LJ Idol: Wheel of Chaos: "Gone"
Nov. 3rd, 2025 03:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
halfshellvenusGone
Idol Wheel of Chaos | Week 14, Story 2 | 1834 words
Ambuscade
x-x-x-x-x
It's been four months since Jenny disappeared.
I honestly thought she'd be back by now. She had a job waiting for her, and she was never the flaky type. But she went to the Allegheny Horror Con in June, and apart from Instagram updates the first two days, no one had heard from her since.
Jenny and I weren't super-close, but if I'd been a better friend, I'd have gone looking for her months ago. Now, at least, I was able to take some vacation time to fly to Pennsylvania. I hoped I would find some answers.
I got in late Friday night, and drove to the same Airbnb where Jenny had stayed. Jenny had gushed over its quaintness in her posts, but it didn't look terribly interesting in the dark. The inside was old-school gothic, with spooky candelabras and a color scheme built on deep red and black. I would have called it murky— we were in the LED age, but the lighting was all low-watt incandescents.
Maybe it just fit better with Jenny's Addams Family aesthetic than my mid-century modernism.
It was a medium-sized three-bedroom house, and yet there was an actual parlor filled with wingback chairs, a fireplace, and dusty portraits. Different eras, different priorities, I supposed. The bathroom had a claw foot tub with a shower head and a curtain. The main bedroom had scrollwork furniture and an honest-to-god four-poster bed.
I put down my suitcase and took in my surroundings. Gloomy, I thought, and kind of creepy. But for Jenny, it was probably perfect.
Jenny had been a horror fan for as long as I could remember. She read it, watched it, and breathed it, in perpetual contrast to her sunny personality. She'd been looking forward to Horror Fest since buying her ticket in February, thrilled with the chance to meet some of her favorite authors. Beneath her wholesome blond exterior beat the heart of a woman who hoped to someday write like Catriona Ward.
Was Catriona there at the conference, I wondered. Did you get a chance to speak to her? I knew Jenny had gone to a couple of movie panels and met a lot of other fans, but most of the writers' events were on the last day and she'd stopped posting by then.
I hadn't been able to look for Jenny in person over the last few months, but I'd done a lot of research. Now I was here, retracing her footsteps and hoping to stumble over the truth.
That truth would have to wait until tomorrow, however. It was late and I was tired. I brushed my teeth and changed into my pajamas, and then I slipped beneath the dark, clammy bedspread and went to sleep.
It was cloudy the next morning, with a dampness to the air that seeped inside the house. I dressed quickly, and went out in search of coffee and answers to my questions.
There was a coffee shop a few blocks from the Airbnb that had great croissants and a decent latte macchiato. I asked around about Jenny, but no one there remembered seeing her. I wasn't surprised— she wasn't local, and she'd only come for a few days. Still, she was pretty and super-friendly, and I'd hoped to find some sort of clue.
Afterwards, I went back to the Airbnb and changed into a pair of tennis shoes.
Jenny had mentioned the woods behind the house on her Instagram posts, and I thought I'd better search there. She couldn't have gone far— she wasn't much of a hiker— but I couldn't discount the possibility.
There was a break in the trees where the grass was worn, and I went through it. There were a lot of brambles and underbrush, and it was slow going. I made sure I could still see the house–I didn't want to get lost. Had that happened to Jenny? I liked to think she was too smart for that. God, these woods were miserable. The air was cold and dank, and the trees overhead blocked a lot of light. It was honestly kind of unsettling, though maybe the creepiness appealed to Jenny as inspiration for story-writing. But surely it had been different when she went there during the summer?
I looked around for about an hour, checking the ground carefully. Nothing, not even a lost earring. That was good, though. I was pretty sure Jenny had made it out safely.
Next, I went around to some of the nearby houses. It was a long shot, but maybe she'd talked to somebody while she was in town and made an impression on them? But none of the neighbors had anything to offer, including the creep who looked me up and down and then lingered in the middle. He'd have remembered Jenny if he'd met her.
I'd already talked to some of the Con organizers months ago, when Jenny first disappeared. There weren't any reports of assault or kidnapping, although a few women had complained of being stalked. None of them were Jenny.
It was time to meet the owner of the Airbnb.
Mrs. Hartwick lived in a bungalow a couple of miles away. "I bought the house as an investment property last year," she told me. "I never planned to live in it myself. It's much too big for just one person."
"What made you pick that particular house?" I asked.
