisting hall.
One foot in front of the other; down, down, down, down and then right to a locked mirror. Fascinator peered into the glass but the person staring back wasn’t him. Well, in the dark he could maybe guess, but with the tiny hopeful fire brightening the image, he could see the figure wasn’t looking at him at all. It was pointing to their right arm, with a trickle of something oozing out and down their arm and that’s all he could tell. The mirror frame had a keyhole at the side like it was a door. A locked door that he couldn’t open for years.
And still, he couldn’t open this door to the beyond of this construct. Fascinator pressed his hand on the cold glass, furrowing his eyebrows together. What was he supposed to do? Once he goes there wasn’t he supposed to get through? His eyes dart as he tried to find a key somewhere, the flame slowly diminishing. But then he spotted the old hair decoration he was named after in his clenched hand. Taking it into the last remaining light, he stared at it carefully.
There had to be something, anything about it. It had to have something that was the key to this. Fascinator didn’t even know why he had to progress, there wasn’t a reason just an intense need to pass through. In his subconscious, he knew why he had to keep walking forward, and right now that’s all he could trust. Staring at the battered old accessory, he shook his head, he had nothing. Desperation set in, he’ll have to make a way in. He had to open the door, it wasn’t an urge it was a requirement. Like a basic need to live, he needed to get through the door. He’d trade the water in his body just to see the door creak open. Shaken to his knees as he dry heaves, he could see the door was opening so clearly but it wouldn’t open; this wasn’t possible none of it could be, the door was there -it was there, couldn’t you see it?- there but locked away, keeping secrets, keeping him away but he needed to find them, he needed to, so then why wouldn’t it open?
“Something from you to exchange for your present.”
His gaze was affixed to the ground, thoughts swirling as he tried to understand what that even meant in the first place. He had nothing to give, really. He was a half-naked man just sitting in a dark corridor. Exhaustion enveloped him, his brain degrading and rotting in a mushy pile sitting inside of his skull, nothing was making any sense. His head was forced down by a weight hanging around his neck, he was even too distracted to question why there was just a voice. Fascinator couldn’t give anything, he didn’t have anything anymore.
A moment of clarity, or perhaps just a bad impulse, clicked into his mind. Everything was so obvious from the start. Staring at the old pin, he clicked it once to unhook the sharp end of the latch. Before the millennium, they still sold fascinators with rather a keen point (even then you can find antique ones on the market). Gazing upon the figure in the mirror, caressing the portrait delicately and finely like a mother holds her child, and revering it as a towering cathedral. He understood it all so clearly, despite there being no reason living in the hallowed grave. Perhaps the answer was just an amalgamation of fragments that made sense in his desperation. But whatever the answer was in his mind, he didn’t hesitate as he took the sharp point of the nostalgic namesake, and drove it into his arm.
Twisting and pushing to penetrate deeper into his skin, breaking the thin layer and warm blood leaks out. The fresh essence of life dripping down as he drives the needle deeper and pulling it away from him, splitting the muscle and skin he had in the way painfully. The point of the pin was sharp, but nothing else, so he had to force the skin to break. The screaming nerves and the dizziness from the quickly escaping blood didn’t deter his focused grip. If he just kept his mind concentrated on finding the key to the door, then nothing else mattered. If he blocked everything out, then not even the anguish of his mortal body could find him again. No one could find him again. His vision blurred as he kept struggling to rip apart the flesh, veins pulled to the point of breaking until he reached his wrist bone, the pearly white waving hello from the red drowning it. Gulping for air, as he kept his throat from heaving, he kept his attention on his goal. Shaking, he was almost scratching and pulling at his lacerated wound, trying to find the answer. It was in there somewhere, he just didn’t know what the answer looked like. But it was in there, the reflection told him so, it was in there somewhere. The aching dull pain rang through his brain, but Fasci kept searching until the muscle began to peel away from his bone. Oddly in this odd state of affairs, in this out of body world, he still didn’t feel the one emotion he felt constantly through his everyday life. He didn't feel scared. He didn’t feel scared that he might get an infection, or that he may need to go to the hospital, or what his mother, fathers, Knittens, anyone would say. He didn’t feel frightened. It was all just a neutral buzzing sound of a white noise machine humming in its little room alone.
