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Something was wrong. Emily's sense of time was wrong, and her echoing voice caused him to have the chills. He continued to hold onto Christof tightly, wondering if following a ghoul into the fog was a smart idea. "Emily?" He asked, hesitantly, watching her as she moved into the fog. ".....what was the last thing you remember?" He glanced to his comrades. Did they pick up on the confusion and time difference this ghoul had. Was that way he didn't remember seeing her as much since that detention long ago?

"Do you remember how you got here?"

anymore...anymore...nevermore...

Vaith finally emerged-- from the way he was out of breath, it seemed that he had been trying to catch up to this crew. He finally came into view, the reaper looking haggard. The only thing that looked good was his familiar, squeaking and spreading it's wings in excitement.

"Don't go with her."

The hairs on his neck rose as he voiced it, sweaty hands on his thighs as he tried to catch his breath. Her words were alarming-- he didn't know why. perhaps it was the "nevermore" part-- She expected them to stay with her forever? Forever and ever and ever?

The first irrational thing that came to his mind, voiced, without any logical reasoning to back it up whatsoever.

"It's a trap."

(How.. Why did he say that? SHOOT. WHAT IF IT WASNT AND HE LOOKED STUPID. :C But .. his familiar remained silent. That proved something, right? Or nothing?)

"C'mon guys. Poor little ghosts comes out and comes with us. Are you absolutely sure there isn't something wrong with this scenario? This fog doesn't seem to bring out a friendly game of let's-greet-the-poor-little-ghost, guys. She's crying. Little girl ghosts crying isn't the best method. Havent you seen the scare movies?"

(( ignore me, i posted in the wrong place /FAIL ))

The hunchback froze, mid-swing. The mark on his bare arm flickered a moment, but on the natural-ability-stunting island, there was no accompanying burn. Barth should just be glad his Igor was feeling obedient. The pipe stopped inches from the poor reaper ghoul's head, and he begrudgingly lowered it without causing her any damage. Why SHOULD they trust her? She was wearing one of those robes! The ominous echoing did not bode well either. Usually he'd agree with Barth's opinion of the place, but so far he was not appreciating the spooky being directed at THEM. It should be saved for the humans! Not released on each other!

This island was certainly rude.

Calder's earlier questions of "what" and "how" went unanswered, and she didn't turn around for the newcomer, despite their accusations. The very near and still present danger of a pipe-to-the-head went seemingly unnoticed, but she finally turned back at the kelpie's defense of her. She was...she was..

She was crying again.

"I...I'm sorry to be a bother! And I'll try my best not to hurt you...I don't want anyone else hurt....b-but I thought you were l-looking for the door?" She swallowed and sniffled for a moment, "I found it yesterday...o-o-or the day before...maybe...but couldn't open it. B-but I can't do anything right so maybe you guys...?"

Christof grunted suspiciously when the ghoul barely seemed to notice his blow. She SHOULD be threatened! It was all far too suspicious. But they needed to move on. He wasn't about to let the little reaper ghoul lead them into a trap, immediately shouldering his supplies to turn from the others as the fog thickened and prepared to push into the corn once more.

Voices flowed around them, more this time than before. Echoes? Were there more people in the corn? Or was it part of the odd fog? He'd have to stay on his toes... until a rather particular voice tickled the edges of his mind. That... couldn't be a hallucination could it?

Chriiiiistooooofff.....

It was quiet, just barely at the edges of his mind but somehow overpowered the rest of the howling and sobbing and pleading that clawed at his ears. He suddenly picked up his pace, hurrying further away from his comrades until the fog enveloped him. There was something up ahead... a glimmer of red lights in the fog...

Chriiiistooooooffffff... there you are.... I've been looking for you. We need to talk.

There, in the corn, enshrouded by the thick mist was his Mistress, waiting for him. How did she get here? He thought she had headed West- did their paths curve around to meet? He paused, though, as something... large... no, enormous and serpentine shifted from the corn beside her, gnarled, horned red head lowering to nuzzle against the Mindflayer, wings rustling.

I... I am here, Mistress... are you alright? I was worried- this fog, it's making people insane- Mister Calder- he started, mind whirling, but the mindflayer raised a hand to silence him. The beast beside her snarled, a deep guttural noise that shook his insides, thin wisps of smoke curling from it's nostrils to join the fog around them.

