Ghostly Gardens

Ghostly Gardens

Flora_Winters

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural and I’m not making any money here either.

Awesome Summary: Merro Lee thought he had the perfect life. He was happy, carefree, and wanted for nothing. Well, that was until the police discovered his mother’s behind the scene employment. Mommy Dearest is the mother of all crack dealers and could face a whole lot of time behind black bars as a new fish in some lady’s tank. So, she took to the azure skies, leaving a simple note on the fridge (explaining shit) and a baked chicken still warm in the oven.

Being only sixteen, poor Merro is forced to move in with his eccentric grandpappy, who is restoring an old mansion (with a ton of disturbing history roaming about its spooky halls). To relieve his boredom, he begins dating a nice guy from his new school and that is when the spooks really come out to haunt.

The blond is handsome and kind, but Green Eyes is far scarier than the mythological Medusa ever was. William likes to play the piano and make flowers bloom in the oddest places. But, it is Jacob who needs to be watched out for. He angrily haunts the darkest of shadows, causing terrible things to happen to any who dare venture too deep into the garden maze.

Will Merro’s life ever be as it once was? Just like him, we seriously doubt it as well.

And that is when Sam and Dean Winchester come to town, antiquing, of course.

Warning: If you do not like homosexual love, get you gone now. I will suck the marrow from your bones and the stem cells from all your unborn children’s children. Just go ahead and flame this story. I will see you in all your dreams and I will make all your screams a prison inmates wet dreams. Wow, that so like rhymed and everything. But, seriously, if you don’t like gay themes, go read a story where some emo vampire sticks his penis in some suicidal chick’s vagina, where they make a zombie baby for some wimpy werewolf to fuck when it rots up and all that crack.


Prologue

“This tale begins in 1847, Mr. Dove.”

“Well,” the old man said, looking the deed over. “Get on with it, Mr. Means.”

And so, he did.

The spooky Anderson mansion resides on top of the old hill, wreathed in sorrowful ivy and a shroud of fearsome thorns. It overlooks the misty little town of Shepard Falls like some towering, haunting sentinel.

A small circle of ancient stones, standing no higher than an average person, look as though they had been planted in the spiraling heart of the overgrown gardens in the ever-seemingly endless backyard with such delicate and tender care. To this very day, nobody really knows how they ever came to be where they are. But, that doesn’t mean there aren’t countless legends.

The once prosperous estate had belonged to an extremely wealthy businessman; Richard Anderson. He had a stunningly beautiful wife. Her name was Elizabeth. They had two teenage sons. The youngest had been adopted from another prominent family of Shepard Falls. He was night as to where the older was day. And this is where the tale blooms darker than a black rose.

William, the biological son, soon fell in love with his slightly younger, adopted brother. The two of them went to the same school and they had practically grown up with each other from the very beginning. They ran about in the same social circles.

The two of them were the very best of friends and then became brothers when Jacob’s parents died in a tragic fire. Authorities could find no leads as to how the mysterious fire had started, but there were some frightening rumors that money paid to have hushed up very quickly. Rumors best left in the deeper darkness of obscurity.

William was handsome, like his powerful father, but had his mother’s golden hair and sky blue eyes. He was tall and robust, like his father, but had his mother’s kind heart and tender gentleness. On the shallow outside, he was just like his father, but on the shimmering inside, he was his mother’s mirror image. Because of his compassionate mother’s constant influence, he was a much better person.

Jacob, on the other side of that same coin, was a beautiful young man and had always been so since the day he first opened his mouth to wail like a siren. He looked exactly like his dead mother had looked at his age. In fact, the two of them could have been identical twins.

His skin was the glacial color of winter’s frozen gown and his long hair was darker than a rolling sea of burning oil. He refused to ever allow his hair to be cut to the point of near hysterical violence. Only William could calm him down once he got wound up like that. His mother’s hair had been her dark crown and silken glory, and so to would his.

