Fan Fiction by WatsonPB2

All about the seventh episode of The Last Door. Reveal secrets, ask for hints, or share any topic relevant to the chapter you may have found elsewhere.

Fan Fiction by WatsonPB2

Postby watsonPB2 » Sat Dec 12, 2015 7:02 am

Hi, I'm watsonPB2, a.k.a. Aleph 3, a.k.a. 花生. May I present you with what I have written with all my enthusiasm while waiting for TLD S2E4 to come out. *Spoiler alert* *Safe to read after the end of S2E3* (All rights reserved.)







-------I. Waking of the Fields-------
Up, down, and up again. Gravity had no effect on him, allowing him to think about, and worry about nothing at all but -
Thoughts flowed back to John. I'm trapped. His limbs were unable to move; his breaths were labouring; his body felt ten times heavier than normal. All was black and all was silence. The air had a familiar smell - a scent of fresh grass and recently mowed earth.
Memories followed thoughts. In his memory, every spring in his childhood, he smelt the scent. He had ran, no, was running along the field paths with his friends, laughing, shouting. His friends held his hands tightly, and the touch on either side was warm and comfortable. The friends smiled at him, with the same warmness as their hands. When John tried to see the detail of their faces, all he could see were blurred visages.
He was curious, and forgot about his curiosity in the next moment. He looked where one of his friends pointed. He saw an ocean of earth, filled with tiny lumps and holes. Bags of dried seeds lay on the sides of the fields. It meant - it meant a local festival, which was known as the festival of seeding, or the Waking of the Fields.
I'm John Wakefield. He realised. Where am I?
The answer was apparent. A terribly familiar voice, as that of the one who used to rest on his remedy couch once every month, speaking about his absurd nightmare, said in his head. Just like the seeds. Underground.
The horrible truth took shape in his mind. You are in a coffin, just as I was. The pleasant smell of earth smelt no longer pleasant, instead, it smelt of fear, and hopelessness. I stayed alive in the coffin, and so must you. Wakefield sighed, wondering how he could escape the prison guarded by Gaia herself.
He could hear spades working above him, laying more and more dirt on his temporary shelter. Do you know how a bird chisels away a whole mountain made by diamond by polishing its beak on it?
He gained strength in his right arm, and swung it forward.
Crash. His fist hit something hard, which was strangely like wood.
Crash. Crash. Crash. He could feel his hand bleeding.
Crash. Crash. Crash. He could no longer keep track of numbers of hit, and his hand burnt with pain, yet he kept on.
Crash. Crash. Crash. He lost count of how long he had knocked on the plank. The plank was shrieking with pain, so was Wakefield.
One final punch, and light flooded into his eyes. The shadow of a bird was hardly visible amidst the overwhelming light.
No. Wakefield woke. He drew a deep breath. Pain! Freezing water filled his lungs, pushing his brain to full throttle. I must…… return.