Well to be more precise, he isn’t afraid of what he usually is scared of, right now he afraid of not finding the answer. It wasn’t there, not inside there so then what isn't he getting from the portrait, what did he do wrong? Mind racing as he struggled to find a way to open the door. But like that, a simple click and the mirror door creaked just a slit open. Relieved, overjoyed, overwhelmed with the absolute glory of euphoria he scrambled to the door and batted it open with frantic motions. As he faced what was inside, he had a moment of pause, to think about what he had just done, and what he did it for.
Why did he even do that?
It seemed to be a split second of doubt as he threw himself inside, then everything faded away. Before his own eyes, like a film shot in first person, the first thing to hit him was the smell of an off-brand cologne. Sharp, and almost overbearing, being more like alcohol than a scent to please the nose. His arm wasn’t dilapidated, in fact, despite being his arm it was scrawnier but cleaner. The blazer he’s wearing was in a state of disrepair, ripped several times on the sleeve as well as having a few stains of something. Looking around in the gaudily decorated hallway, he ran down the winding carpet, or the concrete stairs, they blended together if he didn’t pay attention.
Hurry.
Hurry.
Can’t be late to your own big day.
Then in a minute, he was on the roof somewhere, sirens echoing in the distance and the familiar red and blue glows reflecting off the metal railing. Looking over he could see a crowd congregating together, ready to watch and applaud like they always do. Rubbing his face, he faced forward and saw them waiting right there, just a little further. Reaching out he mouthed to come closer, he couldn’t get there. But as he stretched his body the furthest it could go, suddenly he exerted forward. His upper body tipping, his legs flipping over as he slid over the metal railing. Fascinator watched as they got further and he the ground got closer, peering up to only find a figure staring down at his fall from the clouds.
Red. All he saw was red. Screaming, shouting, crying, sirens and the clacking of an old wheel improperly oiled echoed as it all faded to darkness.
“Fascinator! Fasci, what're you doing there?”
Blinking, snapping out of his trance, the mentioned man looked at the beam of light welcoming him back into reality from the door on top of the stairs. Knittens looked down in confusion, his hair not even made and his wrinkly pajamas ridden up. Adjusting to the light, he lurched over and grabbed his own arm in hysteria, air caught in his throat as he prepared for the overwhelming pain but nothing came. His arm felt fine, well a little weird like his nerves and tendons were expecting something else. It looked fine, there wasn’t any damage. It must’ve been a bad nightmare. Getting up from his seat with shaky legs of a newborn lamb he looked back, the chair and the two chairs with mirrors. He’ll have to put that away at another point. But as his gaze slides over the one on his left side, an odd sharp pain akin to a sudden headache struck him hard. Groaning, Fascinator held his head as he climbed up the wooden stairs. Knittens raised his eyebrow,
“You mind telling me why you slept there for the night?”
“So it wasn’t you?”
“What? Why would you think I would even do that?”
Fascinator shrugged, he sort of had no reason. He just assumed it made sense at the time. It most definitely Headphones then, and he was getting more irritated as he began to shake the grogginess out of his eyes. Shrugging off the incident, the two went into the kitchen without any more questions, they just sort of accepted it. After all, weirder happened to them. The kitchen smelled like faintly like pancakes from the previous weekend breakfasts they had there, laughter and shrieks of surprise almost absorbed into the walls. The dusty drapes of the windows that barely let in light weren’t as welcoming as they were before, instead, it reminded Fascinator of an old abandoned factory, grim and grease caked onto the old stove and pans. But it was still his home, he shouldn’t blame it for that.
Flipping some flapjacks for his younger cousin eagerly awaiting while hearing the familiar pitter of talons scraping against the wood floor upstairs of his little pets smelling the food, the smile plastered on his face felt unnatural today. He could feel every muscle that had to contract to even give the smallest grin. But he smiled every day, now if he didn’t that would be unnatural! Bearing the soreness of his cheeks he forced a laugh out that seemed to satisfy the stare from Knittens as they enjoyed their breakfast. Knittens smothered his in syrup and butter, whipped cream with blueberries and strawberries globbed on top messily. Usually, he’d smile at those nostalgic antics, but right now, he just stared. His stomach turned, his throat almost gagged.
