FicWad

Gerard’s Point Of View
The putrid smell of burning flesh fills my nostrils and is so revolting that I fall to my hands and knees, grabbing my stomach with my right arm as I emptied out bile onto the ground beneath me. I look up and into the ocean of liquid fire before me, which was sweeping away the millions of corpses, souls and human remains in its thick billowing waves.
It laps hungrily, slapping against the black beach on which I kneel as if it were licking its lips greedily, trying desperately to wash me into its gluttonous stomach. I scream as I throw myself backwards, falling on my back with a heavy thud, spraying the black sand outward and all around. The waves only find this more enticing, as they grow larger, smashing the beach with its intense fury as it continues to reach towards me. Sprinkles of small flickering flames fall into a circular pattern at my feet, then burst into an uproarious fire, encasing me inside flames as tall as myself.
Coughing erratically as my lungs fill with the thick, black smoke, my eyes dance maniacally while I search for an exit out of the ring of fire, when they catch sight of a person falling from the black sky. I squint to peer through the smoke and flames in order to get a better look at the man whom was falling head first into an ocean of flames, and my heart stops beating as my eyes widen in horror at my realization.
It was Mikey.
He opens wide his terror-filled eyes and thrusts out his hand towards me as his body continues to plummet from the black sky, drawing him closer and closer to being engulfed by the ravenous fire that awaits him gluttonously.

“Gerard! Help me!” Mikey cries just as his body is devoured by the by the wicked flames.
“Mikey!” I scream as I bolt upright in bed, my heart beating a mile a minute and my skin burning as if the dream of being ensnared by flame was a reality. I stare at nothing in the dark of my room, as I attempt desperately to calm myself yet again. I’ve been dealing with this dream for damn near a month, and I still awake just as terrified and unnerved as I was the first night that I was tortured by it. These dreams, just, feel so real. I swear, sometimes I can still feel the smoke in my lungs, even after I know for a fact I’ve awakened. And I have to repeat to myself over and over that it wasn’t real; there is no black beach, nor an ocean of fire, and there is certainly no one plummeting into a fiery death. And even though I tell myself this, my heart’s still trying to escape from my chest, and my breath and thoughts are just as erratic.
I close my eyes and inhale deeply, but all I can see is Mikey falling from the sky, so I open them and stare at the emptiness of the bedroom. The dreams wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for that one scene. And the worst part of all is that I never know exactly who will be consumed by the flames; sometimes it will be Mikey, sometimes it’s my mom or dad and other times their will be multiple bodies falling from the sky. But no matter the quantity, it is always people that I love plummeting head first into the fires of hell.
Exhaling slowly, I command my body to clam and my heart to regulate, as I whisper aloud to myself, “It’s not real”. It occurs to me now that the only useful thing that has happened during this month of torture is that I am now better capable of calming myself in a quicker amount of time than before; I guess I am becoming accustomed to their agony.
I stare down at my hands in the pale morning light. Hands that were unable to grasp Mikey and save him from his fiery death. Hands that are barely able to keep a firm grip on reality and hands that are completely unable to keep insanity from consuming the house. I can’t help but to hate them.
“You really are useless,” I whisper with a heavy sigh, as I let my hands drop to my sides but am surprised when my right hand hits something hard. Confused, I grip the object in the dark until I recognize it to be the camcorder I took from Frank yesterday, and I can’t help but recall the fear on his face when he handed it to me. What could’ve happened in that room that had him so damn frightened?
I turn the camcorder over and over in my hands in contemplation before finally deciding to play it.
“Hey everybody. This is Frank of My Chemical Romance, which you probably already know…”
God, he really planned this out thoroughly, I think as I fast forward the tape, pressing play when I realize that his hands are positioned on the planchette.
“Spirit, can you hear me?” he waits a moment before glancing at the camera and smiling. “Spirit, what is your name? Oh my god” he says as the planchette moves across the board and he spells the name Daisy before bursting into a laugh. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I just couldn’t help myself,” he says through his laughter. Typical Frank, I smirk as I press fast forward again. I imagine he’ll probably joke once or twice more before he gets serious.
IF he gets serious.
As anticipated, Frank makes another obvious joke before settling in front of the Ouija board and I can tell by the face he is giving that this will now be a serious attempt.
I listen intently.
“Okay… Are you angry, Spirit? Or perhaps sad?” I notice that the camera flickers slightly, and the sound dips in and out as Frank speaks and he says something that I can’t make out due to the distortion of the camera. The intermittent flickers grow to become absolute static and there is no picture but I can still occasionally hear a garbled Frank speaking. Bringing the camera up toward my ear, I strain as I listen and am fairly certain I hear him ask what’s your purpose, before the only sound becomes that of captured static. I fast forward, but the static remains for nearly two whole minutes before it instantly clears to show Frank lying unconscious on the floor.
