Happy Halloween Anon! Honestly, for me halloween is tomorrow but my dorm did trick or treating tonight so it feels like spoopy day. I was planning to post a surprise Halloween story. So enjoy a Halloween story featuring the Hamilsquad!
* Can you please turn of “This is Halloween” It’s fucking JUNE. * We decided to go camping in Halloween with a bunch of friends and we’re telling each other ghost stories when we hear a sound coming from the woods…turns out you just went to pee, Jesus, you scared us * hamilsquad * Modern
Word Count: 1,078
You should’ve known camping with your friends was a horrible idea. It was even worse idea on Halloween night. Your friends loved Halloween night, they were excited back in June for it. You had come home, the apartment you shared with the guys, to Lafayette blaring “This is Halloween” while he was baking.
“Can you please turn off ‘This is Halloween?’ It’s fucking JUNE!” You told him angrily. He only smirked at you and turned it up. You had accepted it, only now you remembered his premature excitement. He had, after all, been the one to suggest this trip.
You all were in charge of bringing something for this camp out. You all pitched in for firewood and kindling. Hercules brought drinks. John brought all the necessary items for some s'mores. Alexander brought a large tent that you could all share. You brought a large number of blankets and sleeping bags. Lafayette, however, didn’t bring anything.
“What the hell man? We were all bringing something.” Hercules complained. You were all seated around your small camp fire, marshmallows heating above the flames. Or, in Alexander’s case, sticking his marshmallow in the flames and allowing the exterior to burn completely. You were wrapped up in a blanket as well, feeling the chill of October. Alexander was the only other one who shared your thinking having grown up in warm Nevis. The other men claimed it was beautiful weather.
“Ah but I didn’t bring something mes amies.” Lafayette said mischievously. “I brought my French heritage.” You all stared at him in confusion. He always had that. What the hell kind of contribution was that? He huffed and, as if reading your minds, explained. “We are telling scary stories, non? What stories would you all be telling?”
“Uh I don’t know.” You shrugged. “Bloody Mary. Hook Man.”
“Exactement!” Lafayette said. “We’ve all heard those stories. But you’ve not heard the tales of my ancestors.” His mischievous grin was back. So you completed roasting marshmallows, and each other, and settled in for Lafayette’s horror show.
You bundled the blanket tighter around yourself. Lafayette had been through about two stories, and you were horrified at this point. “My next tale takes place in the city of Notre Dame. On a cold and rain day of October in 1882 a woman, known only as M.J. appeared at tower of Notre Dame. She was refused in her request to climb because she didn’t have a chaperone as was custom of the day. She befriended and elderly woman and asked her if she’d like to tour the tower with her.
“When they reached the top it had began, how you say, down pouring. The elderly woman hid in the bell ringer’s room. M.J. went to the top, screamed, and apparently jumped. Witnesses say she fell unto spiked railings below and was neatly severed in two.” You audibly gagged and the guys grimaced in disgust. “No identification was found in her purse but her kerchief was marked with the initials M.J. Also, the old woman who escorted her seemed to have disappeared. If you go to Notre Dame, mes amies, look for either of the women. They’ve been seen flitting between the gargoyles.”
“Damn.” Alexander muttered.
“Any other stories Laf?” John asked. “Otherwise I’m gonna tell the generic Bloody Mary stories.”
“Oui. I have un more. There is a creature that roams the remote country side.” Lafayette began a new tale.
“Why doesn’t it reside in the city?” Alexander asked. You reached over and took Alexander’s beer from him. Lafayette shook his head in amusement but continued his story.
“It’s called the Peluda. It is a combination of porcupine stingers, a snake’s head and neck, tortoise feet, and a serpent tail. It has a breath that could wither crops, quills that could be fired like arrows. It’s only weak spot is its tail.” Lafayette continued in a deep menacing voice. “It’s so large that it could flood cities by merely stepping on rivers. It can deal a deathly blow with its tail and spit streams of acid.” Lafayette smirked. His smile fell as a twig snapped in the woods around you.
“John, I thought this was your families’ property.” You said in a slow and cautious tone.
“It is.” He hissed back. “No one should be out here. My sister took the little kids trick or treating and my dad never comes out this far.”
“Then who is that?” Alexander whispered. The snapping of twigs grew closer, and there was a ruffling of leaves now too. Lafayette and John both grabbed large branches that you had yet to burn. You took a step backwards, positioning yourself behind the guys. A large silhouette appeared in the trees. You muffled a squeak if fear and clung to Alexander’s arm.
The figure came closer as Lafayette and John raised their branches. The figure broke through the last layer of branches and bushes and you could see Hercules clearly. It was only then that you realized in the slight terror, he hadn’t been among you. He blinking in confusion at the group of you, two people wielding large branches, and you all blinked back in surprise.