“Absolutely horrendous.”
Again. Again, he kept hearing the same things in his head and this time he even slept a good night’s sleep. These weren’t natural, maybe it was because he missed one day of his prescription. Fascinator grumbled, if he could go to his psychiatrist, he would. But his usual session would put a strain on his savings, and since he didn’t save up for the event he would get fired, he only had such a finite amount to spend on essentials before going broke, Without any considerations for another job in years, he had to make sure that he stretch their budget to last them as long as possible. So this tiny, measly expense could wait until he had a new source of income.
“It can wait.”
Shaking his head and stuffing his face with his plain buttered pancakes with fruit, he tried to enjoy his own cooking. But it was grainy and flat, doughy, tart and squishy without any sense of enjoyment in eating. This was his usual recipe, it was extra fluffy with the folded egg whites in the batter, so why did it taste like this? He couldn’t enjoy it, at all. He forced himself to eat it, struggling to take it down as he grimaces. Fascinator asked,
“Was breakfast bad for you too?”
“No? Why? It’s like every other weekend. Pancake weekend!”
“Right… Never mind, just lost my appetite.”
Shaking his head, Fascinator assured himself that everything was normal and it was fine. Even the feeling of being watched with a presence lurking behind him, the feeling being unsafe in his own home, and the feeling of unfulfillment of the one few simple things that brought him joy gives him nothing; it was all normal. He waved Knittens off, running off to play with his school chums as he was left alone in the old house. The colors grew dull and drained away as Fascinator dropped his sore mouth of the unnatural smile.
He should find a job opportunity, he needs to. But even then, he just couldn’t bring himself to go to the bathroom to freshen himself up. Why even go, not like yesterday even brought any luck on him right now. It just didn’t feel worth it to go through the effort of trying to apply and just get rejected anyways. He was an idol for more than ten years, was he even qualified to do another job? He dropped out of college and barely graduated high school, and he only had maybe two jobs other than this. Not a very impressive resume. May as well wait for something to pop up eventually then, after all, something had to pop up eventually.
“Just sleep then, close your eyes and nothing else will matter.”
Fascinator slapped his forehead, trying to snap himself to his senses. First the nightmare and now he has voices in his head? Seems like he’s just getting worse. His gaze focused towards the direction of the basement, pursing his lips. Well, it might have been a fever dream of horror, the scene that played out wasn’t. It fit exactly into his memory, falling helplessly off that roof and then waking up in the hospital. But the figure behind the railing, that had to be the culprit. He could clear his name, tell those families it really wasn’t him and prove his innocence. And he could finally remember the missing pieces from his life. He could finally become whole again. Stepping down the stairs and back to where he was, he grabbed the box and darted back up, dread clinging his spine and panic filling his heart as he refused to look behind him. Cradling the box, he studied the precious contents and smiled. He could finally prove that he wasn’t a murderer. The cold hateful stares can disappear from his subconscious. He could remember his own childhood again, well at least a fragment. An important little shard. It was like he found a new purpose, a new reason to keep going.
“Why don’t you ask me for help?”
Fascinator blinked in confusion and refused,
“No, no, no. It’s just a voice, ignore it.”
“Just a voice? I’d thought you’d like my little gift.”
“Gift?”
Staring frantically around him to find the source of the comment, he hesitantly asks,
“You gave me that…?”
“Yes, and if you want anything more from your memories you’ll have to show some gratefulness.”
“T-Thank you…?”
“Was it that hard? Did your mother raise you in a barn? No matter, it’s simple. You want to solve this case, you have to follow my way. Deal?”
“Now if this is really happening -which it isn’t- and you’re not a voice in my head -which you are-, what’re you getting?”
“Something I should’ve claimed a long time ago. But fame and fortune blind the eyes I suppose.”
“Mmhm. I’m gonna try to ignore you now.”
“Try as you might, you can’t get rid of me! We’ll be like partner detectives!"