-------II. Fagus sylvatica-------
Dawn arrived swiftly as a seagull circled above the beach. John lay on the cool sand, breathing shallowly. He could not, and would not recall the giant pale eye that talked to him in such chilling whisper that no living matter could manage. Of the talk he remembered little, but a sentence was branded into his mind, purely out of curiosity. “How much is a Fagus sylvatica worth on Ellis Mór?”
What on earth is a Fagus sylvatica? John thought as he kept lying on the warming sand, regaining his strength. The lady… Kieran’s teacher… she must know something about it. Her face was blurred in his mind, as if somebody had cast a veil on his memory.
The sun finally freed itself from the consuming sea, shedding blood on the nearby clouds. The golden light revitalized him, just like it did the whole island. John struggled to sit up, and looked around. Several wicker man was hung on the surrounding trees, swinging and creaking.
John stood up and headed towards the village. A trail of footprints were left on the soft sand. The lady… Kieran’s teacher… Waves slapped on the shore as he went. To the left was a man on a canoe with a full bag who looked strikingly familiar. “Good day, Mister Wakefield! Are you returning with me?” The postmen called out in the distance. John hesitated, before desire to learn further overtook the fear, “No need to bother, I have found the island… entertaining enough for me to stay a bit longer, probably till tomorrow, if it please you?” The postman nodded, and rowed backwards.
By the time John had reached the village, he had to stop to catch his breath before continuing. He examined the street with his chest heaving heavily. He was about to set off before he heard a sharp female scream from the east, or the direction of the school, or so he assumed.
John grabbed a familiar bicycle behind a parapet. Did I left this bicycle so far away from the school? Or did someone move it? He was glad that he had learnt to ride this kind of stallion in his early age, even though it had given him many bruises and scratches. He rode at full speed along the narrow street of the empty village while his mind raced – can that be Kieran’s teacher? Hopefully not… So who was it then?
Three more crossings. John muttered to himself, two more… John felt as if he was going to reach the bottom of the mysterious screaming until the ground bounced upwards like a pale ghost and embraced him painfully.
It took John a few seconds to realize that he fell, and left quite a severe graze on his right palm. He examined the bicycle and found that the chain had broken. “The vengeance of Ms. Laidcend.” He laughed, bitterly. Wakefield picked up the iron amulet which glistened in the morning light, hoping it would protect him against the unknown demon.
The school is a few feet away from him when he decided to peek into the window before entering. In the simple classroom stood Lord Donnan and a strange man, who had a calm face, blonde and curly hair, and blue eyes like glaciers. He was fiddling with a box full of syringes, two of them were filled with green and golden solutions, while the rest were used. The lady tried not to steal a peak on the box, but constantly failed. They were talking about something in discretion, for Lord Donnan kept glancing behind his shoulder, as if some presence were listening to every word they speak.
Realizing it seemed impolite to eavesdrop at the door, John went to the door and knocked. The conversation inside halted abruptly. “Miss Foster, would you please check the door?” A deep voice rang behind the door after several silent seconds. Her name was Foster, then. With the mention of Foster’s name, John recalled the horrifying image of a great monster bathing a local house with blazes, and shuddered.
The kindly woman opened the door with a forced smile on her wrinkled face, and her voice was slightly shanking, “Good to see you, Doctor Wakefield, but now that there are some important personnel I have to deal with, so would you please…” The same deep voice interrupted her, “Where is our love for travellers, Miss Foster? Come in, please, Doctor Wakefield, no offence.”
“None taken.” John replied to no one in particular. He entered the classroom, and nodded at the stranger, to no reply. Lord Donnan introduced instead, “This is Herbert West. He is a doctor – just like you.” West stated emotionlessly, “I am here to collect fresh specimens for my… ah, research. I am lucky to find two already.” He glanced sideways at Miss Foster, who averted her eyes immediately to the window.
“What is your business here, then?” Lord Donnan asked, “I presume that you are looking for Miss Foster the Scholar?” “Yes, indeed,” John agreed, “if she is available at the moment…” “Of course! What can I do you for?” Miss Foster seemed to wake from the deepest dreams. “I have a certain question – a rather stupid one.” John hesitated, wondering if it was too trivial compared to West’s research, “What exactly is Fagus sylvatica?” Miss Foster looked upwards to search for the words in her memory for a few seconds, and answered, “It is a common tree in Cardigan and Suffolk. We have these trees on Ellis Mór. If you could kindly look outside, you may see them. Someone has taken to hang wicker men on them.”
“It is quite poor of the wicker men to be hung on the beech’s branches.” Lord Donnan looked out with John, “The villagers said the beech is an evil tree.” “The beech?” Something stirred in John’s memory. “Beech is a common name for Fagus sylvatica.” Miss Foster commented, as if talking to a child.
How much is a Fagus sylvatica worth on Ellis Mór?
How much is a beech worth on Ellis Mór?

