What Once Was
By: Mark J. Hadley
* * *
CHAPTER 3: "Of No Return"
The professor slowly opened his eyes, groaning, as he stiffly tried to sit up. He remembered what had happened…the explosion. It must have been just an illusion as he had thought, or else he wouldn't be alive right now. That filled him with a little more relief, as he knew now that the ghosts couldn't harm them.
He got his bearings finally, and took a look at his surroundings. He was unmistakably in the same ballroom as before, but it was a wreck. Everything was singed black, and all the mirrors were cracked and broken. The chandelier had collapsed on the ground in the middle of the ballroom floor. Most importantly, though, it looked as if it had been this way for some time. Dust and cobwebs covered everything, and a few of the doors leading out had been boarded off.
Weakly, he got back up to his feet and headed for the door. He paused for a moment next to a broken piece of mirror that was still clean enough to show his reflection, and examined himself. His skin was a deeper red color, and covered with black soot. Maybe I was a little hasty, he thought grimly. These ghosts can seem to affect us. I think I had better find the girls and get out of this hotel with them right away…
* * *
Blossom babbled hysterically, telling the girls what she had seen in her premonition. She was afraid, for all of them. As Bubbles and Buttercup listened, they were disturbed by it as well, but Buttercup said, "The ghosts are just tryin' to mess with you…don't believe 'em, we'll get out of here all right."
"O-okay…" Blossom said, getting back to her feet. She was still trembling a little.
"We'll be okay if we stick together," Bubbles said, grabbing each of their hands.
"That's a good idea," Blossom agreed, holding on tightly to Bubbles' hand. "Girls, don't let go for anything, all right?"
Buttercup nodded, "Yeah. But it doesn't matter, 'cause I don't think the ghosts can really hurt us anyway…"
Bubbles said, "Yeah, but…they…they were really close to doing it to me…this one, he had a hook, an' he was gonna…" She put her hand on her stomach as she spoke, "I was so afraid an'…ow!"
"What?" Blossom asked, alarmed.
Bubbles felt the same spot on her stomach…it felt sore. She checked under her nightgown with her hand, across her stomach, and gasped as her hand traced a long scratch across it. It was in the same position as the one that the ghost had made with the hook. She felt a small surge of fear as she whispered, "Oh my god…they…they can hurt us…"
"Bubbles, what…" Buttercup began, and then abruptly, one of the doors on the side of the hall flew open, next to where Buttercup was standing…an invisible force, almost like an extremely heavy wind, seized her and pulled her inside. The door slammed shut behind her.
This happened in only a second, barely giving time for the other girls to react. Bubbles, realizing that she had let go of Buttercup's hand in order to feel the scratch on her stomach, rushed to the door and pounded on it, yelling, "Buttercup!" She didn't let go of Blossom's hand though.
What do we do? Blossom thought…Oh, I wish the Professor was here! "Bubbles, we've gotta find the Professor, now!"
"But…what about Buttercup…?" Bubbles protested.
Blossom tugged on her arm, "She'll be okay…we need to find the Professor, then all of us can get out of here…all right? Buttercup can take care of herself, and the ghosts won't hurt her…"
"But they can!" Bubbles shouted. "They hurt me!"
Blossom hesitated, thinking, then said, "You're right. Let's wait here, but we still need to see if we can get the Professor's attention…" She took a deep breath and started calling out, "Professor? Where are you? Professor!" Bubbles joined in on the calls, but never took her eyes off the door for a second…if it moved at all, she would be ready…
* * *
The professor rushed down the stairs, and back into the corridors. He looked at the nearest room number, 104, to get his bearing, then started following the numbers down the hallway. If I follow the numbers, he thought, then I'm sure not to accidentally double back. If there's another staircase, I'll find it…
As he continued, he reached up to room 121 before slowing down and stopping, giving that door a stare., peering closely at the numbers. Wait a minute, he realized…Mr. Fenton said that the room numbering began in the 200's…there are no 100-level rooms! Where on Earth am I?
He heard a sound coming from the far end of the hall, and someone ran around the corner. The man was about the professor's height, wearing a leather jacket and jeans, and styled black hair, heavy on the hair gel. He had a knife in hand and was just yelling as he charged in the professor's direction, not saying or doing anything else.