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

Fascinator’s eyes flutter open as the room began to focus on him. It was hard to see, there was barely any light to illuminate the area. But he could tell the walls were made of concrete, uneven and bumpy without any finish. The air was cold and damp, the faint scent of something rotten causing him to gag. Goosebumps covered his exposed top half, he really needs to get some pajamas. The floor was dirty, he could tell the soles of his feet were pitch black from it. As his eyes refocus in the darkness, blurry without his contacts in, he could tell where he was. He was in his basement, the familiar cruelty old wooden stairs with one step broken to the right and to his left the piles of old clothing with the washer and dryer. Fascinator rubbed his temples, how did he get here? Maybe it was a prank or something by Headphones or even Knittens. They always were troublemakers, like the time he woke up on the roof.
He stretched his back, sitting up on the chair he was sitting on before a glint in the darkness caught his eye. A long rectangle mirror propped onto a chair facing him, and in the reflection, there was another on his left side. His throat dried, a feeling dread overcoming him like his own body found an aversion to this setup. Screaming at him. Begging to run up the old wooden stairs and run from the suffocating damp air to the safety of above and into the warm light of the worn out lightbulb of the kitchen.
A weight sat on his shoulders, preventing his legs from even budging an inch like chains and straps were wrapped around his ankles to the legs of the chair. He could barely move his own wrists, only turning them to see his dirty dusty hands, black soot smeared on his fingertips. Fascinator began to panic, his chest heaving as his own lungs were squeezed. Eyes darting wildly he tries to feebly jump out of the chair, but he stayed still. His own body didn’t want to listen to him, a tingle climbing up his spine and the hairs on his neck standing as a cold sensation rises from the ends of his toes, climbing up his ankles and calves, enveloping his waist and his shoulders. Like the feeling of cold water drowning him and dragging him underneath the waves. Chest burning and heaving, he let out mangled coughs as he tried to suck in air. His gaze focused forward, the gazes in the mirror watching him. Trying to breathe, he bent over, the spell over him fading as he clutched his knees. His hands bumping into the metal box on his lap. All of his attention was absorbed into the scenery that he didn’t even notice.
The box was dingy, the tin was dented and scratched. His hands were shaking and shivering as he pried the lid open. The hinges making a low creak noise as he peered to its contents. Withered newspapers and documents piled up, stained yellow but the headlines were still visible,
“5 Murdered at Local High School,”
“Suspect, Fellow Student Responsible?”,
“Families Cry for Justice but Ignored,”
“Recent Idol a Killer?”, etc.
All the tabloid crap expected. Fascinator could feel himself getting mentally exhausted just seeing these papers, the publicity of this story haunted him for years, it was time for an end. This was surely a prank by Knittens, the kid always teased him about it without understanding the bad reputation messing with it could cause. He still got indie amateur film crews trying to get him to confess to a crime he doesn't even remember. It was like kicking a dead horse if you hung, quartered, tar and feathered, and turned that horse into glue afterward, in that order. Rubbing his temples from the bad memories it brought he muttered under his breath,
“I thought I buried this crap… Looks like I’ll have to burn it now.”
Picking up the dingy box, he scoffed at the contents but a little piece of fabric caught his eye. Moving the papers off, he scooped up the old and tattered bow pin with contorted feathers. It was an old namesake, one of the few things his parents gave him from the hospital all those years ago. The old fascinator somehow took hold of his hand, he couldn’t drop into the box if he wanted to.
He just stared at it. Studying each rip, each tear of the cloth in the ribbon as well as how it folded and tied into its shape. Well, he knew what he was named but still, it was more than a simple piece of eye-catching headwear. Like finding that missing puzzle piece underneath the couch, at first you don’t recognize it’s potential but as the gears in your head turn, you recognize its importance. But like that old jigsaw puzzle, you’ve forgotten its origin so you’re stuck there. Holding it. Studying it. Trying to remember. His vision began to blur, colors melting out of their fuzzy lines, becoming a giant mess of different shades and tints. His pupils focusing and yet the less he could see. A disembodied voice smiling from the left,
“Hope you like your gift.”
Judgment had begun.
Eyes rolling back, darkness engulfed his vision before a glimmer of the flames in his hand flickered into view. Fascinator was no longer sitting in his rotting basement with that old dingy box. He sat in a chair where shadows danced and pranced from the flame floating in his open hand. That’s when he noticed the blood caked underneath his nails and the dried streaks staining his hands. Yet no panic, no fear, just a tranquil feeling of peace, floating in the ethereal river. Rising from his seat like the weight disappeared, he faced forward, always forward. The sputtering flame crackles but there wasn’t any heat from it, it’s tiny light illuminating the dark twisting hall.