A sigh slips away from me as I turn off the camera and drop it on the bed. “Just like I thought, a whole bunch of nothing,” I say aloud to myself as I flop backward onto the bed, but I can’t help but recall the words of a cracked out palm-reader we saw just before coming to this damn mansion, who said that the supernatural and paranormal operate on different frequencies, causing disturbances in electronics. I glance backward at the camera lying on its side on the bed. “What does she know?” I say to myself as I shove the camera underneath my pillow and stare up at the ceiling, until I am jostled by the sound of scratching pervading my ears.
“There it is again! That damn scratching noise!” I say as I sit up and look over toward the picture of the forlorn angel without an ounce of sympathy, but much rather outrage. It’s every day with that got damn scratching! Every fucking day!
Abruptly, I get up to my feet and dart toward the picture. My hands reach out aggressively clutching the painting and pull it towards me in an effort to rip it off the wall, but the painting is actually longer than I had originally imagined and the drawer that sits directly in front of it prevents me from pulling it out. This serves only to frustrate me even more.
Practically snarling, I get on the side of the drawer and push it to the right so that it is completely blocking the door to my bedroom and no longer obscuring my view of the painting. But seeing the painting in its totality leaves me baffled and motionless. Unlike the top of the painting, which is a brilliant sky blue, the mid-section is a dark blue that gradually continues to darken, nearing black. The moment that the background becomes completely black is where a group of demons of various sizes and colors clutch onto the angel’s waist and legs as they begin to devour her. The pale legs of the angel seem even whiter when contrasted against the ruby red that trickles down them. At the very bottom lies a sea of fire that is overflowing with many lesser demons, all greatly enticed by the droplets of the angel’s blood, which smears some of their faces. Some are shown climbing over one another, forming a makeshift ladder and reaching out ravenously for the wounded angel’s legs. But even with the spectacle of the host of demons, one can see the most formidable demon, a shadowy apparition, clutching onto the back of the angel, his hand having pierced through the Angel’s stomach, while his head rests on the left side of her waist, his long tongue extending outward to lick the bloody wound. It seems obvious that, although the demon is depicted as a shadowy apparition with red glowing eyes, vicious fangs and claws, it was, at one point, a human.
Blinking rapidly, I step back and stare at the painting. Seeing the portrait in its totality magically transforms the angel’s forlorn expression into that of exquisite agony. What kind of person would hang something as macabre and horrendous as this? Biting, my lip, I stare at the picture in wonder as my hand stretches out and I find my fingertips lightly brushing the canvas. I am slightly taken aback when my fingers go from the Angel’s robes to the hand that is obtruding from the Angel’s chest, and a sharp heat attacks them. Holding my injured hand with the other, I ignore the pain and stare at the painting in silence.
I find myself continuing to stand and stare, even as hours pass by.



Frank’s P.O.V


“Has… Has anyone spoken to Gerard?” I ask as I stare at the floor, avoiding Mikey’s gaze. I feel this horrible guilt whenever I’m near him. It’d be easier if he would’ve yelled at me, called man an ass or a shit or something for not listening to him, but he won’t even look in my direction! And even if he did, I doubt he’d even see me. He’s been in his own head since their return. It’s like he’s barely aware that any of us are even here.
“No. He hasn’t come out of his room. I’m kinda startin’ to worry” Bob says as he rubs the back of his neck with a heavy sigh.
“I tried to go in his room and check on him, but he used something to block the door and wouldn’t even speak to me” Ray said as he scratched the surface of the table at which he sat.
“I know that he’s livid, but I can’t see him being so upset that he would barricade himself in his room for nearly two days! Something’s wrong,” I say as I look back down at the floor. We were all sitting around downstairs in the Heavy Room, waiting for something, even though none of us knew what exactly it was we’re waiting for. The day that I used the Ouija board was the same day that a rift occurred in the house. We entered the mansion as a single entity, one that was elated to be receiving the freedom and opportunity to roam about in search of beautiful inspiration, and was slightly excited to believe that such inspiration just might come from the hands of the dead. But now… Regardless of how we may have entered this mansion, we are no longer the same being. The being that we were was being prodded and poked from the moment we entered the mansion. And now, it is being dissected, cut into five different sections of various heartiness and shades, ripping each section further and further away from what it once was. Opening us up wide, looking deep inside and finding insanity. ‘The Melancholy Autopsy of My Chemical Romance’. Maybe that’s what they’ll say on the front page with a picture of them leading us away in comfy white jackets or raven black caskets.