I have been thinking, Her eyes were red, dim slits, and while he couldn't tell where she was looking exactly, he could feel her gaze penetrating him. Judging him like a piece of meat at the market. If I am to be Ruler, not just of Halloween but Earth itself... I need servants who are not... broken.

I... I'm not broken- The hunchback's thoughts were reeling, frozen in his tracks.

I need a proper Igor. One I do not have to worry about. One who will obey my commands without any lip. Even if.... no. She shook her head. I should not have to worry about... competition.

Mistress, I would follow you to the ends of the Earth! I would do anything! I'm... i'm not Broken! I'm NOT broken! He took a trembling step towards her, his face positively white, his hands shaking.

You almost killed that innocent ghoul. This is not the first time. I can not waste my energies dealing with... a loose canon. Good bye, Christof.

The dragon's scaled lips pulled back over sharp, glinting gnarled teeth, it's own eyes as hot and red as it's Mistress's. A forked tongue flickered out only once before those great jaws parted and the dark cornfield was suddenly filled with light.

The hunchback screamed, muffled by his mouth stitches, but wild and terrified as the flames engulfed him. He dropped to the ground, sobbing frantically as he tried to put them out but nothing seemed to work- he was going to die, he was going to burn to a cinder, he was broken parts, he was rejected, he was no good, he was trash- PLEASE MISTRESS PLEASE PLEASE I WILL DO ANYTHING PLEASE!

Anything?

The fire dimmed, leaving him laying in a pile of broken corn, trembling.

Anythinganythinganything I want to do good, I want to be a good servant, I want to serve YOU, You who... who you have such power, Mistress! He begged, pain from burns that weren't really there making him shake as he rolled onto his stomach, trying to prostrate himself in as low a bow as he was capable.

Hmmm... The mindflayer's red eyes narrowed. If you will do anything... then you will kill the Sloth. He is more devious than he seems. I will not have... competition. Bring me his horns and perhaps I will spare you. She turned, gently patting the dragon on it's massive haunch before the two turned away from him to gently vanish once more into the corn.

Christof lay, breathing heavily as he watched them go, his eyes wide with panic.

No one would see them in the fog and the corn... but... but... Master Barth? How could he...

Already his hand had reached for his fallen rusty pipe, grip tightening around it. Being burned and possibly eaten by her dragon Thrall did not look pleasant... but being thrown away.. was even worse.

Could demons even be killed in a conventional way?

His mind was spinning as he gathered himself to his feet.

Yes, Mistress. As you wish.

"Door? There's a door out there? In the corn-" Barth hesitated as he backed into an arm. The voices, help, help, seemed to come rolling back, and as Barth turned to look, he found out what was behind him. "-field," he finished.

The arm belonged to a couch.

A little battered, hidden in the corn, certainly abandoned, but not in bad shape. He gently pushed more of the corn aside. There was a second couch. And a third. An entire herd of couches, resting in the corn. He wondered how many there were. Doors, and now, couches?

He felt the first couch.

It felt real. A bit damp. Dew from the fog, he suspected.

"Did you see any other furniture? Was the door attached to- hello?" He was alone. "Hello?"

Where had the others gone? The fog was too dense to see. But he was still sleepy, and Christof wasn't around to shake him awake and push him forward. He might as well give the couches a test run. He sat on the cushions. Suitably bouncy. Back, firm, but not too firm. Material, smooth, not itchy. But as he rested his head against the arm, he could smell it. The damp was sharp, heavy. Chemical. Kerosene. And now that he had a noseful, he realized something else about the thick cloud rolling over the corn.

It wasn't fog.

It was smoke.

There, a crackle, and ash in the air. He sat up, slowly. There was a distant glow, dissipated by the smoke, and then a roaring. Couch number three burst into flames. The stalks were catching too. Then the second couch... Barth stumbled back.

He could hear voices in the distance again. The girl again, sobs more high-pitched, then frantic shrieking. Calder screaming for Christof. The others were being burned alive in the corn. Someone had left the couches here, soaked with fuel. The field was a death trap. There was nowhere to go. Everyone, including him, would die.

And once again, he had lead them here.