One foot in front of the other; down, down, down, down and then right to a locked mirror. Fascinator peered into the glass but the person staring back wasn’t him. Well, in the dark he could maybe guess, but with the tiny hopeful fire brightening the image, he could see the figure wasn’t looking at him at all. It was pointing to their right arm, with a trickle of something oozing out and down their arm and that’s all he could tell. The mirror frame had a keyhole at the side like it was a door. A locked door that he couldn’t open for years.
And still, he couldn’t open this door to the beyond of this construct. Fascinator pressed his hand on the cold glass, furrowing his eyebrows together. What was he supposed to do? Once he goes there wasn’t he supposed to get through? His eyes dart as he tried to find a key somewhere, the flame slowly diminishing. But then he spotted the old hair decoration he was named after in his clenched hand. Taking it into the last remaining light, he stared at it carefully.
There had to be something, anything about it. It had to have something that was the key to this. Fascinator didn’t even know why he had to progress, there wasn’t a reason just an intense need to pass through. In his subconscious, he knew why he had to keep walking forward, and right now that’s all he could trust. Staring at the battered old accessory, he shook his head, he had nothing. Desperation set in, he’ll have to make a way in. He had to open the door, it wasn’t an urge it was a requirement. Like a basic need to live, he needed to get through the door. He’d trade the water in his body just to see the door creak open. Shaken to his knees as he dry heaves, he could see the door was opening so clearly but it wouldn’t open; this wasn’t possible none of it could be, the door was there -it was there, couldn’t you see it?- there but locked away, keeping secrets, keeping him away but he needed to find them, he needed to, so then why wouldn’t it open?
“Something from you to exchange for your present.”
His gaze was affixed to the ground, thoughts swirling as he tried to understand what that even meant in the first place. He had nothing to give, really. He was a half-naked man just sitting in a dark corridor. Exhaustion enveloped him, his brain degrading and rotting in a mushy pile sitting inside of his skull, nothing was making any sense. His head was forced down by a weight hanging around his neck, he was even too distracted to question why there was just a voice. Fascinator couldn’t give anything, he didn’t have anything anymore.
A moment of clarity, or perhaps just a bad impulse, clicked into his mind. Everything was so obvious from the start. Staring at the old pin, he clicked it once to unhook the sharp end of the latch. Before the millennium, they still sold fascinators with rather a keen point (even then you can find antique ones on the market). Gazing upon the figure in the mirror, caressing the portrait delicately and finely like a mother holds her child, and revering it as a towering cathedral. He understood it all so clearly, despite there being no reason living in the hallowed grave. Perhaps the answer was just an amalgamation of fragments that made sense in his desperation. But whatever the answer was in his mind, he didn’t hesitate as he took the sharp point of the nostalgic namesake, and drove it into his arm.
Twisting and pushing to penetrate deeper into his skin, breaking the thin layer and warm blood leaks out. The fresh essence of life dripping down as he drives the needle deeper and pulling it away from him, splitting the muscle and skin he had in the way painfully. The point of the pin was sharp, but nothing else, so he had to force the skin to break. The screaming nerves and the dizziness from the quickly escaping blood didn’t deter his focused grip. If he just kept his mind concentrated on finding the key to the door, then nothing else mattered. If he blocked everything out, then not even the anguish of his mortal body could find him again. No one could find him again. His vision blurred as he kept struggling to rip apart the flesh, veins pulled to the point of breaking until he reached his wrist bone, the pearly white waving hello from the red drowning it. Gulping for air, as he kept his throat from heaving, he kept his attention on his goal. Shaking, he was almost scratching and pulling at his lacerated wound, trying to find the answer. It was in there somewhere, he just didn’t know what the answer looked like. But it was in there, the reflection told him so, it was in there somewhere. The aching dull pain rang through his brain, but Fasci kept searching until the muscle began to peel away from his bone. Oddly in this odd state of affairs, in this out of body world, he still didn’t feel the one emotion he felt constantly through his everyday life. He didn't feel scared. He didn’t feel scared that he might get an infection, or that he may need to go to the hospital, or what his mother, fathers, Knittens, anyone would say. He didn’t feel frightened. It was all just a neutral buzzing sound of a white noise machine humming in its little room alone.