“Someone should try to check on him again” Ray voices from his place at the table. He holds his head up with his hands, and while his look appears simply lethargic, I imagine it’s probably a look of confusion he’s adorning. Either that or worry. He hasn’t said it aloud, but I’m sure he’s trying to figure out the changes in the house, from the obvious temperature decrease and the horrifying sounds of moaning and crying, to the mental separation of nearly everyone in the house, most specifically Mikey.
After no one had offered to go and check on Gerard, Ray lifts his head and looks me dead in the eye.
“Go check on him” he demands softly. Taken aback, I attempt to sputter out a refusal. “I-I-I can’t! You know how angry he is with me! Besides, you said he blocked the door, so I couldn’t even if I wanted to!”
“All the more reason why YOU should be the one to do it! Break the damn door down if you must, but YOU made the damn mess, so YOU should be the one who fucking cleans it!” Bob barks as he glares at me.
“But I-I just can’t!”
“Afraid I’ll bite?” Came Gerard’s cold voice, slick as a viper. Both Bob and I shrink back in something like surprise at Gerard’s sudden presence as Mikey and Ray turn slightly in their chairs to see him. Gerard leaned forward against the doorframe so that his hair fell into his face, but failed to cover his eyes, which seemed wide with something other than its usual insanity. Something much more malevolent and sinister.
“G-Gerard. We, we didn’t know you woke up” Ray offered in an attempt to break the awkward silence.
“I never went back to sleep,” Gerard said as he momentarily cast his eyes to the ground before looking up at me, although a menacing stare may be the better way to describe the look I was given. “I guess it might be more accurate to say that I couldn’t get to sleep” he commented as he stood up and slowly entered the room, taking a seat on the couch, a good distance away from where I sat.
“Was all the noise keeping you awake too?” I offered gently.
“It’s not that!” He shot back, glowering at me from the corner of his eye. I noticed my body unconsciously shy away from him, and apparently he noticed too, as his eyebrows briefly furrowed before he slowly closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. Leaning forward, he cradled his head in the palm of his hand and softly shook his head. “No, it’s not that” he said in a much softer tone, a tone that actually sounded like Gerard. Albeit an upset Gerard, still him all the same.
“I’ve been having trouble sleeping the past couple of weeks. It’s… nightmares. These horrible, horrible nightmares.”
“Nightmares?” Mikey squeaked from his place at the table. It was the first words he had spoken since they came back nearly two days ago, so we all looked at him in surprise. Gerard was the first to look away from Mikey and bite his lip in silence. He then inhaled deeply as he sat upright and leaned his head back so that it was being supported by the back of the couch.
“Yeah, they’re these nightmares. Sometimes, I see flames, rather, it’s an ocean of flames. As if I’m in the pits of hell and the flames are uncontrollable; the billowing smoke gets caught in my lungs and… And I just know that it’s all real! That I really am in hell, those flames are real, and so is the putrid scent of burning flesh. And sometimes… Sometimes, I see the people that I love dying, screaming as they plummet head first into that fire!” He cries as he leans forward, arching his back as his elbows rest upon his knees and his hands clutch at his own hair.
“It’s maddening!” he exclaims through clenched teeth. “They’re just, just diving into that sea of flames and there’s nothing I can do but just sit there and watch! And it’s always…” He sighs loudly as he sits up straight and lays his head back on the back of the couch as he rubs his forehead in a soothing manner.
I cast my eyes downward. I had no idea that he’d been suffering at all, and now I find that it hasn’t been just a few days but weeks! Weeks of dealing with these nightmares on top of everything else going on in this house! I should’ve listened to him. I took it too far! No wonder he’s so damn angry with me.
“What’s worse,” Gerard continued, “ What’s worse is that even when the nightmare ends, or it feels like it’s ended, there’s still… something else… Like last night. They’re not like tremors, they’re worse than tremors, they’re. They’re these terrors. The nightmare’s ended, and I swear. I swear that I’m awake, but. But my body is, it’s paralyzed! I can’t move, anything except my eyes. And I strain them in search of whatever it is that I feel coiling up my body every night. Tightening and tightening until it gets to my neck. And then it… It feels as if somebody’s gripping my throat and squeezing! And there’s nothing I can do. I can’t move, I can’t scream, and I can’t. I can’t wake up.”
Gerard allowed his entire body to go limp, dropping further into the couch with a soft sigh, as if out of exhaustion. Mikey stirred lightly in the background but said nothing.
“And, how long did you say that this has been going on?” Ray asked softly.
“I don’t know, a few weeks now. At first, I thought... I figured I was just letting all this haunted house bullshit get to me. But now, I don’t know.”