Understanding dawned on John. “Hanged. Not hung. The wicker men were hanged.” John muttered under his breath. Anthony Beechworth, hanged in his own mansion. John turned hastily, “I’m afraid I have to leave now.” “Excuse me?” Miss Foster scratched her thin neck unconsciously, revealing two red dots on it.
As John headed towards the door, Herbert West went straight ahead to close it with a slam. West turned and made an apologetic smile, “I’m so sorry, Doctor Wakefield, but I cannot let such a fresh specimen simply go away.”
“What are you –” Suggesting? John suddenly felt a stabbing pain on his neck, and the world dissolved into an abyss of darkness.






-------III. The Ember of Hope-------
John Wakefield opened his eyes. A blinding light forced him to close them again. He felt a burning pain shot through his neck. “He is awake!” A deep voice announced, “Now, Doctor Wakefield, if you would keep perfectly still, I will loosen the straps.” “No! Is your mind wandering? He could be dangerous in such state!” A younger voice stopped him immediately.
“For god’s sake, let me go!” John bellowed, struggling to rid himself of the leather straps which tied him tightly to something suspiciously felt like surgery table. “Please don’t do anything stupid, Doctor. They will not hurt you.” A shaking female voice replied. “Explain to me what has happened!” John demanded hoarsely, “Or you can free me first!”
“If you promise you will not tell others what you have heard or acknowledged on this island, you can be –” The deep voice started, and interrupted by the young again. “Have you seen his briefcase? He is no traveller – I can assure you. He must be into something, investigating something. His escape might mean the end of both of us, or worse, the end of my research!”
The blinding light retreated into darkness suddenly as it had never existed. John reopened his eyes and looked at the three surrounding him – Lord Donnan, Herbert West, and Miss Foster. Just as I expected. An old oil lamp was casting its dim light on the dark room.
“If you want truth, I can give it to you.” West said, his blue eyes sparkled frantically, “You have the privilege of being the second successful specimen of my great research. The lady here –” He pointed at Miss Foster, who retreated at his gaze, “– is the first.”
“What have you done to me?” John struggled again, in vain, “What do you call a conversation in which one of the member is tied to a surgeon table?”
“I am engaged in the great work of unveiling the secret of life and death.” The blonde stated proudly, “My formulae can resurrect any dead animal. Guinea pig, pigeons, dogs, and monkeys… and finally, human!”
Resurrection? An impossible hope rose. John said nothing, and West continued,
“A certain formula can only revive a certain type of animal, so I need to experiment on human, sooner or later. For long I have been looking for a specimen fresh enough to resurrect. I thought a boy with noble’s blood could do, but he was just unsatisfactory, whether as a specimen or a son.”
“Donnan, do not look at me like that. I know your secrets, and that you do not want the world to know it. Your family is already doomed. An ignorant dragon boy lost is nothing, especially that he is only interested in ‘justice and loyalty’.
“I was almost discouraged by the failure, until the boy – Kieran, is it? – transformed into the most curious creature, a human boy with a lizard head. So it is not my solution that failed, it is because that the specimen was not human at all. Your ancestor must be mad enough, Donnan, to mate with a freaking huge ugly lizard.”
Dear me, a life elixir that works? Would I even have the chance to get it, even by the chance of a millionth?
West took a black object from his pocket, glistening in the damp oil lamp’s light, “I’m so sorry, Doctor Wakefield, I used to deal with failed specimens with the old trusted revolver, yet today, I have to use it to deal with the naughty specimen, however successful you may be. Such pity.”
He shot Miss Foster in the heart before anyone else could react. The learned professor went down like a sack of grain. Then he pointed the revolver between John’s eyes, and whispered, “It will be a painless death, my friend.”
John closed his eyes, his mind filled with the thought that it might be the last time he did so. A sad tear ran down his face. My friend, I have failed. Mein lieber freunde, if I cannot bring you back, I’m coming to you.
He heard a deafening bang, another followed almost immediately. For several seconds, there was only silence. I am still alive? John opened his eyes for a third time, with great relief, not only because that he was alive, but also that the hope had reignited. A military figure was standing at the entrance to the room. His face was covered by a black veil.
“Are you still alive?” The figure said. The sound did not come from his veiled head, but from a black case he was carrying in his left hand, while he was holding an antique pistol in his right.
“Yes, of course. Please free me, please.” John was slightly irritated by the case, yet the will of survival overrode fear, “Who are you, if you would like to answer?”
The figure wearing a Canadian military uniform made a gesture, calling a fractionally human figure to loosen John, and saluted, “I’m Major Sir Eric Moreland Clamham-Lee.” He tilted the case a little, and cackled, “I will not throw him in the sea anymore, in case he gets washed up on another shore of another remote island.”
After the broken figure freed John, he stood up, rubbing his sore shoulder. He noticed that the figure did not have a head or a left arm, and it walked with a slight limp. For a moment, John did not know what to ask first, whether about the further details about the helpful stranger, or why the man who freed him had no head. Major answered both of the questions as if he could see through John’s mind,
“The demon might have told you about his crazy idea – though we are demons ourselves. We are the ‘failed’ specimens used and got rid of by West. I was decapitated and considered as ‘not complete’, but that is another story. We call ourselves the Tomb Legions, and we aim to stop the evil experiments of West’s. He might have also told you that you are the first successful specimen.”
“Actually –” John started, but stopped by Major.
“He himself was the first. When we first got our hands on him, he injected two full syringes of his demonic solution into his own body. They not only revived him, but also made him kind of immortal.
“So the next time we caught him, we threw him into the Atlantics, hoping he would be eaten by some fish, but we failed. This time we may try to bury him in some graveyard, just as he had done to many of us.”
“He said his solution can revive the dead, so can you give one to me and tell me how to use it?” John asked eagerly, looking at the one last syringe of life elixir. It is the only way, Kaufmann, the only way. We shall reunite, soon!
“The body must be ‘fresh’ enough to be resurrected. Three hours of decay will make him slow of mind, five will make him mad and aggressive, seven will rob him of his mind, and more than a day will not do at all.” Major explained.
John could not utter a word. Something warm ran down his face. John Wakefield wept, uncontrollably.