Well to be more precise, he isn’t afraid of what he usually is scared of, right now he afraid of not finding the answer. It wasn’t there, not inside there so then what isn't he getting from the portrait, what did he do wrong? Mind racing as he struggled to find a way to open the door. But like that, a simple click and the mirror door creaked just a slit open. Relieved, overjoyed, overwhelmed with the absolute glory of euphoria he scrambled to the door and batted it open with frantic motions. As he faced what was inside, he had a moment of pause, to think about what he had just done, and what he did it for.
Why did he even do that?
It seemed to be a split second of doubt as he threw himself inside, then everything faded away. Before his own eyes, like a film shot in first person, the first thing to hit him was the smell of an off-brand cologne. Sharp, and almost overbearing, being more like alcohol than a scent to please the nose. His arm wasn’t dilapidated, in fact, despite being his arm it was scrawnier but cleaner. The blazer he’s wearing was in a state of disrepair, ripped several times on the sleeve as well as having a few stains of something. Looking around in the gaudily decorated hallway, he ran down the winding carpet, or the concrete stairs, they blended together if he didn’t pay attention.
Hurry.
Hurry.
Can’t be late to your own big day.
Then in a minute, he was on the roof somewhere, sirens echoing in the distance and the familiar red and blue glows reflecting off the metal railing. Looking over he could see a crowd congregating together, ready to watch and applaud like they always do. Rubbing his face, he faced forward and saw them waiting right there, just a little further. Reaching out he mouthed to come closer, he couldn’t get there. But as he stretched his body the furthest it could go, suddenly he exerted forward. His upper body tipping, his legs flipping over as he slid over the metal railing. Fascinator watched as they got further and he the ground got closer, peering up to only find a figure staring down at his fall from the clouds.
Red. All he saw was red. Screaming, shouting, crying, sirens and the clacking of an old wheel improperly oiled echoed as it all faded to darkness.
“Fascinator! Fasci, what're you doing there?”
Blinking, snapping out of his trance, the mentioned man looked at the beam of light welcoming him back into reality from the door on top of the stairs. Knittens looked down in confusion, his hair not even made and his wrinkly pajamas ridden up. Adjusting to the light, he lurched over and grabbed his own arm in hysteria, air caught in his throat as he prepared for the overwhelming pain but nothing came. His arm felt fine, well a little weird like his nerves and tendons were expecting something else. It looked fine, there wasn’t any damage. It must’ve been a bad nightmare. Getting up from his seat with shaky legs of a newborn lamb he looked back, the chair and the two chairs with mirrors. He’ll have to put that away at another point. But as his gaze slides over the one on his left side, an odd sharp pain akin to a sudden headache struck him hard. Groaning, Fascinator held his head as he climbed up the wooden stairs. Knittens raised his eyebrow,
“You mind telling me why you slept there for the night?”
“So it wasn’t you?”
“What? Why would you think I would even do that?”
Fascinator shrugged, he sort of had no reason. He just assumed it made sense at the time. It most definitely Headphones then, and he was getting more irritated as he began to shake the grogginess out of his eyes. Shrugging off the incident, the two went into the kitchen without any more questions, they just sort of accepted it. After all, weirder happened to them. The kitchen smelled like faintly like pancakes from the previous weekend breakfasts they had there, laughter and shrieks of surprise almost absorbed into the walls. The dusty drapes of the windows that barely let in light weren’t as welcoming as they were before, instead, it reminded Fascinator of an old abandoned factory, grim and grease caked onto the old stove and pans. But it was still his home, he shouldn’t blame it for that.
Flipping some flapjacks for his younger cousin eagerly awaiting while hearing the familiar pitter of talons scraping against the wood floor upstairs of his little pets smelling the food, the smile plastered on his face felt unnatural today. He could feel every muscle that had to contract to even give the smallest grin. But he smiled every day, now if he didn’t that would be unnatural! Bearing the soreness of his cheeks he forced a laugh out that seemed to satisfy the stare from Knittens as they enjoyed their breakfast. Knittens smothered his in syrup and butter, whipped cream with blueberries and strawberries globbed on top messily. Usually, he’d smile at those nostalgic antics, but right now, he just stared. His stomach turned, his throat almost gagged.
