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16+ Violence Mature Content

Alastor’s story-Ghost House

by vampricone6783

Warning: This work has been rated 16+ for violence and mature content.

*This is the origin story of a character from my “Ghost House” stories. If you want to read my other Ghost House stories, you can look at my folder labeled “Ghost House”. This story takes place in 1933, during the time of The Great Depression. Please tell me if I wrote this character’s suffering to be real enough. This is also the first time I’m writing a story without the dots as page breaks. Gacha Club character designs are on my wall. Enjoy!*

Alastor Davids watched from the front window as Anderson drove off in his car, to his secure job, to his perfect life. He had a wife and kids waiting for him when he got home.

What did Alastor have? Nothing. A house that was crumbling, leaking out dirtied, past rain. The very walls smelled of rat droppings and mildew, threatening to cave him in.

Anderson’s house was just next to Alastor’s, standing tall and clean, filled with warm rooms for everyone. Anderson worked at a bank, he had everyone’s money. It was stolen money, Alastor was certain of it.

The wooden chair he sat on jabbed at his back with pointed stalks of wood, shooing him away, screaming at him to get up and leave.

Alastor pushed back the chair. He couldn’t take another moment in his wretched, disgusting prison of his house.

He needed fresh, clean air.

Alastor walked up to his rot infested front door and turned the rusted iron knob. Outside was the fresh air, slightly polluted with factory smoke, but made better with the clear, beautiful lake.

The lake. The lake was one thing that didn’t change. It stayed as blue and clear as ever. Boats still traveled on it.

Alastor stepped into the light of the outside, to gaze into the infinite blue of possibilities below him.

When he was able to peer down at the lake from above, he wondered if the sea creatures living there had better lives than he and the other people. They didn’t worry about keeping track of money, they only existed for beauty and survival. They lived their lives without a single fleeting care in the world.

If only he were like that. Then, Alastor would live just as grand, possibly even grander, than Anderson himself! He would have a home that would envelop him in warmth and light. No longer would he shiver in a hospital-esque bed with a fading blanket, tears dripping from his eyes from the cold and the fear.

From the corner of his left eye, he saw Helen and John running towards the bridge eagerly, looking down at the lake. He saw them when they left school and always made sure to give Helen candy. She always wanted them, John never did.

They were the only kids in the neighborhood who could still afford to attend school.

“What are you kids doing?” Alastor asked, joining them.

“Nothing, just looking at the boats.” Helen said. Helen was always the one to talk, John never said a word.

Alastor put both of his hands on one of their shoulders. He didn’t know why he was doing it, it just felt right.

“Do you like looking at the water? Can you swim?” Alastor asked. It was something to talk to them about, something to really connect with them. For he decayed in his own house for far too long.

“No, silly!” Helen said, giggling.

They didn’t deserve to live. There were real children in the world who were suffering, who didn’t even have a toy to amuse them, and those kids thought that they could just run from home and look at the boats?

“Well, that’s too bad, because you’re going to have to.” Alastor said.

With that, he pushed them off the bridge, their screams echoing to deaf ears. No one would hear them, no one would save them.

They knew what life was like for the rest of the children.

Alastor walked back up to his rotten house, not a care in the world. It didn’t seem so horrible anymore. It was a place where he could fade off into his own world, relax in his own darkness.

Once he was in his house, he walked into the kitchen, the least cold room in the house, and stood there. It was once a place where he cooked food, where he cooked actual meals. It served only as a reminder of all the lost joys, the lost moments of happiness.

“Hello?” Rosalie asked. There was a note of panic in her voice. She must have come to look for her children and sought him for help.

Why would she want his help? She never so much as batted an eye at him before.

“Alastor? Are you here? I’m sorry to bother you, but I really need your help with finding my children…I lost..lost…”

Rosalie couldn’t finish her sentence. She was too caught up in her own horrors to speak, too terrified of the words that were to escape her lips.

Alastor took out the old knife with the silver blade that browned at the edges from the knife drawer. The ends were a little dented, but it was perfect.

He walked out of the kitchen and to the living room, where Rosalie stood with her back turned, hoping beyond hope that there would be help.

“You mean…the children I pushed off the bridge earlier?” Alastor asked in his sweetest voice.

“Alastor?” Rosalie asked, a note of fear in her voice.

Alastor only smiled as he plunged the knife in her back, her body falling limply to the ground.

Since he was such a good person, he carried Rosalie back to her home and laid her on the hallway floor, for Anderson to find.

Finally, finally, they would see! They would understand what pain was, what real pain was, and wouldn’t ever know the feeling of pure love ever again!

There was a mirror on the wall that Rosalie must have stolen quick glances on before leaving the house. She would fix her hair, put on lipstick.

But there was no use for it anymore.

Alastor punched the mirror, blood seeping into his skin, glass shards falling to the floor. He bent down to pick up a long, sharp, jagged shard, perfect for finishing the job when Anderson arrived.