Just a ghost, the professor said, not moving an inch. Just a ghost, it can't hurt you…
The man reached him, and pulling back the knife, he plunged it into the professor's left shoulder. The professor gave a startled cry of pain, falling to his knees, and the man continued to run down the hallway, disappearing at the far end behind the professor, who clutched his shoulder, blood seeping out around his fingers.
It was real…or at least as real as it could become, because when he felt the spot the next moment, the knife was gone, although the wound remained. He got back to his feet and tried to move his left arm…wincing in pain, he clutched his shoulder and just held it while he pressed onward down the hallway.
He heard something ahead of him at that moment, faint voices. Staying still and listening carefully, he was able to make them out a little more…they were calling for him. The girls! he thought. Oh, thank goodness…I'd better get over there right away… He started off in their direction, shouting, "Girls?"
* * *
Buttercup stumbled, disoriented by her sudden pull into the room, tripping and landing hard on her right knee. She cringed and grabbed it…Well, there goes our super toughness, she thought. Great…just great…can this get any worse?
She heard voices around her, and finally got a look at her surroundings. She was in a very long room, lined with beds, and men wearing blue military uniforms occupied most of them. They were all wounded in one way or another…many of them were bandaged up, some were missing arms or legs. A number of them were also crying out in pain or calling for help. Other people, probably makeshift doctors or nurses, went from bed to bed, checking on them.
Buttercup recognized the outfits they wore…though she didn't study history all that much, she did occasionally read books about war from time to time. Those are Civil War uniforms, she thought. Was this hotel used as a hospital way back then?
She barely had a chance to take a step forward, when two of the doctors rushed up to grab her arms and help her along, "Don't worry, soldier! We've got you…you'll be all right…"
"Soldier?" she said. They think I'm one of the soldiers, she thought. "No, no, I'm fine, I…" she started to tell them.
They ignored her and hoisted her up on an empty bed. One of the doctors examined her right leg, and said, "Looks bad…Smith, bring me my tools, quickly, we need to amputate…"
Buttercup went pale…Amputate?! she thought with some alarm. She quickly said, "No…no, I'm okay, look…" She tried to move her leg to show them it was fine, but the doctor was still holding it in place.
More doctors came over and grabbed hold of her arms to hold her down. One of them put a leather strap in her mouth and said, "Bite down on this, it'll make it easier…"
"No! Wait…mmph!" Buttercup tried to protest, until the leather strap was put between her teeth. Her eyes widened in panic as they wrapped a tourniquet around her leg, and the doctor pulled out a hacksaw. She was breathing heavily, but tried to force herself to calm down, thinking, They're just ghosts…none of this is happening, nothing's going to happen to you, it'll be all right, you'll be okay…
The doctor brought down the saw, and the teeth cut into her leg. She yelped at the unexpected pain, and had only a split second to realize in horror just what that meant. The doctor continued, beginning to saw…every muscle in Buttercup's body tensed up, and she screamed, her teeth clamping down on the leather strap in her mouth and muffling it. Her whole body felt like it was wracked with pain as the sawing continued, and she thrashed, trying to get free, but with no luck as the doctors held her down. Tears streamed from her clenched eyes as her mind raced, Oh god stop it stop it please stop it I'll do anything just make it stop please!!
After not even a minute, but what seemed like an eternity, the sawing finally halted, but the pain was still there. They all started wrapping the area with bandages, and Buttercup lifted her head weakly, trying to see through her tear-filled eyes, and gaped at the stump where her right leg used to be. No this isn't happening this is a dream it has to be…
Buttercup closed her eyes again, squeezing the tears from it, and cried even more. Only for a moment, though, because she became aware that the sounds of the hospital had disappeared. Her eyes flew open again and she looked around. The hospital was indeed gone, and she recognized where she was now: lying on the bed back in the original room they had checked into. Their bags were still there and everything.
She was about to give a sigh of relief, but then she realized that her leg still hurt. Sitting up on the bed, she glanced down and gasped in horror. Her right leg was still missing, with the stump still bandaged up. She felt the spot where it once was, her hand pressing against the bed instead, and whispered, "Oh…god…oh god, oh god…"
* * *
Blossom and Bubbles continued to call out for the professor, until Blossom suddenly waved her arm and said, "Wait! Shh…" Bubbles went silent and listened along with Blossom…sure enough, from somewhere further down the maze of halls, they could hear a faint voice. If only my ultrasonic hearing still worked, Blossom thought. It got louder, though, and they could make out a voice saying, "…Girls?…"
"Professor!" Blossom shouted back. "Over here!"
