“What am I doing here?”

“Why am I even here?”

…

…

*SLAM* a door swings open!

“HEY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? WHY ARE YOU EVEN HERE?”

“Whaaa, huh?”

Luther Knotts, Junior Janitor, awakens to a fresh puddle of drool-

“WE WERE LOOKING EVERYWHERE FOR YOU, AND HERE YOU ARE GETTING SLOPPY ON MY MAHOGANY DESK!”

-as he gets scolded by multi-award-winning Investigative Journalist Oliver Homeier.

Luther rattles his sleepy head out of his daze, “Sloppy? No! You caught me during break!”

He pulls out a towel from his pocket and begins wiping the desk with the drool, “And I was uh, uh, umm, prepping your desk! A special cleaning solution, only for you!”

Ollie winces, “Not funny, Junior Janitor, and you’re late for my office cleaning!”

Luther stops wiping, “That’s Senior in training Janitor. Whaddaya mean late? I’m here, you see me, right?”

‘...unless you have finally gone blind from savagely beating your hog to your mother…Momma’s Boy…’ Luther thinks but dares not speak.

Ollie fixes his tie, “For your information Junior in perpetuum Janitor, my new, UPGRADED office is on the 11th floor!”

Luther whispers, “Oh…when I saw the lettering missing from the door, I wondered if they threw your ass to the curb…”

“WHAT?” Ollie snaps back with enough force that Luther goes pale.

“Nothing. N-o-t-h-i-n-g,” Luther whistles.

“Well, since you are here, you can make the lives easier for the movers and box up my belongings!” Ollie turns to leave.

Luther blows a raspberry when Ollie’s back is turned.

*BONK* a spray can hits the front of Luther’s face.

Ollie fixes his tie again, “You’re running low on Bewitching Imitation Lemon-scent brand Spray n’ Shine!” and he leaves for good.

Luther groans, shakes what’s left in the can, and takes to giving the desk a proper wipe down. He casually peeks at the wall adorned with award after award. Ollie’s big mouth got him far in life, and Luther’s zipped lips kept him in the very back of the bleachers. He peeks outside the door, and sure enough, flat ready to be folded boxes are waiting for him. Luther rolls his eyes and brings them inside.

*zzzzzaaaaaaaat*

*pom* Luther stretches out packing tape and preps ready-to-be-filled boxes.

Carefully, against his wishes to do the opposite, Luther removes the awards from the walls and proceeds to the desk items next. Everything off the top gets boxed up, and he goes through the drawers.

Luther pulls out two items and laughs sarcastically. One of them is a presumably clean photo of Ms. Homeier.

“...Momma’s Boy…” he flicks the photo into the air, and it twirls and flips into a box.

The other item is something encased in hard plastic. Luther has a jealous look on his face as he sets it aside.

Another man passes the doorway to the office, stops, and enters, “Luther! There you are, lad! We were looking everywhere for you on the 11th floor.”

This portly balding fellow is Kelsey Redmond, Senior Janitor.

“Why are you all the way down here?”

“I guess somebody neglected to inform me of the latest procedural changes in workflow!” Luther huffs back.

Kelsey scratches his cheek, “Oh my, sorry lad, I left a note in your inside pocket, didn’t think you missed it…considering how you’re always fumbling around in there…”

Like an embarrassed child, Luther scrambles through the pocket and, sure enough, amongst very personal private things, he did miss Kelsey’s note.

He shifts his eyes, praying to God that Kelsey didn’t notice his photos of scantily clad bikini babes, “...well…can’t say I’m not working! A nice guy like me took it upon himself to make the lives easier for the movers.”

*zzzzzaaaaaaaat*

*pom* he returns to sealing boxes.

Kelsey laughs, “I see!”

He pats Luther on the back, “Good on ya, lad!”

Kelsey is interested in the object encased in hard plastic that Luther sat across the desk. He squints his eyes as he picks it up, “I can hardly understand this mumbo jumbo…”

“...what on God’s green earth is a twice removed from play inactive zone?”

Luther interjects, “Oh, that’s a hotly contested holdover from Master Rules v.7-11. And what you’re holding is a genuine 9.8 graded and sealed Level 8 Dark Dominator Dragon, the Dark Dragon of Dark Domination!”

“That’s quite a mouthful!” Kelsey politely says, not understanding a damn thing Luther just said.