“Absolutely horrendous.”
Again. Again, he kept hearing the same things in his head and this time he even slept a good night’s sleep. These weren’t natural, maybe it was because he missed one day of his prescription. Fascinator grumbled, if he could go to his psychiatrist, he would. But his usual session would put a strain on his savings, and since he didn’t save up for the event he would get fired, he only had such a finite amount to spend on essentials before going broke, Without any considerations for another job in years, he had to make sure that he stretch their budget to last them as long as possible. So this tiny, measly expense could wait until he had a new source of income.
“It can wait.”
Shaking his head and stuffing his face with his plain buttered pancakes with fruit, he tried to enjoy his own cooking. But it was grainy and flat, doughy, tart and squishy without any sense of enjoyment in eating. This was his usual recipe, it was extra fluffy with the folded egg whites in the batter, so why did it taste like this? He couldn’t enjoy it, at all. He forced himself to eat it, struggling to take it down as he grimaces. Fascinator asked,
“Was breakfast bad for you too?”
“No? Why? It’s like every other weekend. Pancake weekend!”
“Right… Never mind, just lost my appetite.”
Shaking his head, Fascinator assured himself that everything was normal and it was fine. Even the feeling of being watched with a presence lurking behind him, the feeling being unsafe in his own home, and the feeling of unfulfillment of the one few simple things that brought him joy gives him nothing; it was all normal. He waved Knittens off, running off to play with his school chums as he was left alone in the old house. The colors grew dull and drained away as Fascinator dropped his sore mouth of the unnatural smile.
He should find a job opportunity, he needs to. But even then, he just couldn’t bring himself to go to the bathroom to freshen himself up. Why even go, not like yesterday even brought any luck on him right now. It just didn’t feel worth it to go through the effort of trying to apply and just get rejected anyways. He was an idol for more than ten years, was he even qualified to do another job? He dropped out of college and barely graduated high school, and he only had maybe two jobs other than this. Not a very impressive resume. May as well wait for something to pop up eventually then, after all, something had to pop up eventually.
“Just sleep then, close your eyes and nothing else will matter.”
Fascinator slapped his forehead, trying to snap himself to his senses. First the nightmare and now he has voices in his head? Seems like he’s just getting worse. His gaze focused towards the direction of the basement, pursing his lips. Well, it might have been a fever dream of horror, the scene that played out wasn’t. It fit exactly into his memory, falling helplessly off that roof and then waking up in the hospital. But the figure behind the railing, that had to be the culprit. He could clear his name, tell those families it really wasn’t him and prove his innocence. And he could finally remember the missing pieces from his life. He could finally become whole again. Stepping down the stairs and back to where he was, he grabbed the box and darted back up, dread clinging his spine and panic filling his heart as he refused to look behind him. Cradling the box, he studied the precious contents and smiled. He could finally prove that he wasn’t a murderer. The cold hateful stares can disappear from his subconscious. He could remember his own childhood again, well at least a fragment. An important little shard. It was like he found a new purpose, a new reason to keep going.
“Why don’t you ask me for help?”
Fascinator blinked in confusion and refused,
“No, no, no. It’s just a voice, ignore it.”
“Just a voice? I’d thought you’d like my little gift.”
“Gift?”
Staring frantically around him to find the source of the comment, he hesitantly asks,
“You gave me that…?”
“Yes, and if you want anything more from your memories you’ll have to show some gratefulness.”
“T-Thank you…?”
“Was it that hard? Did your mother raise you in a barn? No matter, it’s simple. You want to solve this case, you have to follow my way. Deal?”
“Now if this is really happening -which it isn’t- and you’re not a voice in my head -which you are-, what’re you getting?”
“Something I should’ve claimed a long time ago. But fame and fortune blind the eyes I suppose.”
“Mmhm. I’m gonna try to ignore you now.”
“Try as you might, you can’t get rid of me! We’ll be like partner detectives!"