A few moments later, the professor rounded the corner, jogging in their direction. He was clutching his shoulder, with a trickle of blood running down his arm, and he looked a little singed, like he had been through a fire. His expression brightened when he saw them, and he said, "Girls! You're all right, thank goodness! When Bubbles disappeared, I didn't know what to think…"
"Are you all right, Professor?" Blossom asked, giving a concerned look at his shoulder.
"I'll be okay…" he said. "Where's Buttercup?"
"She got pulled through this door," Bubbles told him. "We're waiting to see if she comes back out, 'cause it's locked."
Raising an eyebrow, the professor asked, "Can't you just break the door down?"
"Something happened to us," Blossom said. "Our powers are getting weaker! They're almost completely gone now…I don’t know what's going on!"
"Hmm…" The professor thought about this, and said, "Your powers are diminishing, while the ghosts themselves are getting stronger…maybe your power is feeding them, somehow. If this is the case, then perhaps they'll return to you once we leave the hotel. We need to find…"
He stopped suddenly, as the three of them became aware of a sound not far down the hall, the sound of someone shrieking loudly. "B-…Buttercup?!" Bubbles exclaimed. Without wasting another moment, the professor and the girls rushed in the direction of the crying, stopping in front of its source: room 309.
They swung the door open and found Buttercup lying on one of the beds. She was crying hysterically, something the girls had rarely seen from her in the past. "Buttercup!" Blossom said, "What's wro—…" She trailed off as she spotted her leg…or lack thereof. In a low, shaky voice, she said, "…oh my god…"
"Buttercup!" Bubbles cried out, running to the side of the bed and hugging her tightly, "Wh-what happened?" The professor came to the side of the bed as well, grimly examining her injury.
Buttercup was too shaken to talk about it…instead, she looked up at the professor, eyes teary, and said, "Professor…w-we…we gotta get outta here….p-please…"
"Hang on, sweetie," he said firmly. "You'll be all right…we'll get you to safety…"
"Nowhere in this place is safe!" Buttercup cried out, then started to break down into tears again. "We've gotta…get out…we've…gotta…"
Blossom turned to the professor and said, "We know how to get to the front door from this room…I say we leave right now."
"Agreed," the professor said. "Blossom, start packing our bags right away. Bubbles, you help her…" He stopped for a moment as he noticed Bubbles wasn't paying attention. "Bubbles?"
Bubbles' eyes seemed sort of glazed over, not focusing on anything, and she just stood there, unmoving. Blossom moved over to her and waved a hand in front of her face, but she gave no reaction. She gently shook her shoulder and said, "Bubbles? Are you okay? Say something!"
All of a sudden, she snapped into motion like a film that had been paused…but she acted strangely, looking totally at ease. She spoke with a heavy southern accent, "This sho' is a lovely place…ah wish ah could stay heah forevah!"
The professor stared at her, saying, "Bubbles?" Buttercup, although still in tears, gave Bubbles a confused glance as well, as did Blossom.
Bubbles frowned a little at their stares and said, "What's wrong? Don't y'all know yo' own cousin Bonnie?" She started walking towards the door, with a more dainty stride than usual, and said, "Now, hurry…Uncle Andrew should be heah any time, and y'all know how he likes t' have someone theah to greet him…"
Everyone just watched her as she approached the door and reached up to take hold of the doorknob. When she did, she suddenly blinked her eyes and shook her head, and in her normal tone of voice, whispered, "What…what happened?"
"You started talking all strange," Blossom told her. "Do you remember?"
"I…" Bubbles hesitated. "I…sorta…remember, but not very well. I was listening to the professor, and then…I felt cold, and then everything just started going on its own, like I was watching it on TV. It was all blurry though…"
The professor scooped Buttercup up from the bed, holding her in his arms, and said, "It must be the ghosts…we'd better go now, before something like that happens again. Forget packing…the sooner we leave, the better."