“And quite the lengthy effect!” Luther jokes back. “It’s from the trading card game Game King! We played it as kids. Ollie used to try to pull one over me with technicality after technicality and blamed it on my reading comprehension.”

“What kind of technicalities?” Kelsey rotates the card.

“Oh, you know, like spell speed and-” Luther cuts himself off. He very much actively still plays the game, but he wants to be cautious not to divulge too much information…

Kelsey is perplexed, “Huh, spell what? The game asks you to spell words? Sounds mighty educational!”

Luther lies, “That’s why I don’t play anymore! Kid’s stuff that I’m too intelligent for anyway!”

“But Alma always had my back during those debates.”

Kelsey elbows Luther, “Sweet Alma? You sure you weren’t behind HER back, eh?”

“Oh, a crazy game like this would’ve been up late Mrs. Milhollin’s alley…”

Luther is piqued, “Speaking of being up Mrs. Milhollin’s alley. The ol’ mortar, stone, and wood has a new owner!”

A flabbergasted Kelsey drops the encased card, and his face goes stark white. Luther panics! He quickly retrieves the valuable card from the floor and inspects the plastic for even the slightest scratch in a frenzy!

Luther scans every inch, “A 9.8 means a whole lotta money. A whole lotta money neither of us would dream of having!”

He looks back and notices Kelsey is breaking out in a sweat, “Hey, Hey, We’re fine! There’s not a ding on it!”

Luther pulls out a handkerchief and hands it to him.

Kelsey accepts it and wipes his brow, “Sorry lad, heart’s acting up again as usual. What was that you said…new owner?” he tries to play it off.

Luther sighs, “A bridal gift for Ollie’s bride-to-be.”

Kelsey raises an eyebrow, “...I thought the bank was going to have it torn down for a real estate venture…”

Luther regrettably informs him, “The bank wanted to show their real estate gratitude to Ollie for running damage control and squashing that story from The Canzus Times about triple or was it quadruple? Subprime (below sea level) mortgages.”

Luther hoists up a box, “His bride-to-be loves the place…”

“I could use a hand! Or two!”

Kelsey stands like a statue in the office, properly stone-faced.

*cough* “...not funny?” Luther asks.

“NO!” Kelsey grips a fist.

“...alright…sheesh…” Luther whispers.

Kelsey snaps out of whatever thought he’s in, “Oh no. Not that. I meant, never mind…”

“Let the house fall apart! No neighbor in their right mind would ever want to set foot in there!”

Luther wiggles his box around, “You sure about that? I heard Ollie makes a mean cup of tea! Courtesy of his Mommy.”

“Look, lighten up, Kelsey. I know you have a history with the place, but that was a long time ago, even in old man years!”

Kelsey stays silent.

“...not funny?” Luther almost drops his box but erratically retains balance.

“Luther, I have an idea,” Kelsey smiles. “I don’t like that house, right?”

Luther nods, “Right.”

Kelsey wags his finger, “And you don’t like Ollie, right?”

Luther crushes Kelsey’s mouth with his palm, “SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! OLIVER MIGHT HEAR US!”

Outside in the hall, an unseen mustached man sips from a water fountain.

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND!”

Hearing this, the gent raises his head, nasty circulated water dripping from his mustache. Curious, he decides to investigate the source of the commotion and walks toward Ollie’s office.

“WE! I! US! ME! AHHHH! WE, I, US, ME, COULD GO TO JAIL FOR THAT!”

The mustached man slows down his walk to a sneaky creep and camps just outside the office door. Eager to eavesdrop, he holds an ear close, listening in as Kelsey and Luther murmur to themselves. The man’s eyes widen, and his jaw drops. Could it be? No, there’s absolutely no way! It’s too good to be true, but he really hopes so, in a sadistic wanting to witness a train wreck sort of way. After absorbing enough juicy details, the man tiptoes away…

…

…

At Bob’s Barbershop, the patrons are in an uproar.

“SIT STILL, WILL YA!” Bob shouts while trying to snip bushy mustache hairs off his customer.

The mustached man twists in his seat, “Luther’s finally gone off the deep end!” Harley Chandler is his name, known for his big mouth and broad sweeping judgements. It’s not enough for him to spread rumors. It’s his solemn duty to whip the townspeople into a frenzy.

Another patron twists in their seat, “No! That Kelsey’s finally gone off the deep end!”

Bob growls at them, “KNOCK IT OFF! YOU SIT STILL, TOO!”