"Well, it was cheap," Mrs. Hartwick said. "There were rumors it was haunted, but I never believed them. And it came furnished, which was a plus. All I had to do was dust and clean and put it up for rent. But there hasn't been much interest so far, so I'm doing Airbnb between leases."
"Haunted?" I said.
"If you believe in that sort of thing. I think your friend considered it a bonus. She was very taken with the idea."
I smiled. "That sounds like Jenny. So, she didn't mention where she was going next?"
"No, and she never came back for her things. I stored them in the basement."
My stomach sank. Despite her love of all things horror, Jenny was a romantic at heart. All this time, I'd hoped she'd met someone who'd swept her off her feet. But surely she would have taken her luggage if that had happened?
"Do you think I could look at the things she left behind?" I asked.
Mrs. Hartwick came over to the house later that afternoon. She unlocked the basement door and led me downstairs. Jenny's suitcase sat in a corner, next to old lamp.
I opened it up and looked through what was in it. Clothes and toiletries. A brochure from the Horror Con. And then I saw Jenny's purse and cellphone, and felt sick.
"I can't believe she wouldn't come back for these," I said.
"It does seem strange," Mrs. Hartwick said. "Young people seem to be wedded to their phones these days."
I thanked Mrs. Hartwick and we went back upstairs. She left to go home, and I sat on the parlor's loveseat and thought about how bad things looked for Jenny. I really hoped I might still be proven wrong.
I went out to get some dinner, and then came back and took a shower. One more day, I thought. That was all the time I had left to find some answers about where she'd gone.
When I got out of the shower, I noticed something written in the steam on the bathroom mirror. Tracy, it said, and I jumped. Who had gotten into the bathroom, and how did they know my name? Had it been the owner? Though, why in the hell would she have done that?
I locked the door and got dressed. Then I crept out of the bathroom in case someone else was there.
The bedroom was empty. I unplugged a lamp and took it with me while I looked the rest of the house over. But I didn't see anyone else, and I even checked the closets. The basement was still locked, and so were the doors to the outside.
Something about this place was just off.
I'd noticed that it wasn't just the bedroom that was cold. There were spots in multiple rooms that were drafty, and not just near windows or heating vents.
I went back to get my phone and starting making a list. Going from room to room, I noted where the cold spots were and used the flashlight on the phone to check the areas around them. I really couldn't see anything, though. No holes, no gaps, nothing that would explain it. But the air was definitely damp and chilly in certain random places.
The worst was in the hallway leading to the bedroom. I went back again for another look.
I scanned the wall and ceiling again, and didn't see anything suspicious. But there was a large picture there, a family portrait. Judging by the clothes, it was from a time before cameras were invented. I lifted it carefully off the wall and put it down, and then I inspected the area behind it. It looked—
Whoa! Suddenly I was falling through the wall, screaming as I plummeted into the blackness behind it.
What the hell?
This couldn't be happening, it was impossible. And where was I?
I turned on the phone flashlight again, and jumped back into the wall behind me.
There were bones.
Bones with rotten clothes and hair, and the sound of rats skittering through them.
Oh, god— I have to get out of here! I banged on the wall behind me, felt around for the door I must surely have come through. Why wasn't anything there?
I searched the corridor to the left of me, looking for a window, an opening, anything like a crack or hidden passage. Nothing.
I was shaking as I stepped carefully over the piles of bones and started searching to the right. There were more rats and a loose skull, and darkness beyond that. I looked up and down, faster and faster, frantic for any kind of escape. How had I gotten in if there was no way out?
There was a lost shoe and a terrible, nauseating smell coming from ahead of me. I was flooded with an overwhelming sense of dread, but I knew I had to keep going no matter how scared I felt. Panicked tears streamed down my face as I forced myself to get closer to it, closer to—
I froze. Something mummified and horrible lay in front of me, a vision from my worst nightmares. And it was wearing Jenny's favorite sweater.
Oh god, oh god, this can't be happening!
My heart raced as I leaped past Jenny's corpse and went onward, feeling all along the surface of the walls as I continued my desperate search for freedom.
Then I felt the cold grip of terror rush in as the terrible truth suddenly seized me:
I am never, ever getting out of here…
--/--
No poll this week, but all the entries are here.
Idol Wheel of Chaos | Week 14, Story 2 | 1834 words
Ambuscade
x-x-x-x-x
It's been four months since Jenny disappeared.
