The Orphanage (V)
Added 2023-07-22 23:18:57 +0000 UTCAn ABDL Horror story by Blake Rose
V.
One thing was certain: this was already shaping up to be more involved than the previous time he saw one of these, and that was saying something. On that occasion, the entirety of Heartstead House was taken over by notable vampires throughout history and literature. That was the moment when he realized these production companies, whoever they were, did not fuck around when it came to building atmosphere.
Ancient talismans, wreaths of garlic and flasks filled with silver powder, ornate scrolls of parchment stamped with wax seals, letters that looked so genuinely ancient that they might break at the slightest touch, actual desiccated animal corpses, drained bat-like corpses of vampiric monsters hung from the ceilings, people with faces so bone-white and pale they looked as though they had stepped out of a freezer, sexy people dressed in black leathers and enveloped in even darker, more passionately carnal intentions. Everything was dark, regal, and seductive.
Not like now.
In stark contrast to the previous time Tyler had stepped into this room, the sounds now pressing against his ears were not seductive and chilling, but loud and discordant. As Chapal bade them farewell and opened the door for them to proceed, what was previously silence from the other side suddenly swelled into volume as quickly as leaning on a remote control…
Tyler remembered how two years ago, in this very room, the Immortal Vlad Dracula had risen smoothly from a sleek black casket and greeted the crowd with an impassioned monologue. In his mid-twenties with slicked black, white, and blood red hair, he looked like a rock star, a noble, and a cult leader all at once, and in the red light of the room he slid and slunk through the crowd, smelling people, flirting with everyone with a glance from over his red sunglasses, speaking of battles and blood and passion.
He also remembered the teenage girl standing next to him in the crowd saying quite clearly and audibly, “I’m bored.”
With his back to the audience Dracula, had been halfway through painting a verbal picture of how he had destroyed the Ottomans, his arm outstretched in gesticulation. At the girl’s interruption the hand froze. The speech skidded to a halt. A moment hung in the air between them before the hand closed slowly, knuckles cracking. Tyler felt the “oh shit ripple” spread through the crowd around him, the numb feeling of burning cold that crawls up the spine when one realizes a mistake has just been made.
TINK. TINK.
A single long bladed gauntlet encasing the actor’s middle finger tapped against the wine glass he held. The blood inside sloshed slightly.
TINK. TINK. TINK.
Tyler remembered quite vividly how slowly Dracula had turned around to look directly at the girl, somehow knowing it was her who spoke despite having his back turned when she had. Several people raised a hand to their mouth with glee while others slid out of the vampire’s line of sight with their best impression of a Homer Simpson hedge meme.
“Ahh.. ‘Bored’, are we?”
TINK. TINK.
“Well, my dear that is a problem now is it? What shall we do about that?”
TINK. TINK. TINK.
His tone was dripping with the charm and resonance of a British chain-smoking blues singer, it seemed to gurgle up from within his chest as a calm growl. Tyler was impressed by how clearly the actor was speaking through the false fangs. Only the merest hint of a lisp could be detected, but it felt and sounded more like a snake’s hiss than a speech impediment.
Then the girl seemed to find some measure of courage as she stammered out a small word of protest but, in the blink of an eye the actor lunged forward to stand face to face with the girl, snorting out a growl and baring his fanged teeth. The girl jumped and squeaked in fright as Dracula stopped an inch from her face. With a swift and practiced move, he slid the wine glass to his free hand and gently stroked the girl’s face with the side of the blade attached to his finger.
The metal looked cold.
She had shuddered and attempted to laugh off the discomfort before Dracula had gently hooked the blade under her chin and slowly leaned in to whisper something in her ear barely moving his lips. When he pulled away, Tyler saw the girl’s face. She was standing stone still and the corners of her eyes were beginning to well with tears, and she remained quiet until her friends jarred her out of her stupor.
The thing was, Tyler had been silently agreeing with her. He had begun to feel bored with how slow it was moving and was quietly wishing something more interesting would happen than a bunch of speeches. Up until that point, the most interesting thing about the show had been the dark and sexy decor of the rooms.
He pulled his eyes from the girl momentarily to look up to the high frosted stained glass ceiling stretched across the wide, tall place. One side of this room was wood-floored and in the center at the far end was a large, handsome fireplace made of gray stone inside which another fire crackled happily behind the grate.
Dominating the other half of the room was a roughly fifteen foot square section of stone floor that was inset more deeply into the floor by about two feet. Four small sets of stone stairs led down to it, one centered on each side of the square. In the center of the inset floor was a finely sculpted stone fountain wreathed at its base with mosaic tiles, though tonight there was no water burbling away within the basin. Once, at the foot of this fountain, Dracula had been lying apparently asleep in his black casket ready to spring to un-life again.