The young man’s startling eyes were the exact same color as the grass after a good spring shower. He was shorter than his tan brother and lithe in figure. His body movements were far more graceful. He was almost like a willow dancing in a lazy summer breeze.

For it was this boy’s beauty and his sad smile that pricked William’s heart deeper than any blade could ever pierce. Their love grew in secret and blossomed in sweet silence, until that tragic day shook the very earth.

It was in the rose garden, with its marble pillars, where their father came upon a sight that drove him mad, proving his long constant nagging suspicions that his sons were sodomites. The blond and dark headed boy was both in the wild throes of heated passion. Their young, supple limbs glistened with dew in the soft sunlight.

William was pounding his golden flesh against the phantom skinned boy. In Richard’s disgust filled eyes, both teens were snarling animals romping on the dirty ground.

Such crude acts were abominable in the all seeing eyes of his lord. Surely his god would strike them both down for committing such a terrible sin under the light of the very sun his deity had placed within the heavens.

These vile acts should be done in darkness and in deeper shame. What they were doing went against the very teachings of the church he paid to have built below the hill, above the rolling waves. His anger only grew and grew.

He loomed behind the thorny bushes, growing all the more righteous.

How could he have housed such deviants? How long had they both been sinning under his roof? How could the two of them sit in church every Sunday and always have smiles on their faces?

Did both boys secretly laugh at him and mock his god in secret? All of these thoughts plagued his mind like locusts.

Both boys suddenly cried out in hoarse breaths and William collapsed atop his younger brother’s breast. They both trembled in passing waves of pleasure, laughing in hushed voices.

Richard thought them two demons cuddling within a smoking pit.

Like his god’s angel of death, he swiftly snuck upon the two boys, while they slept under the warm rays of the golden sun. William always slept with his ear directly over Jacob’s musical heart.

Richard stood over them, lifting the ax high over his head. He had been going to use it to cut down an offensive tree just moments ago, but now had another task to complete with it.

He nearly dropped his instrument of death when two green eyes snapped open. The older man felt caught. Those eyes burned into him like acid eating away at his flesh.

“Murderer.”

It was like a thousand whispering voices assaulted his ears in that moment. He brought that ax down.

William’s warm blood painted Jacob’s beautiful face crimson. The blond never even opened his eyes and Jacob only glared at the beast with the bloodstained hands. He wrapped his moon kissed arms around William’s head as tenderly as he could, while the monster over him hacked into his lover’s broad back, severing spine and exposing ribs.

“You will suffer terribly, old man.”

The sole heir to his dead parent’s millions died when the ax came biting down into his face like some ravenous wolf’s maws.

Emeralds stared accusingly at Richard. Thick, dark streams of blood slowly flowed from their wet corners.

Richard Anderson used that ax until that monstrously beautiful face was nothing but pulp on a pale stump. The smell of murder washed over him in a rose scented wave. He nearly fell to his knees as shadows fell over him.

He dowsed both their bodies with lamp oil and set them ablaze. He watched with bloodshot eyes as that accursed black hair burned away to nothing but foul smoke and how their skin blistered, bubbled, and blackened from the hellish heat. The smell mixed with roses was nauseating.

He brought the ax down once more, splitting the back of William’s skull open like some ripe melon in the fields.

That is where he left the murder weapon as he slowly stumbled back towards the mansion, leaving what had once been two living souls to feed the bugs, if even the insects would their charred remains.

A woman’s blood chilling wail soon filled the smoky air and hours later, the earthquake struck with a violent fury.

The earth around Richard’s church had become like water, sinking the house of his lord up to the very cross on the needle sharp steeple. That iron cross had been warped, bent, and cracked as if it had been struck by many physical blows.

Elizabeth Anderson was found in the grand ballroom. She was dressed in a bold and elaborate red gown.

Her body was on its side, within the center of an upside down triangle, carved into the marble flooring. It was filled with her own blood.