I honestly thought she'd be back by now. She had a job waiting for her, and she was never the flaky type. But she went to the Allegheny Horror Con in June, and apart from Instagram updates the first two days, no one had heard from her since.
Jenny and I weren't super-close, but if I'd been a better friend, I'd have gone looking for her months ago. Now, at least, I was able to take some vacation time to fly to Pennsylvania. I hoped I would find some answers.
I got in late Friday night, and drove to the same Airbnb where Jenny had stayed. Jenny had gushed over its quaintness in her posts, but it didn't look terribly interesting in the dark. The inside was old-school gothic, with spooky candelabras and a color scheme built on deep red and black. I would have called it murky— we were in the LED age, but the lighting was all low-watt incandescents.
Maybe it just fit better with Jenny's Addams Family aesthetic than my mid-century modernism.
It was a medium-sized three-bedroom house, and yet there was an actual parlor filled with wingback chairs, a fireplace, and dusty portraits. Different eras, different priorities, I supposed. The bathroom had a claw foot tub with a shower head and a curtain. The main bedroom had scrollwork furniture and an honest-to-god four-poster bed.
I put down my suitcase and took in my surroundings. Gloomy, I thought, and kind of creepy. But for Jenny, it was probably perfect.
Jenny had been a horror fan for as long as I could remember. She read it, watched it, and breathed it, in perpetual contrast to her sunny personality. She'd been looking forward to Horror Fest since buying her ticket in February, thrilled with the chance to meet some of her favorite authors. Beneath her wholesome blond exterior beat the heart of a woman who hoped to someday write like Catriona Ward.
Was Catriona there at the conference, I wondered. Did you get a chance to speak to her? I knew Jenny had gone to a couple of movie panels and met a lot of other fans, but most of the writers' events were on the last day and she'd stopped posting by then.
I hadn't been able to look for Jenny in person over the last few months, but I'd done a lot of research. Now I was here, retracing her footsteps and hoping to stumble over the truth.
That truth would have to wait until tomorrow, however. It was late and I was tired. I brushed my teeth and changed into my pajamas, and then I slipped beneath the dark, clammy bedspread and went to sleep.
It was cloudy the next morning, with a dampness to the air that seeped inside the house. I dressed quickly, and went out in search of coffee and answers to my questions.
There was a coffee shop a few blocks from the Airbnb that had great croissants and a decent latte macchiato. I asked around about Jenny, but no one there remembered seeing her. I wasn't surprised— she wasn't local, and she'd only come for a few days. Still, she was pretty and super-friendly, and I'd hoped to find some sort of clue.
Afterwards, I went back to the Airbnb and changed into a pair of tennis shoes.
Jenny had mentioned the woods behind the house on her Instagram posts, and I thought I'd better search there. She couldn't have gone far— she wasn't much of a hiker— but I couldn't discount the possibility.
There was a break in the trees where the grass was worn, and I went through it. There were a lot of brambles and underbrush, and it was slow going. I made sure I could still see the house–I didn't want to get lost. Had that happened to Jenny? I liked to think she was too smart for that. God, these woods were miserable. The air was cold and dank, and the trees overhead blocked a lot of light. It was honestly kind of unsettling, though maybe the creepiness appealed to Jenny as inspiration for story-writing. But surely it had been different when she went there during the summer?
I looked around for about an hour, checking the ground carefully. Nothing, not even a lost earring. That was good, though. I was pretty sure Jenny had made it out safely.
Next, I went around to some of the nearby houses. It was a long shot, but maybe she'd talked to somebody while she was in town and made an impression on them? But none of the neighbors had anything to offer, including the creep who looked me up and down and then lingered in the middle. He'd have remembered Jenny if he'd met her.
I'd already talked to some of the Con organizers months ago, when Jenny first disappeared. There weren't any reports of assault or kidnapping, although a few women had complained of being stalked. None of them were Jenny.
It was time to meet the owner of the Airbnb.
Mrs. Hartwick lived in a bungalow a couple of miles away. "I bought the house as an investment property last year," she told me. "I never planned to live in it myself. It's much too big for just one person."
"What made you pick that particular house?" I asked.
"Well, it was cheap," Mrs. Hartwick said. "There were rumors it was haunted, but I never believed them. And it came furnished, which was a plus. All I had to do was dust and clean and put it up for rent. But there hasn't been much interest so far, so I'm doing Airbnb between leases."