“What the hell? I was just going pee.” Hercules said. That sent the other four of you over the edge with laughter.
“Jesus you scared us, Herc.” You said with laughter. At some point Hercules joined in with laughter, fully realizing what was going on.
“Ok, on that note, I think it’s time to stop with scary stories.” John said.
“Agreed.” Voiced Alexander.
“Let’s have a few more s'mores and get some sleep.” You chimed in after checking your phone. It was almost 2 a.m.
“Sounds good to moi.” Lafayette said. He happily plopped back into his seat and grabbed a blanket to drape over his lap. The rest of you followed suit. You all had a few more laughs around the fire. John began telling funny stories at some point.
Eventually you all climbed into the tent. You regretted bringing an excess number of pillows as Alexander threw one at Hercules and began a pillow war. As a cease fire was called you all laid down for sleep. You looked at your friends. In the end, you were so grateful for this trip and memories made. You and the others fell into a sound sleep, unaware of the tall, faceless creature lurking among the trees around your tent.
The whole ordeal began and ended innocently enough. It was just two kids, two boys, making promises, as they are prone to do. Children make many promises, after all.
Phoenix Wright, age 9, looked across his classroom at the other children who were playing during break period. They were up to all manner of mischief, building and destroying Lego cities, cutting bizarre shapes into the bright construction paper their teacher had provided, running around and making all manner of noise. His classmate and friend Larry Butz was trying to hit on Susie Derkin’s in the corner. It didn’t look like it was going well for him.
His other friend in that class, Miles Edgeworth, was sitting next to him, reading. Phoenix looked down at the drawing in his hands, a decent attempt at a picture of the three of them.
Then his attention was caught by a group of children in the corner playing ‘wedding’. It was an innocent game, one child proposes to another child via ring pop or Lego piece or whatever item they had to substitute for a diamond, she says yes, the rest of the children cheer and they have a fake ceremony with leaf-throwing and singing. Phoenix thought it was beautiful.
Miles glanced up from his book at his friend, and then in the direction of the children. He cringed when the ‘bride’ told one of the other boys to be the ‘jealous ex-lover’. Those children really watched too much TV.
“Yes, Phoenix?” He turned his attention back to the spike-haired child he’d befriended as of late.
“Do you think I’ll ever get something like that?”
“Like what, Phoenix?” Being the ‘jealous ex-lover’ at a sitcom-esque farce of a wedding?
“I don’t know, marraige! It sounds really nice, doesn’t it?” The Wright boy turned, beaming.
“I…. suppose so.” He was hesitant to tell the bright child in front of him that he thought it all rather cumbersome and foolish.
“Oh, hey, I know!” Phoenix shouted a little, then quieted down when a few heads turned. “I know, if no one else will take me, you’ll marry me, right Miles?”
“Phoenix, We can’t get married.”
“Eh? Why not?” Porcupine-heads smile fell a little.
“Because we’re nine.” Miles blinked as though that was the most obvious answer in the world.
“Yeah, but you know, someday, when we’re not nine.” Phoenix flushed slightly, rubbing his neck.
“Well….” Miles sighed. “I suppose… if we’re still acquainted then, and if you haven’t already found some fairy-tale partner, then… I have no objections to that.”
“Awesome!” 9 year old Phoenix Wright grinned, evoking something of a blush from the boy sitting next to him.
This is sort of an aftermath of the bicycle fiasco so there are a few allusions to it, but nothing to worry about if you haven’t read that part.
It was odd, James thought, that in the Wizarding world broken bones could have been healed in a heartbeat but here in the muggle world they were merely wrapped up in plaster and cloth and left like that for three weeks. Yeah right, as if hiding it was going to fix it and make him feel better.
“Stop picking at it,” Lily admonished him as she walked back into to the living room. She was carrying a glass of water and a small packet. James’ hand immediately fell from the cast which he had indeed been interfering with just moments before and he pouted at her.
“But it’s itchy!” he protested. “I don’t see how wrapping my arm in cloth is fixing it.”
“It’s helping it heal naturally,” she explained. “The cast is keeping the bones in place so that they can heal correctly. You don’t want them to have to re-break your arm, now do you?”
His face lost what little colour it came to possess after returning from the hospital. “Muggle healers are bonkers,” he declared. “I don’t see why you couldn’t just carry me to St. Mungo’s. I wouldn’t have to be tied up in this ridiculousness if I went there.”
Lily sighed. “Okay, first of all they’re called doctors, not ‘muggle healers.’ I’ve told you that at least a thousand times. And secondly, I don’t even know where St. Mungo’s is! I highly doubt it’s going to be labelled on one of my dad’s maps.”
“I could have given you directions!”
“You were too busy crying to say anything coherent!”
James’ ears reddened. “I was not crying,” he sniffed disdainfully. “I don’t cry.”