Her skin was just as white as the marble under her. She had slashed her own dainty wrists with a shard of broken glass from the stained glass window, which now littered the floor around her like glittering garnets.

The naked body of Richard Anderson was in the master bedroom, under a fallen beam. Five silver blades were buried to their shining hilts within his chest, in the shape of a star. A silk cord was also around his bruised neck. He had a look of pure terror on his once handsome face. It was twisted and ugly from pain. The mess he had made was attracting flies.

The young boys were never found, but the townsfolk did discover that ring of blood splattered stones. Grass within the circle had been scorched blacker than pitch. It is assumed that even unto this day, nothing will ever grow in that circle.

Some smile when they hear William at the piano on a warm night, while others shiver in terror when they see Jacob. White flesh clothed in flames. He stands at the top of the hill, black hair billowing about him like the darkest of storm clouds. He glares down with venomous hatred blazing within his poison green eyes.

Many believe that William’s mother was a practitioner of the Old Religion, because many strange artifacts were found hidden away in a secret room. She bowed to heathen gods and wore wicked enchantments like rare perfumes from the river Nile.

They say she had been the one to erect the stone circle with her powerful magic, even sacrificing her own murderous husband to bring about the destruction of the town church his money had built. Her spirit had flown from her body, in which she had sacrificed within that blood drawn triangle, striking the very cross, until it shattered before her.

Some tourists claim to have seen her walking the windswept halls, all dressed in a blood red gown, blond hair wild and flowing like some silken cloak. A few of the local teens even worship her as a Demi-Goddess of Vengeance. Little altars are left to her with pictures of such and such and so and so to be dealt with accordingly. Some even say that stone circle is what keeps her and her boys on the property, but it is just a legend.

“Well, that is some legend, Mr. Means.”

“We have William’s journal. It was very enlightening. But, stories grow and change as the years pass, Mr. Dove. You should visit the town museum. They were going to turn the mansion into a museum, but too many strange things sent workers running out the doors.”

“Is that so?” Mr. Dove asked, looking up from the deed. “I really must have this house then. It will make a wonderful new hotel.”

“All I need is your name,” Mr. Means told him. “And the House of Anderson shall be yours.”

The white headed man signed his name with relish. He could barely contain his excitement at having another project. People loved and traveled from all over to haunted places.

“Would you like a drink, Mr. Dove?”

“Did Christ stumble over his first wave?”

Both elderly men laughed.

Mr. Dove put the deed into his briefcase, accepting the small glass. Then his cell phone began to gong.

“Speaking of sodomites…I do believe my grandson will be gracing this charming town and those darkened halls with his gay presence.”

Mr. Means laughed. “He and my grandson should get along just fine, then. How old is he?”

Mr. Dove thought and then shrugged. “I do believe he will be a senior. When does the school start here?”

“Three days from now.”

He scratched the back of his head, taking a small sip from his glass. He was going to have to fork over money for school supplies and probably some new clothes as well. If he knew gay people, it was a necessity.

That boy’s mother was such a bitch. He knew it was only a matter of time before she had to run for her freedom. The boy was better off without her.

“What is your grandson’s name, Mr. Dove?”

“His name is Merro,” he replied. “My grandson’s name is Merro Lee. And what is yours?”

“Tommy.”

Both just looked at each other and Mr. Means snorted.

“Tommy,” Mr. Dove mused. “That’s…normal.”

The other man nodded his head. “Merro is…unique.”

“His mother is an unusual woman,” Mr. Dove went on, quickly ending it with just that. He didn’t want to go any deeper. The boy would eat him alive.

“Shall I drive you back to your cabin by the lake?” Mr. Means asked.

Mr. Dove rose to his feet. “I think I shall enjoy the walk. Thank you ever so much, Mr. Means.”

He left soon after that and smiled. He now owned a house where the local teens believe a goddess once lived. He could smell the adventure just waiting.

He couldn’t wait to get started.


TBC…

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