He stood in the hall, holding the shard, waiting for the door to open, for boots to enter in.

“I’m home!” Anderson said.

Well, that was faster than expected.

No matter, though. Alastor walked to the far end of the hall and waited for Anderson to discover the body of Rosalie, rotten and decayed, a sorrowful state of a woman.

Anderson walked into the hall. He didn’t look back behind him, to where Alastor was. He didn’t even look at Rosalie. He checked the children’s room first.

Alastor swallowed down a sigh of impatience. Anderson would get there. He would find Rosalie.

As soon as Alastor was thinking of it, Anderson let out a strangled scream at the gored sight of his wife, something that was in between a cough and a cry.

“There’s nothing you can do to save yourself.” Alastor said, stepping from the shadows, shard in his hand.

“I have nothing, Anderson. Nothing. I’m running low on food and water. The very roof over my head? I could lose that. All of it.” Alastor said.

Anderson looked up at him with eyes that didn’t understand, the confused and worried eyes of a child.

Alastor knew better, though. He knew that there were lies in those eyes, that Anderson was only sorry that he was caught.

“But you have money. You’re storing it away, for your family. I know you are. I can sense it.”

Anderson still looked at him with those sickening, puzzled eyes. He knew, he was lying!

“I’m going to end this. I’m going to end all of this.” Alastor said.

Alastor stepped closer to Anderson, so they could see eye to eye, face to face. They weren’t so different, when he really thought about it. They were both humans destined to die.

“Alastor, please. This is hard on me just as it is on you. It’s hard on all of us. I’m trying to help as much as I can, but-“

Alastor stabbed the shard into Anderson’s eye, cutting off his pointless plea. There was no use pleading for a second chance. The world didn’t give second chances, only a Hell to come out of as a demon. Angels never knew how to survive. Demons killed and lived on.

He was just as limp and lifeless as his wife when he fell down. They were both such weak rag dolls, their blood and flesh doing nothing to protect them.

Alastor bent down to look at Anderson’s face. He looked so distraught, so tortured. Was that what Alastor would look like when he died? Was that what everyone would look like? It was such a fascinating thing to think about. He’d survive longer than them, because he would find the money and save everyone else, but still, they would all die. Still, they would all crumble away.

Bloodied, broken arms wrapped around Alastor’s chest. Alastor didn’t cry out of fright. His quest for justice was meaningless, nothing would change. The bank wouldn’t so easily give back the money that was stolen. Killing his selfish neighbors was one good thing, but it didn’t mean much.

“You think that you can just kill me and my family and walk free?” Anderson asked hoarsely, voice distorted with blood.

“How do you know the fate of your children?” Alastor asked calmly. The cold, unforgiving embrace of death was better than another wretched night in his “house”.

“The dead knows. The dead always knows.” Anderson said.

With a glass shard that was similar to the one Alastor had killed him with, Anderson stabbed him in the stomach.

A soft, slow smile appeared on Alastor’s lips. Death was quite…interesting.

Is this a review?



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Points: 30
Reviews: 3

Thu Sep 28, 2023 11:53 pm
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chunkybean77 wrote a review...

Ooooooh, this is creepy. I thought you did a great job showing the narrator's bitterness. The scene with the children definitely caught me off-guard. I especially like this description: "What did Alastor have? Nothing. A house that was crumbling, leaking out dirtied, past rain. The very walls smelled of rat droppings and mildew, threatening to cave him in." It's unique but not overly so. I love Alastor's character but I think even more development would be great, especially on his motivation. (Usually killers don't escalate so quickly, so maybe you drop hints of his pyscho behaviour beforehand, to make it more subtly disturbing before the buildup). That being said, great story!

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Points: 30
Reviews: 3

Thu Sep 28, 2023 11:51 pm
chunkybean77 says...

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1485 Reviews

Points: 154036
Reviews: 1485

Wed Sep 27, 2023 7:44 pm
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IcyFlame wrote a review...

Hey vampricone, Icy here for a quick review!

Ok I think the plot in this is certainly interesting, and the character of Alastor is easily one of the most compelling you've written so far. But I found the pacing and the build up confusing - Alastor goes from seemingly just hating Anderson to committing multiple murders?

There's very little build up. For example, he talks about the two children and seemingly wants to really connect with them (although I confess I don't know why he thinks talking about swimming will achieve that) as though he likes them. Then suddenly they don't deserve to live and he pushes them off a bridge? At this point we don't even know they're Anderson's children so it just doesn't seem to make sense.

I like the ideas and characters here, but I think the progression needs to be slower and more explained to allow me to really get into the story properly.

Hope this helped!


Follow your passion, stay true to yourself, never follow someone else’s path unless you’re in the woods and you’re lost and you see a path then by all means you should follow that.
— Ellen Degeneres