Years ago Tyler was standing here, surrounded by hanging desiccated corpses and rotting flowers, watching a skinny blonde teenage girl get quietly torn a new emotional asshole by a man wearing fangs and sunglasses, indoors, at night.
Tonight, however, this room bore a very different type of vibe.
No, I do not like what you’ve done with the place, thank you very much…
The stone and wood floor was now mostly concealed beneath soft carpets and multicolored foam mats stuck together like puzzle pieces. On the left side of the room there sat more play mats, short tables and primary-colored chairs, coloring books, finger painting easels, a wide open chest overflowing with toys, and a shelf of large books.
Playpen areas with plastic walls surrounded the rim of the inset floor and contained piles of blocks, balls, dolls, action figures, games, jars of bubble juice, games, plushies, blankets, and pillows. Down within the inset itself and circumventing the space, wooden benches made to look like oversized baby blocks sat at each corner. There was clutter strewn everywhere. A scent hung heavily in the air and Tyler could detect what smelled like a mixture of baby lotion, firewood, dust, a hint of urine, and a PVC plastic smell that Tyler found deeply reminiscent of Toys R Us. He scoffed to himself.
Kids today will never know that feeling…
Tyler’s heart was suddenly hit with a pang of grief as memories of that once-great bastion of childhood entertainment bubbled up from within his memory. Not only would kids born today never know the majesty of a trip to Toys R Us, but he suddenly remembered that also he couldn’t experience that joy again even if he wanted to.
And of course, he didn’t want to. He was an adult, and adults didn’t do stupid kid things or play with stupid kid toys…
He inhaled again and something about the smell in the air tried to pull him back to those feelings again. He did his best to push back the feeling of longing, though it must have manifested somehow because he felt Kelly give his hand a tighter squeeze and when he looked at her, her brow was curled up in a facial question mark. “Smells like Toys R Us,” he said in a whisper. His girlfriend sniffed, thought a bit and then rocked her head in a way that told Tyler she agreed with him somewhat.
She would have whispered this back to him, but the pacifier was once again in her mouth, and Tyler felt her swinging her arm a bit more brightly backward and forward than she had.
Something in Tyler’s mind scoffed at how silly and weird his girlfriend was for playing along, but the feeling was soon overshadowed by just how damn cute he suddenly thought his girlfriend was. He had always thought she was adorable, but while they walked hand in hand, her dressed to the nines with pacifier and pigtails bobbing along gently, he imagined Kelly dressed this way again except this time pulling him excitedly toward the wide Toys R Us front doors for some shopping spree he imagines half-promising to her, then through the aisles as she bounced up and down happily on the balls of her feet while Tyler got things down from the high shelves for her, barely able to contain her excitement and without a care in the world for any judgements from passersby. For reasons he couldn’t explain, Tyler found very little about this momentary fantasy unappealing, if anything.
They moved into the room as they continued their journey through the story, and Tyler once again buried those weird but somehow desirable memories, though perhaps not as deep this time.
About fifteen “toddlers” populated the room, and because of the nature of the decor the guise of childhood was remarkably convincing, so much so that Tyler found himself working to remind himself of the actual scale of things.
Those are… those are big.
He looked around and saw that they were entering a large playroom or child’s activity space that had been scaled up to fit that of an adult. The teddy bears which lined the walls were massive (though nowhere near as large as the mammoth teddy bear a few rooms previous). There was an enormous Connect Four board that was currently being haphazardly played with by a boy and a girl. One child went scooting past in an oversized baby walker.
Tyler barely has time to register how disturbingly authentic some of the decor looked despite their size before his gaze was drawn upward to the thing that dominated the room. It was not the decor, or the oversized babies utilizing it all, or the sound of playing that seemed to swell from silence to commotion as Chapal opened the door for them…
It was the tree.
Positioned above the fountain directly in front of them as they entered was a massive tree, or rather the top half of one. It was suspended from the beams surrounding the stained glass section of ceiling and seemed to hang with its trunk floating directly above the fountain. The base of the trunk was not cleanly cut, but instead looked torn and ripped as though some giant had grabbed hold of it and twisted it, breaking it like a celery stalk. This shredded bark and wood hung down like curtains above the stone fountain, and stretching up and out of the trunk were the branches. Tyler’s mind flashed with images of Kitty Pride phasing or a noclip in Gary’s Mod as he looked at the branches and leaves that ended abruptly and smoothly and abruptly against the frosted glass. Tyler was just taking in the large apples and strangely-shaped fruit hanging from the branches above when a loud banging sound snapped the guests’ heads around.
A larger-than-life infant’s chatter phone was sliding loudly across the wooden section of floor on its side until it came to a rest near the wall. A voice that was loud and powerful yet trying its best to remain calm called out in response from somewhere ahead Tyler could not see from behind taller members of the audience.