“My mum sez tay boat ar cwazy!” a little girl licks her lollipop.

The little girl’s mom pats her on the head with praise.

Harley proclaims, “These shenanigans have gone on long enough, I say! We ought to notify the authorities and lay these clowns to rest!” and slams his fist on the armrest.

The other patrons hoot and holler in agreement!

“That Luther is always causing trouble! Damn him!”

“That senile Kelsey has lost the last of his marbles! Damn him too!”

“DRIVE ’EM OUTTA TOWN!”

Bob busts up the racket with a fierce piercing whistle, “That’s enough barbershop talk for one day, all of ya!” he then juts back Harley’s seat and slaps a hot towel over his face.

Harley mumbles underneath it before settling into silence.

Bob checks himself out in the mirror, “That’s better. The sooner I clean these chairs, the sooner this stud can prep for a spicy date with a hot piece of ass.”

The little girl tugs her mom’s sleeve, “Mum wutz uh hot piece of-”

Her mom crams the lollipop back into her mouth to shut her up…

…

…

At Sheriff Dale Griffith’s retirement party, the guests are in an uproar too. Juicy rumors have legs, after all.

The severely shakey old man, (former) Sheriff Dale Griffith, rattles his fork and knife as he cuts into a piece of cake, “How soon people forget. That boy Luther was the best quarterback we ever saw! Won Ray High state back in ’42, you know!”

He then hacks off a teensy teeny tiny scrap of fluff from his slice of cake. The squints from his eyes are magnified extra large from his extra thick-framed glasses.

“That was me, Pop! Luther wasn’t even in that class,” his son (newly elected) Sheriff Joseph Griffith corrects him from across the table.

“HUH-WHAT? Speak up, sonny…anyway, the boy’s got courage. Just like when he ran those boozed-up rapscallions Andy and Barney off the streets!” Dale holds up a near-microscopic piece of cake fluff from a single spoke of his fork.

Joseph chomps on a large piece of cake, “Heh. I thought that was you, Pop.”

“HUH-WHAT? Don’t talk with your mouth full, sonny…” Dale then chews on his cake fluff with the speed and consistency of a tranquilized horse. “If the boy has something to prove up there in that house, let him! He has chutzpah! Attaboy, Luther!”

“Hutz-what?” Joseph asks.

Dale arises with the remnants of a more youthful energy and smacks the table, “I SAID CHUTZPAH-”

His dentures fly right out of his mouth and *plop* down onto the cake’s icing…

…

…

At Oliver Homeier’s Mother’s residence, the mood is peaceful, calm, and lovey-dovey. Ugh…

“More tea, Mommy-kins?” Ollie gently pours his mother a glass of tea.

Ms. Homeier pats him on the head, “Such a thoughtful boy~♥”

Ollie smiles with a childish grin.

“Oh, for God’s sake…” a third tea enjoyer sips from their seat.

Ollie stares daggers over at them, but they sip even louder in protest.

“Anyway, I won’t allow that Bob to bring you home not an hour late ever again!” Ollie pouts, folds his arms, and rests back against the couch.

“Oh, sweetie~♥ Mommy’s a big girl! She can take care of herself,” Ms. Homeier smiles.

The third guest slides in, “...and you’re a little baby boy…”

Ollie stares back again to more loud sips of protest.

Ms. Homeier pats Ollie on the head, “And I wouldn’t have it any other way~♥”

THE SIPS GET LOUDER AND MORE AGGRESSIVE!

“Ah! You would not believe what Bobby told me over the phone!” she begins to say. “It was about lil’ ol’ Luther~♥”

The sips get softer…

Ollie shrugs, “What about lil’ ol’ Lose-ther?”

Ms. Homeier puts a hand over her chest, “Bobby told me he plans on spending the night at Milhollin Mansion!”

“EHHHHHHHHHHHHH!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!!??!?!?!!?!??!?!?!”

The third tea-sipping protestor, Alma Staley, drops her cup in disbelief…

“Alma dearie! Your-”

*SMAAAASH* Alma’s cup shatters on the floor…

…

…

Later that evening, it was Alma who took it upon herself to drive Luther up to Milhollin Mansion.

Silence, awkwardness, and more silence were the topics of the evening during each painful stretch of the drive there.

Alma sighs, “Almost there…”

“Yep…” Luther glances out the window. Far from Alma’s gaze. It’s not often they are this close or far anymore.