"Haunted?" I said.
"If you believe in that sort of thing. I think your friend considered it a bonus. She was very taken with the idea."
I smiled. "That sounds like Jenny. So, she didn't mention where she was going next?"
"No, and she never came back for her things. I stored them in the basement."
My stomach sank. Despite her love of all things horror, Jenny was a romantic at heart. All this time, I'd hoped she'd met someone who'd swept her off her feet. But surely she would have taken her luggage if that had happened?
"Do you think I could look at the things she left behind?" I asked.
Mrs. Hartwick came over to the house later that afternoon. She unlocked the basement door and led me downstairs. Jenny's suitcase sat in a corner, next to old lamp.
I opened it up and looked through what was in it. Clothes and toiletries. A brochure from the Horror Con. And then I saw Jenny's purse and cellphone, and felt sick.
"I can't believe she wouldn't come back for these," I said.
"It does seem strange," Mrs. Hartwick said. "Young people seem to be wedded to their phones these days."
I thanked Mrs. Hartwick and we went back upstairs. She left to go home, and I sat on the parlor's loveseat and thought about how bad things looked for Jenny. I really hoped I might still be proven wrong.
I went out to get some dinner, and then came back and took a shower. One more day, I thought. That was all the time I had left to find some answers about where she'd gone.
When I got out of the shower, I noticed something written in the steam on the bathroom mirror. Tracy, it said, and I jumped. Who had gotten into the bathroom, and how did they know my name? Had it been the owner? Though, why in the hell would she have done that?
I locked the door and got dressed. Then I crept out of the bathroom in case someone else was there.
The bedroom was empty. I unplugged a lamp and took it with me while I looked the rest of the house over. But I didn't see anyone else, and I even checked the closets. The basement was still locked, and so were the doors to the outside.
Something about this place was just off.
I'd noticed that it wasn't just the bedroom that was cold. There were spots in multiple rooms that were drafty, and not just near windows or heating vents.
I went back to get my phone and starting making a list. Going from room to room, I noted where the cold spots were and used the flashlight on the phone to check the areas around them. I really couldn't see anything, though. No holes, no gaps, nothing that would explain it. But the air was definitely damp and chilly in certain random places.
The worst was in the hallway leading to the bedroom. I went back again for another look.
I scanned the wall and ceiling again, and didn't see anything suspicious. But there was a large picture there, a family portrait. Judging by the clothes, it was from a time before cameras were invented. I lifted it carefully off the wall and put it down, and then I inspected the area behind it. It looked—
Whoa! Suddenly I was falling through the wall, screaming as I plummeted into the blackness behind it.
What the hell?
This couldn't be happening, it was impossible. And where was I?
I turned on the phone flashlight again, and jumped back into the wall behind me.
There were bones.
Bones with rotten clothes and hair, and the sound of rats skittering through them.
Oh, god— I have to get out of here! I banged on the wall behind me, felt around for the door I must surely have come through. Why wasn't anything there?
I searched the corridor to the left of me, looking for a window, an opening, anything like a crack or hidden passage. Nothing.
I was shaking as I stepped carefully over the piles of bones and started searching to the right. There were more rats and a loose skull, and darkness beyond that. I looked up and down, faster and faster, frantic for any kind of escape. How had I gotten in if there was no way out?
There was a lost shoe and a terrible, nauseating smell coming from ahead of me. I was flooded with an overwhelming sense of dread, but I knew I had to keep going no matter how scared I felt. Panicked tears streamed down my face as I forced myself to get closer to it, closer to—
I froze. Something mummified and horrible lay in front of me, a vision from my worst nightmares. And it was wearing Jenny's favorite sweater.
Oh god, oh god, this can't be happening!
My heart raced as I leaped past Jenny's corpse and went onward, feeling all along the surface of the walls as I continued my desperate search for freedom.
Then I felt the cold grip of terror rush in as the terrible truth suddenly seized me:
I am never, ever getting out of here…
--/--
No poll this week, but all the entries are here.
no subject
Date: 2025-11-14 10:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-11-14 10:39 pm (UTC)I can completely see why a horror fan would want to stay in a haunted house. I think most are used to fake horror, and probably haven't thought too much about the real thing. And when people think haunted, they think "ghosts" and assume the ghosts can't do much harm. What if it's an evil house that only shows behavior similar to a ghost's?
Let's hope Tracy's disappearance doesn't rope another visitor into that same fate!