“Come on now, Steven! I’ve already told you not to throw things! Someone could get hurt! We do not throw things indoors. We have to wait until we’re playing outside to throw things, OK?”
The speaker was dressed in identical garb to Chapal. After quelling the excitement they turned to see the guests approaching. Relief seemed to suddenly wash over them. “Oh, thank Christ– Alrighty then, children! Remember when you were told there were going to be some new friends coming?” A mumbled agreement from two or three kids was returned. “Well, they’ve all come to see you! Some new faces! Now remember your manners. What do we say to new friends?” Many of the children murmured a half-hearted greeting. “Very good! Now it’s almost storytime which means now we start cleaning up! It’s been a long day and I know many of you are tired – Audrey, don’t think I didn’t see you yawning into your fingerpaints, little miss – and we always need a story before bed. Let’s show these nice folks how neat and tidy we can be, OK?” Without confirmation, the kids began to clean up their toys. The caregiver turned to the group of newcomers with a whisper.
“Theycanbeafuckingnightmaresometimes–HELL-LLOOO everyone! How are you this evening? Are you enjoying our facilities so far? I hope so because once we part ways, there’s no going back.” He chuckled and grinned and some of the audience members laughed.
This caregiver was young, pale, and very handsome. Standing over six foot tall he had casually untidy hair, chiseled cheekbones, and piercing dark blue eyes, the bags under which which looked at the moment to be in desperate need of twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep. He looked exhausted, and rightly so, as taking care of fifteen adult-sized toddlers would be exhausting for anyone regardless of size or build..
“Now, I know what you’re thinking, you’ve been thinking it since you walked in here: ’Why are they letting these little youngsters stay up so late!’ I know, right?”
Tyler chuckled to himself. Not quite what I was thinking, but fair enough
“True, it’s unusual,” the caregiver went on without stopping or waiting for a reply, “but because we knew you were coming, the kids are allowed to stay up a little later to meet you tonight. Plus, it’s Halloween, which means tomorrow is a very special day! The kids don’t get visitors too often, and it’s important to remind them that they haven’t been forgotten. It’s part of what helps these youngsters grow, and if all that means is the kids get to bed a little later than usual for one night, then the powers that be think it would be beneficial for them…” He moved close enough to the group for them to hear his lowered voice. “...and what would be beneficial to me would be right now is a fucking breather and a shot of vodka. So, thanks for that. You’re buying me some air.”
It was then that a squat balding man wearing an off-the-rack Beetlejuice costume gave a snort and spoke up. “You want?”
Everyone looked at him, so he continued. “Oh no, wait. Wishhkey…” He turned his tie over to reveal a thin plastic film containing some amber liquid, apparently too sloshed to realize what he was doing. Tyler looked closer, and from where he was standing he saw a small hose protruding from the knot of the tie parked conveniently close to the mouth. As someone who often ventured out intoxicated, Tyler recognized the signs of someone who was a bit too sauced to realize where the line was. Either that, or this was planned
Dude, why the fuck would you bring attention to the fact that you brought alcohol into the show?
The tall young man’s face twitched, apparently gauging if this guy was for real. “Sir, we do not allow alcohol around our children.”
Beetlejuice chucked, hiccuped a bit, and mumbled quietly, “Heh… ‘children’... right.”
“Yes, ‘children’. What else would you call them?”
The guest pondered as he looked around the room, his eyes blinking just a bit too slow to read as completely sober. “Freaks and pervs. You got adults being babies and wearing diapers. That’s not scary, that’s just gross. When’s the scary shit gonna happen?”
The taller man blinked, and seeming to resolve himself to something he drew a pocket watch from his trousers, opened it, and stood there, his face quite reserved. As the audience member continued on, the actor stood looking at his watch in frustration. Tyler was hit with deja vu.
Beetlejuice was standing about a foot shorter than the actor, and there was a definitive air of Napoleon complex in him, but the actor stood firm and as the seconds lengthened as an aura of frustration began to breathe off of him even while he kept his face quite controlled. Evidently the man’s companions sensed this too because they began to stammer over their inebriated friend.
“Dude, no.”
“The fuck are you–”
“Sorry he hasn’t been to one of these shows before. Told him not to…”
But the actor stayed still, looking squarely at the man like a teacher waiting for a schoolboy to own up to the fact that he pissed himself in class. Eventually, with the help of his friends, the man receded back into silence, and the caregiver swallowed his distaste and said with a well-practiced and forced smile to the rest of the crowd before continuing on in a friendly, airy way.
“Hello, everyone. You can call me Nemo, and as I was saying, I’m not one to defy the kids’ health regimens. I don’t decide the track, I’m just making sure the kids stay on it. I haven’t been here long, but I’ve been here long enough to see Caregivers terminated for less. -Adam, I can see you, put it back. Yes, you!– How was Chapal? Did he tell you the story about the alphabet soup? He loves that one.”
