“Think about it, Luther! Janitor turned front page reporter in a single night!”

“That’s crazy, Kelsey…”

“It is crazy, but it’s your dream!”

“Huh? How’d you know that?”

“It was in your diary.”

“HEY! Who told ya you could go snooping through that!?!?!?”

“You were the one who left it open in the break room, lad.”

“...oh…”

…

A stark bolt of lightning tears across the sky! Luther rests his palm on the doorknob of the mansion’s front door, shaking as he grasps it.

“Be Brave! Buh-buh b-boo boo-bee b-b-brave.” He squeezes it and jiggles it up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right. And nothing happens…

Damn! Luther did it the exact way Kelsey told him to. The mansion’s locked up, and he swore this secret trick would get Luther in. Well, it is an old house. It could have outlived any past secrets…

Or, Kelsey is messing with him. In a fit, Luther smacks the doorknob so hard it points straight down. He growls. This is nonsense, total nonsense. It’s cold, it’s windy, and it’s-

*BOOOOOM* Thunder roars.

-loud…Luther considers trekking back down the hill and returning to, nope, nope, no! He WILL find his way inside, one way or the other!

Luther stares at his warped reflection in the scratched brass knob. Then attempts to pull it up, but there’s resistance. It won't budge.

Using both hands, Luther heaves with all his might, and finally, he accidentally yanks it so hard that now it’s pointing straight up. He feels his back pop in sync as it happens.

Luther rubs his back and steps away. “GREAT! JUST WHAT I NEEDED!”

He kicks a post out of frustration. “OOWWWWW!!!!” Bad idea…

Luther turns to inspect the knob again. ‘Huh. Now that I think about it, didn’t Kelsey tell me to pull it down and push it back-’ He can hear a light creak.

The doorknob falls off and begins to roll. It stops.

*CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK* The porch floor beneath him gives way.

*FWOOSH* Wood tumbles down.

“-UUUUUUUUUPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!” And Luther in tow.

*THUD* He crashes below, coughs, and flails his arms around. Coughing as he bats away dust or God knows what.

*BONK* The doorknob pounds his skull.

Luther gets up and creeps around cautiously. Feeling the walls to get his bearings…

*ah* Luther felt that one. He cut his hand on something sharp…

Luther takes out his handkerchief. The best he can do for the time being is use it as a makeshift bandage. Proper first aid can wait for later. Doubtful he could find a kit around here anyway.

After all, he only has to spend one night here…just one night…and ONLY one night…

Luther tries to focus in the dark to find out where that damn flashlight went. Managing to locate it, he picks it off the floor. He taps the side of his flashlight. Good, it appears to be OK. Luther turns it on to gloss over his new surroundings…

He apparently crash landed into the cellar. Dust, dust, and cobwebs on one side. On the other side is junk, junk, and more…blood? Luther sees a pair of large gardening shears hanging off the side of a workbench, his blood dripping from the blade. He sneers at the culprit and swings down at the grip!

*POW* Only to cause it to spin upwards and slam right into his nose.

‘That better not be bleeding too…’ Angrily rubbing his nose, Luther turns to the stairs. Funny, the door is already conveniently opened, but he’s too angry to care and angry enough to take whatever he can get right now.

As Luther makes his way up the stairs, a first aid kit he had failed to notice falls off a top shelf.

…

…

WOW! Remarkable! Luther finds his way into the living room. Dust, dust, and cobwebs are here too, but this living room, this living room…

…LOOKS LIKE FUCKING SHIT! HA! The rumors were wrong. This place is undoubtedly aging on the inside. Luther can admit it feels like stepping into a time machine with the quaint furnishings. But, the torn couch cushion, ripped drapes, and scratched floor either belong in a dumpster or a barely preserved museum exhibit.

Luther sneers and knocks on the stone fireplace meticulously blended into the floor and wall. ‘I’ll give the craftsmanship some credit! Don’t hear anything falling down.’

A spray of gravel falls into the pit, and Luther stammers away. Obviously frightened, but he tries to cooly brush himself off. Luther stands in front of the mantle. There’s an oil lamp, a candlestick holder, and something covered in a tarp between them.

Curious, he pulls the tarp down. “What’s behind curtain number one?”

‘Eh…not my type…’ Luther is not impressed by the painting of the woman it reveals.

He takes his time illuminating the bookshelves. Luther, though, is not much of an avid reader unless it’s Game King strategies or bikini babes. So he decides to check out the dining room instead.

‘Hmm…’ Luther wonders if the ol’ Milhollin family had a thing for clocks. The dining room is littered with them. All sorts of antique clocks, like grandfather clocks, cuckoo clocks, and pendulum clocks…

‘They gotta be worth a fortune!’ Even if it feels excessive, Luther will appreciate knowing what time it is at all times. ‘Just one night…just one night…’

Luther lets out a big yawn and looks down at an overturned table and chairs. ‘Lazy, lazy.’

Feeling he’s had enough of a tour, he returns to the living room to get some shut-eye. Luther motions to roll out his sleeping bag! He motions to roll out his sleeping bag…Luther realizes he had forgotten his sleeping bag…

Damn, it’s still in the truck! It’s Alma’s fault! She threw off his groove with all of her passive-aggressive silence followed by anti-passive, VERY aggressive yelling!

‘I’ll just sleep on the couch!’ Luther picks up a pillow gleefully, revealing a colony of spiders! ‘MAYBE I’LL JUST SLEEP ON THE FLOOR!’

As Luther backs up, he bumps into a nightstand, and a very expensive-looking porcelain cat rattles. He prepares to grab it, but it stops itself, so he breathes a sigh of relief…

*CRASH* …it falls and shatters on the floor…

Luther waves. “BAH!”