They left the room hastily, heading down the hall towards the stairs. Thankfully, it was where it should have been. The foyer was a welcome sight to them after all their previous wandering, and they crossed it quickly, rounding the bend and heading for the front doors, glad to finally be leaving. What they saw made them come to a halt, however. Blossom approached the wall where the doors used to be. There was nothing unusual about the wall itself; the door just wasn't there, almost like it was never put there in the first place. The windows were similarly missing.
She leaned up against the wall right where the doors were, and said, "No…" She clenched her teeth, and then her eyes, and pounded on the wall, shouting louder, "NO! This isn't fair!!"
Buttercup, from the professor's arms, stammered, "They're…not gonna l-let us leave…a-are they?"
Blossom pounded on the wall a few more times, then let herself slide down, crumpling to the ground next to it and crying. She didn't know what to do…now that her powers were all but gone, she felt less like a superhero and more like what she really was in this situation: a scared little girl. The situation seemed hopeless to her…in a low, barely audible voice, she whispered, "…we're gonna die…we're gonna die…"
It looked like Bubbles couldn't take it either…she fell to her knees and started crying as well, and seeming to talk to the hotel in general, "Don't do this…please…I wanna go home…please…just let us go…"
The professor, still holding Buttercup, set his expression firmly and turned around, walking straight for the front desk. He rang the bell furiously with his free hand and shouted, "Mr. Fenton! A word with you, right now!"
It took a few moments, but Mr. Fenton emerged from the back room, walking up cheerfully to the desk, "Yes, can I help you?"
"How do we leave the hotel?" the professor asked.
"Why, through the front doors," he said, indicating the blank wall where the front doors were. The professor noticed that he seemed oblivious to the fact they were missing, as well as the injuries he and Buttercup were showing. Mr. Fenton continued, "Is that all?
Shaking his head, the professor asked, "Is there another way out?"
"Certainly," Mr. Fenton replied. "Why do you ask?"
"Where is it?" the professor demanded strongly.
A look of mild annoyance crossed Mr. Fenton's face, and he said with some forced cordiality, "Might I inquire as to what this is all about?"
"The ghosts, Fenton," the professor answered, then stopped to think for a moment. "Why don't they bother you? You seem to be perfectly at ease living in a haunted building…”
“Because I’ve never seen these so-called ‘ghosts’,” Mr. Fenton said. “As far as I’m concerned, they’re just a rumor made-up by our guests, perhaps to drive other customers away for some unfathomable reason…”
“Listen!” the professor said, growing a little angry. “There’s no possible way you could be immune to all of this…which leads me to believe you’re somehow responsible for it. Are you doing something to call these spirits forth? Tell me!”
Mr. Fenton looked shocked, “Now, see here! I am not in the business of driving customers away from my establishment! I run a respectable business here, and quite frankly, if you’re going to start trouble, then I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
From the professor’s arms, Buttercup gave a weary chuckle, “Heh…believe me, there’s nothing I’d like to do more.”
“Then do so, before I call the authorities,” Mr. Fenton instructed them.
“Authorities?” the professor said with some disbelief. “Look at us…if anything, you should be the one to answer for our condition!”
Mr. Fenton looked thoroughly confused, “What condition?”
The professor indicated his arm, then Buttercup’s missing leg, “Are you blind?”
“You’re mad,” Mr. Fenton. “I see nothing wrong with you at all…”
As they were arguing, Blossom started to walk back towards them from the wall, and glanced up at the portrait of Mr. Fenton that was hanging over the desk. She squinted, as she saw some text underneath it, trying to read it. It was written in a fancy script, and kind of blurry from this distance, but she finally made it out: “HARVY FENTON, 1945 – 1997.” But, she thought…that means…
She stared at Mr. Fenton, and suddenly, he just vanished entirely, still in mid-sentence. The professor’s jaw dropped when it happened, and Bubbles suddenly shrieked…they spun around and saw the rest of the foyer, only now it looked different…old, decrepit, and far from the pristine condition it was previously in. Cobwebs hung from everything. Though the paintings were still up, they were hanging crookedly, and were quite dusty themselves. The front doors and windows were completely boarded off with heavy planks of wood, bolted in place. The only light that came into the foyer now was a few streams of moonlight between the boards over the windows…