“Here we are…”

“Yep…”

Alma stops the car. Here they are. Simmons Street.

They watch as the truck's headlights cut through the dense fog. Through it lies the destined place, Milhollin Mansion, closely guarded by a near-pristine condition fence. It feels like a castle or maybe a prison? No, the hallow grounds resemble a cemetery. The grass is dry, mud carves through the flowers, rocks peek up from the dirt like tombstones, and the leafless, lifeless trees are as dead as they come. However, the mortar, stone, and wood of the mansion is mostly untouched. It’s beginning to show a little bit of age, not much, only slightly, in an odd ethereal way…

The locals swear by it that even if the Earth rotted from the inside out, that damn mansion would still be there! Kids insist it must be a time machine! But no child is brave enough to enter to find out. The moment they “hear the trees speak” and “feel possessed”, they are quick to roar with laughter as they roll back down the hill and go home. Of course, these childlike activities are only reserved for the morning. Even children can at least respect the night…sometimes…

Alma taps away at the steering wheel. Luther twiddles his thumbs.

He thinks, ‘Now might be a good time as ever to tell her how I feel…’

“Alma, I…”

Alma slaps the side of the steering wheel at 10 and 2, “LUTHER KNOTTS! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR DAMN MIND? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW I FEEL? OF ALL THE RIDICULOUS CHILDISH-”

She exhales loudly and inhales like a vacuum as she raises her head, “Mind your blood pressure, Alma. Mind your blood pressure…”

“Luther…what are you trying to prove?”

“Nothin’!” Luther nods with gusto.

“Nothin’ huh?” Alma taps the steering wheel again. “Idiots, the both of you.”

“If this is about-”

She hears the passenger door shut. Luther is already outside.

Alma rolls down the window, “HEY!”

Luther scowls at her, “THIS IS ABOUT NOTHIN’!”

Alma scowls doubly so, “Is that a fact? “Sure”, you have no reason to spend the night in a DILAPIDATED CRUSTY FALLING APART-”

*BOOOOOM* thunder roars, and fat raindrops pelt the windshield.

“Look…sit back down and-”

Luther turns to walk away, “AND NOTHIN’” but feels pulled back. Literally, because his jacket is caught in the door.

He starts tugging away at it.

“...uh, Luther, what’s wrong?” Alma asks.

Luther tugs harder, “NOTHIN’ IS WRONG!”

He pulls with both hands, “THERE’S NOTHING TO TALK ABOUT!”

He yanks with all his might, “AND THERE’S NOTHIN’ YOU CAN-”

*KRAAAAACK* lightning strikes the earth…

*RIIIIIIIIIIP* Luther frees himself and falls flat on his ass in a puddle.

He holds up his jacket tail to see it’s missing a piece. A torn bit of cloth is stuck in the door and rustling in the wind.

Luther stands up and brushes himself off, “-DO TO STOP ME!”

*WHOOOOOOSH* a mean wind howls and swings open the gate to the mansion!

Luther feels his stomach drop as he turns to face it. Then he glances at Alma, who has a worried look on her face. He considers getting back in the truck, but instead, Luther clenches a fist, sneers at Alma, flips on his flashlight, and heads toward the open gate. Luther must stand by his proud, heroic declaration! He is an unstoppable solo unit! He’ll show her and that smug asshole Ollie too!

Right before stepping through the gate, Luther pauses and decides to show Alma the face of a true hero one last time. Although, something seems a bit off. He isn’t sure if it’s the rain or his waning old man vision, but as Luther squints through the perpetually heavier rain, it’s almost as if Alma is sitting there, arms folded as much as they can fold with tears pouring down her face. But why? Strange, Luther expected classic angry Alma. He feels a bit of shame. The last he saw her cry like this was when…

No. No. No. The wind must’ve blown in some rain through the window! Yeah. Yeah. That must be it…

You know the rest. Luther entered the grounds of that awful place and made his fearful way up that hill on this fateful night…

Every hero has their origin, and this was his. Some have many details. Luther’s deserves to be skipped. Some have a lot to say. Luther is a man of few words worth listening to. A pittance of a backstory, but such a paltry sum is very befitting of our poultry “barely” a hero, Mr. Chicken himself, Luther Knotts…

-CHAPTER END-

♫Let's all go to the lobby♫

♫Let's all go to the lobby♫

♫Let's all go to the lobby♫

♫And get ourselves a treat♫

-Nightmare’s overture-