Later that evening, it was Alma who took it upon herself to drive Luther up to Milhollin Mansion.

Silence, awkwardness, and more silence were the topics of the evening during each painful stretch of the drive there.

Alma sighs, “Almost there…”

“Yep…” Luther glances out the window. Far from Alma’s gaze. It’s not often they are this close or far anymore.

“Here we are…”

“Yep…”

Alma stops the car. Here they are. Simmons Street.

They watch as the truck's headlights cut through the dense fog. Through it lies the destined place, Milhollin Mansion, closely guarded by a near-pristine condition fence. It feels like a castle or maybe a prison? No, the hallow grounds resemble a cemetery. The grass is dry, mud carves through the flowers, rocks peek up from the dirt like tombstones, and the leafless, lifeless trees are as dead as they come. However, the mortar, stone, and wood of the mansion is mostly untouched. It’s beginning to show a little bit of age, not much, only slightly, in an odd ethereal way…

The locals swear by it that even if the Earth rotted from the inside out, that damn mansion would still be there! Kids insist it must be a time machine! But no child is brave enough to enter to find out. The moment they “hear the trees speak” and “feel possessed”, they are quick to roar with laughter as they roll back down the hill and go home. Of course, these childlike activities are only reserved for the morning. Even children can at least respect the night…sometimes…

Alma taps away at the steering wheel. Luther twiddles his thumbs.

He thinks, ‘Now might be a good time as ever to tell her how I feel…’

“Alma, I…”

Alma slaps the side of the steering wheel at 10 and 2, “LUTHER KNOTTS! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR DAMN MIND? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW I FEEL? OF ALL THE RIDICULOUS CHILDISH-”

She exhales loudly and inhales like a vacuum as she raises her head, “Mind your blood pressure, Alma. Mind your blood pressure…”

“Luther…what are you trying to prove?”

“Nothin’!” Luther nods with gusto.

“Nothin’ huh?” Alma taps the steering wheel again. “Idiots, the both of you.”

“If this is about-”

She hears the passenger door shut. Luther is already outside.

Alma rolls down the window, “HEY!”

Luther scowls at her, “THIS IS ABOUT NOTHIN’!”

Alma scowls doubly so, “Is that a fact? “Sure”, you have no reason to spend the night in a DILAPIDATED CRUSTY FALLING APART-”

*BOOOOOM* thunder roars, and fat raindrops pelt the windshield.

“Look…sit back down and-”

Luther turns to walk away, “AND NOTHIN’” but feels pulled back. Literally, because his jacket is caught in the door.

He starts tugging away at it.

“...uh, Luther, what’s wrong?” Alma asks.

Luther tugs harder, “NOTHIN’ IS WRONG!”

He pulls with both hands, “THERE’S NOTHING TO TALK ABOUT!”

He yanks with all his might, “AND THERE’S NOTHIN’ YOU CAN-”

*KRAAAAACK* lightning strikes the earth…

*RIIIIIIIIIIP* Luther frees himself and falls flat on his ass in a puddle.

He holds up his jacket tail to see it’s missing a piece. A torn bit of cloth is stuck in the door and rustling in the wind.

Luther stands up and brushes himself off, “-DO TO STOP ME!”

*WHOOOOOOSH* a mean wind howls and swings open the gate to the mansion!

Luther feels his stomach drop as he turns to face it. Then he glances at Alma, who has a worried look on her face. He considers getting back in the truck, but instead, Luther clenches a fist, sneers at Alma, flips on his flashlight, and heads toward the open gate. Luther must stand by his proud, heroic declaration! He is an unstoppable solo unit! He’ll show her and that smug asshole Ollie too!

Right before stepping through the gate, Luther pauses and decides to show Alma the face of a true hero one last time. Although, something seems a bit off. He isn’t sure if it’s the rain or his waning old man vision, but as Luther squints through the perpetually heavier rain, it’s almost as if Alma is sitting there, arms folded as much as they can fold with tears pouring down her face. But why? Strange, Luther expected classic angry Alma. He feels a bit of shame. The last he saw her cry like this was when…

No. No. No. The wind must’ve blown in some rain through the window! Yeah. Yeah. That must be it…

You know the rest. Luther entered the grounds of that awful place and made his fearful way up that hill on this fateful night…

Every hero has their origin, and this was his. Some have many details. Luther’s deserves to be skipped. Some have a lot to say. Luther is a man of few words worth listening to. A pittance of a backstory, but such a paltry sum is very befitting of our poultry “barely” a hero, Mr. Chicken himself, Luther Knotts…

-CHAPTER END-

♫Let's all go to the lobby♫

♫Let's all go to the lobby♫

♫Let's all go to the lobby♫

♫And get ourselves a treat♫

-Nightmare’s overture-