We sat in silence for several minutes, no one looking at anyone or anything other than their own hands of the floor beneath them. Except of course for me; I looked at each and every one of them and thought about how I had taken things way too far.

“You’re not alone, Gerard” Bob mutters, causing everyone to look up at him, and Gerard to lean up straight and turn to face him. Bob was staring down at his right arm, until he tightened it into a fist and looked over at Gerard. “You’re, you’re not the only one who’s been having weird stuff happen to them at night. I keep having this dream over and over too. In it, I’m driving, and I wreck and I’m. I’m bleeding all over. Only it’s not me. Or, I’m not me, I’m some girl. And then I wake up, and the bathtub is fucking ALWAYS leaking, and is somehow completely filled with water. The first couple times I blamed it on faulty plumbing or something, but. One night, when I put my hand in the water to pull out the plug, I swear that the tub was filled with blood, and my arm was soaked in it”.
“That can’t be true! Are you sure you weren’t still half asleep?” Ray offered.
“That’s what I keep telling myself. But I know what I saw, and my arm was covered in blood”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Gerard asked.
“Why the hell would I? So you can put me in the dog house with him?” he retorted, flicking his eyes toward me before looking back at Gerard. My sight dipped back down to the floor since I was certain Gerard would be staring at me.
“I, didn’t realize, I was…” he trailed off, then shifted around on the couch. From the way his feet were positioned, I could tell that he had adjusted himself so he could face me better.
“I hadn’t… I didn’t mean to get so angry with you. With any of you. It’s just… We’re all stressed out living here, and, I guess I let my anger get the best of me. And, I. I know you meant well with that Ouija board, and I also know that that’s just who you are as a person. But I just, couldn’t take anymore of all this talk about haunted houses and ghosts”
“I understand, and you were right. I should’ve stopped when you asked me to” I admitted, finally looking up from the ground but nowhere near to looking anyone in their face. “I was wrong, I just. I didn’t realize it was as bad as all this” I whispered, wafting my hand through the air as I spoke. “But I should’ve just listened to you when you asked me to stop. So I’m sorry. Especially to you, Mikey.” I looked up towards Mikey, and was surprised to see him looking directly at me, and not in that seemingly vacant manner we were becoming accustomed to.
“And what of you?” he asked as he flicked his eyesight towards Ray. Ray, caught off guard, leaned up straight with wide eyes.
“What about me?”
“Have you any recurring dreams as well?”
“No. Like I told you before, the only weird thing that seems to happen to me is hearing a woman crying at night… and finding the ring and picture. Why?”
“Because I have fallen prey to a recurring dream as well,” Mikey stated matter-of-factly as he abruptly stood.
“Since when?” I questioned.
“That is not of importance. However, I am certain we can all come to the agreement that three of us having recurring dreams, alongside all the other strange happenings occurring in this house, cannot be considered mere coincidence” As Mikey spoke, he stared at Gerard with a gaze so intense it caused him to look away and bite his lip.
“Well, what do you dream about?” Ray asked. Mikey closed his eyes and sighed.
“Daisies.” Mikey responded simply.
“Daisies?” repeated Bob, his face contorted in confusion.
“Covered in blood” Mikey spoke in a hushed voice.
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” snapped Gerard, who seemed to no longer be subdued by Mikey’s sudden change of character.
Mikey stared back at Gerard as he spoke, challenging Gerard’s anger with his sincerity, “I do not know what is meant by the dreams, however, I do know a sign when I see one. All of these dreams, the moans and groans and everything else occurring in this mansion, are signs that we need leave this place immediately”
Gerard’s face warped into a look of absolute disbelief and disgust. “Are you fucking crazy? You have a dream about a fucking bloody flower and so we’re supposed to just leave our shit and go? What the fuck is wrong with you? Have you gone completely insane?!” Gerard cried as he stood up and drew closer to Mikey. Ray, wanting to de-escalate the situation, also stands and takes a step closer to Mikey.
“Come on, Gerard. With all that’s going on here-”
“There’s NOTHING going on here except four men losing their fucking senses over a got damn GHOST STORY!” Gerard screamed, his face burning red with anger.
“Gerard, this I swear to you; Daisy’s ghost is rea-” with a thunderous crack, Mikey is silenced by Gerard’s hand striking him across his face. Ray and I gasp in shock, while Bob jumps to his feet in defense. Mikey, whose face was turned to the left by the force of the slap, slowly brought his shaking hand up to his rouged cheek, and gradually turned his head so that his eyes, which were full with shock, could stare directly into Gerard’s. Gerard’s own hand slowly drops down to the side of his trembling body. “Let me make myself perfectly clear” came his chillingly malevolent voice, “Daisy’s ghost is not real. This mansion is not haunted. And we are NOT leaving.”