He doesn’t need to care. No owners currently, and the new wannabe owner in all of his smug assholish glory can clean it up! Luther huffs and glances at a wall clock that snaps the hour hand from 7 to 8. He watches as a chunk of dust from it flutters to the ground.

Luther frowns. ‘...it’s only 8:00pm…’

‘...WAIT! 8:00pm? It’s time for the Phil Bunningsham Not Late Enough Action Fireside Chat!’ Luther smiles and begins fumbling inside his coat pocket.

‘Come on…’ He has a copy of the Game King rulebook, bikini babe photos, and Kelsey’s compass. ‘Oh right, that…’

Luther presses the topside notch of the compass, and it flips open like a pocket watch.

He remembers asking Kelsey, “What’s this for?”

And Kelsey said, “Why, in case you get lost in there!”

The needle points directly at the oil lamp. Luther flicks the cover, and it spins 360 degrees before wobbling back to pointing at the lamp again. He shuts the compass and puts it back in his pocket. Must be broken, and why would he need it anyway?

Luther fumbles around through more crap, surprising how much he can fit in that cheap-ass hand-me-down jacket until finally. “YES!” He finds his trusty pocket radio.

‘And what would a fireside chat be without a fireside…fireplace? Whatever…’ Luther can work on his comedy in the morning.

He leans over and places the radio under the portrait of the “not his type” woman. Luther turns the dial of the radio to find 800 AM, listening to the whirs and whines of static until he hears the...silence? That’s odd. He’s tuned in to the right frequency.

Oh, duh, of course! Luther forgot about the finicky antenna. He fiddles around with it until he hears the glorious…

📻EIGHT-EIGHT-EIGHT-EIGHT-HUN-HUN-HUN-HUN-DRED-DRED-DRED-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A!!!!!!!!!!!!📻 The radio is so GOD DAMN LOUD that Luther can’t help but hold his ears and fall backward on the spider colony couch.

The spiders scatter and scuttle across the floor after his ass plops on the cushion.

Luther twiddles his thumbs as the pre-recorded greeting continues to loop. But that's ok. Loyal listeners to Phil know all about the budget cuts! They can try to silence the man, but they can’t silence the people! Or something…

From the radio, Luther hears, 📻“STUPID PIECE OF FUCKING CRAP!”📻

📻*WHAM* *WHAM* *ZZZZZZZZZZZZTTTTTTTTT* “THAT’S BETTER!”📻

📻“And we are LIVE-er than LIVE! Welcome back to the ONLY fireside chat worth tuning in to, with me, Phil Bunningsham, on 800 LWL. War veteran, truth seeker, and truth deliver-errrr!📻

Luther lays back in the seat. 📻“Well, I’ll be damned! The phones are lighting up more than the jungles of-”📻

📻“Phil! We told you ya can’t say “damn” on the air anymore!”📻

📻“I can say whatever I FUCKING want!”📻

Luther can hear a siren and a mock air raid from the radio and rustles in his seat. 📻*T-T-T-TRUTH BOMB!*📻

📻“Let’s take our first call…you’re on the air, sweetheart!”📻

📻“Hey there, Phil~❤️ Stud~❤️ It’s Mildred from Ray, and first I wanted to say I can’t believe you were voted the #1 Worst Radio Host in Canzus!”📻

📻“Believe me, darlin’, we can all believe I’m a stud, and we all can’t believe that shoddy excuse for journalism with even shoddier results! What brings you on, Ms. Mildred from Ray?”📻

📻“Emphasis on “Ms.” and not “Mrs.” you stud~❤️ Everyone is talking about it, and I’m sure you know too! It’s about Luther Knotts spending the night in Milhollin Mansion!”📻

Luther nearly falls out of his seat. 📻“We all can hardly believe that one, but my verified truth-verifier-errrs have confirmed as much-”📻

📻“-Let’s hope the ol’ Cowardly Lion’s decrepit Grandpa doesn’t die from his own shadow before making it up the hill!”📻 The commentary stings as Luther scratches his cheek in embarrassment, but he respects the radio news authority.

📻“I know a stud like you wouldn’t be afraid, but I sure would. You know the story, don’t you?”📻

📻“That I do, darlin’. That I do. But tell ya what, since I like your cute voice, “Ms. emphasis on the Ms.” Mildred from Ray, I’ll let you remind our loyal listeners of the tale!”📻

📻“Oh you~❤️ It all started back in 1900-somethin’...the old bitch, I mean lady of the manor, Mrs. Milhollin, woke up to the sound of a break-in…”📻

Luther feels as if the shadows in the living room are huddling over him as he tearily-eyed peeks at the portrait above the fireplace. 📻“...a crazy burglar stomped their way up the stairs…*PUMF* *PUMF* *PUMF* with a pair of stolen gardening shears in hand that glistened against the moonlight…”📻

Luther tries to slink deep into his seat. It’s like the portrait is glaring down upon him. 📻…and then…*ACK* The crazed and jealous-” *KZZZZZZZZRRRRRRRT*📻

The radio cuts out as the antenna flops over at a vital part of the story! Luther launches over to hastily readjust it. 📻“DRIVES THE SHEARS INTO HER THROAT!”📻

*BOOOOOOM* The storm outside lights up every corner of the mansion.

Luther jolts and bangs his noggin on the mantle. He spins, dizzy as he watches the pretty bright lights and the many faces of Mrs. Milhollin swirl in his vision. Twirling and limping as he lumbers his way back to the sofa that’s very good at catching him tonight. The oil lamp rattles off the mantle and rolls across the carpet.

📻“How was that stud~?”📻 Luther passes right out just in time for his feet to catch the lamp, and his head slinks down…

-CHAPTER END-

Phil might be signing a new contract to shack up in Peachmane! You can’t stop this dog from barking!

-Nightmare’s overture-