-------IV. The Reunion-------
One year later.
John Wakefield sat in the hall, staring at the mosaic, studying the two snakes entwined on the floor, just as what he had done every day in the past year, when a masked girl entered without knocking at the door.
John put down his tea cup, “May I help you, my young lady?”
The girl in a frog mask said breathlessly, “The Reunion will begin by the first light, Doctor Wakefield. We need the authority on the island to keep watch.”
John nodded wordlessly, and donned a bat mask.
He went straight to the feárnog, and stared at the lanterns, which looked like a thousand eyes, dangling in the wind. He suddenly felt an urge to say something, so he cleared his throat, and began,
“My fellow villagers, one year ago, I came to this island, hoping to solve a mystery that my dearest friend and I sought to solve long ago. He was dead. The mystery was not completely unveiled, and my friend stayed dead.
“On this island, I encountered the most bizarre things that with its memories I will go to my tomb, without telling anyone. I encountered a faint hope that my friend may come back, yet it was still faint and soon diminished.
“I decided to stay here ever since, for there is nothing I can do on the British Isles. Your teacher was lost to the monstrosity, and I think I can make up to it. I hope I am a good teacher, am I?” He smiled, and turned to a few masked kids. They nodded in unison.
“No more nostalgic words, now, the Reunion begins!” John announced, to the whole village.
He was about to leave when a piece of broken mirror caught his eyes. It showed a figure in a familiar red coat, right behind him.
John Wakefield turned his head.

By watsonPB2
All rights reserved.



Great gratitude for your reading with patience :)
Tribute to H. P. Lovecraft., and The Game Kitchen!
That is not dead which can eternal lie; and with strange aeons even death may die.
watsonPB2
 
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