Just then, a young man wearing short light blue overalls and a multicolored t-shirt moved to Nemo’s side and tugged on his sleeve. “Yes, Patrick?”
“Excuse me!” the boy called Patrick said in a voice that was just a hair too high-pitched to match his firm jawline.
“Yes, Patrick? What is it?” Then Patrick seemed to notice that the audience members were not all looking at him and he withdrew slightly. He attempted to hide behind Nemo, which wasn’t easy considering they were roughly the same size.. “It’s OK, buddy. These are new friends! They’ve come to say hello to you! Can you say ‘hello’ to the nice people?”
He said nothing, but waited until a few people in the group all waved or gave cheery greetings. Patrick remained tucked half-hidden behind the caregiver, but mumbled out a weak “hello” before tugging at Nemo but saying nothing. Nemo, beginning to show signs of impatience, turned to look more squirrel at Patrick. “Is something wrong, bud? What do you need?”
Tyler thought it was very well done; the tiny shifts and adjustments of weight, the toes turned just slightly pigeoned, the look of slight incomprehension, the stammer he fitted into his voice to make his tongue sound just a little too uncoordinated.
Nemo continued on, mumbling something to Patrick at half-volume but Tyler distinctly heard the word “bedtime” carry across the middle distance between them more than once. “Speaking of,” he said, guiding Patrick back to the toys and turning back to the audience, “Our kids get a story before bed, and they have a couple of minutes left of cleaning up. If you’d like to go meet them and say hello, you’re welcome to! Just do not touch them and do not HELP them, either. Part of their regimen is to learn the value of being able to clean up after yourself. And as for you…”
He looked directly at Beetledouche.
“We’re going to have a word.”
And without breaking eye contact, Nemo whistled and raised a hand and with one finger he beckoned him over. The Napoleon complex clashed with being summoned like a dog, and Beetlejuice approached with the intent to fight, not to comply.
“Oh really? You're gonna have a word with me?” His tone wasn’t just the trivial aggressive chest-beating only meant to intimidate. Tyler heard tiny undertones of threat brought out by the alcohol.
“No, we are going to have a word.” and Nemo snapped his pocket watch closed with an echoing SNAP! “Off you go, folks. Our kids are dying to meet you.” Then Nemo waved the rest of the audience away toward the children and he motioned once more for the man to come with him.
It was only then that the drunk man seemed to notice the presence of the man behind him, and he turned around to stare this new figure in the face.
Or rather, their nipples, because standing several inches taller even than Nemo, Beetlejuice had to practically look up at this new person.
He was tall, taller even than Nemo, and with far more body and girth. Tyler assumed he must have been standing in a shadowy corner or behind the door, but he had moved with uncanny speed and silence. Given the man’s size and general demeanor he looked more like a club bouncer dressed up in orderlies than a security guard for the show.
Tyler saw the short man’s confidence flicker before his liquid courage kicked in. It seemed to remind his internal Napoleon that if he ever, Ever, EVER lost a dick measuring contest, then all of his rights as a man were immediately forfeit and he might as well perform seppuku immediately, so he maintained his drunken confidence and said (though in a less genuine and more ‘trivial aggressive chest-beating’ way), “You got a problem big man cause if you do I’ll give you all you want?”
The towering man just stood there silently, hands by his sides looking almost directly down at the audience member. Nemo smiled and spoke calmly.
“This one here has broken a few rules, including bringing grown-up drinks onto the premises. Do you deny this?”
“W’chu say to me–?”
“I asked you, ‘do you deny this?’”
“So what if I’–”
“Irving.”
And before the man could say anything else, he was grabbed by the shoulders of his black and white suit and lifted near off his feet as he was pushed none too gently out of the room, the small man loudly cursing and protesting. He tried to swing his fists and kick at the security guard, but he was too uncoordinated in his stupor and small in his stature to pose any threat. His friends were confused and protested angrily, but the man called Irving moved with an intention and will that seemed to overpower the drunken pit bull he directed out of the room.
Nemo smiled and looked back at the crowd with an exasperated smile. He gestured to the children and went to sit on an oversized wooden alphabet block like a bench. Beetlejuice’s friends moved to Nemo to begin asking him what happened to him, but Nemo dismissively assured them that they plan for eventualities like these.
Confused as to whether or not this little altercation was staged or just serendipity, Tyler felt another squeeze of his hand. Kelly looked at him in surprise. Tyler leaned in to whisper. “First Dracula, the Beetlejuice. The fuck is it with this room and people feeling the need to be assholes?”
Kelly giggled and nodded her agreement, and both he and Kelly made their way over to meet some of the oversized toddlers.
- Blake
