Skulduggery Pleasant One Shots

The Proselyte

Trigger warning for mental illness.

The door hissed as the three girls finally managed to wedge it open, as if it were determined to keep its secrets from prying eyes. The light seeped reluctantly through the forbidding halls, casting darkness along the peeling paint and dust-danced air. The trio crept inside, their footsteps crying out at the faux silence, cracking against the rusty-brown splattered tiles. Not even a draft dared whisper through this building, a husk of civilisation. Despite how brave Artemis and Athena may deem themselves, the structure commanded absolute reverence, forcing the two to edge through the halls. The absolute feeling of wrong lurched from every crevice, latching onto the two girls and shivering down their spines.  

"Ali, what did you want to show us?" Athena hissed through her teeth at the third girl, who snapped out of her traumatised reverie and faced the two.

"No, Athena's right. Why on earth are we here?" Artemis passive aggressively spat in hushed tones. Neither felt particularly comfortable. Ali's eyes darted around in panic before she leaned forwards, placing a finger of silence on her dry lips.

"Don't be so loud," she made out in a barely audible voice. Artemis and Athena shot each other a look that only they could understand.

"Ali," Artemis began cautiously. "Why do we need to be quiet?"

"What's down here?" Athena added. Once more, the red-head shushed the two.

"You don't want to alert him to your presence," Ali ushered, leading them into a room strewn with papers and unearthly equipment. The tiles became more faded scarlet than white in this room. The floor shone, and for a moment, Artemis thought the blood was fresh before she heard the crunch of glass under her shoes. "I have to go grab something, stay here." Ali then darted out of the room. Athena wandered over to the twisted mammoth of metal and pulled wires in the corner of the room, running her hands down the rough sides in a mix of horror and awe.

"This is so cool..." she breathed. Athena looked at Artemis, who was leafing through the papers on what once might have been a desk. She noticed a wooden chair, large chunks of it had been broken away, the sharp edges like the shards of a broken chandelier. Worn leather straps hung lifelessly from where they were attached to the chair, the colour of ancient terracotta. "What is this place?" Artemis shook her head in confusion.

"I might have a clue, not my Ali brought us here though." She beckoned Athena to come over. They both leaned over a desk as Artemis pulled out a pile of paper that had been strung together. "Look at this," she pointed at the date at the top of the papers before gesturing towards the chair and medical apparatus. "This might have once been an asylum of sorts."

Athena's brow furrowed. "But the technology is far too advanced for the date on those letters."

"I know," Artemis nodded. "And these look like log entries, perhaps from the person who owned this place." Athena pulled up two foldable chairs from the corner of the room and set them down at the desk, a puff of dust rising from them in a plume. She sat down and pulled her chair forwards with a screech that made Artemis wince.

"Well," Athena said. "We might as well read this while we wait for her to get back." Artemis nodded and they began reading the collection of weathered papers.

---

13th of September, 11:58pm, from the Log of Dr. Vaughans

My intentions were noble, and my theory was firm. All my research, labour and years of study were finally paying off on my life's work. Giddily flicking beads of sweat off my forehead, tantalising futures danced through my mind, showing the world cured of mental illness thanks to my machine. Eager to test my theory and cure my companions, I plucked a sickly rat from its enclosure and brought it over to the hulking mass of steel and wires. Its uncertain chocolate eyes pleading gazed into my soul, clearly communicating the fear it felt from the uncertainty of its position. I felt the tickles of it nestle into my palm as I stroked its silken fur and whispered words of comfort to distract from the straps that were now binding it to a lovingly crafted rat-sized chair. I yanked down the lever on the side of the machine, suddenly stricken with guilt at how the rat thrashed and screeched, desperately trying to be free.