autumnrainrunaway (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
autumnrainrunaway) wrote2025-12-04 04:34 pm
autumnrainrunaway) wrote2025-12-04 04:34 pm
Tale of Tales: Dolly's setting Folklore
(More stories will be added here over time, but for now, please enjoy these first three stories from Dolly's setting)
The Chezney Inn (CW for drowning, child murder mentions, and the perils of parenthood): https://autumnrainrunaway.dreamwidth.org/4115.html?thread=7187#cmt7187
The Sanguine Wine (CW for dismemberment, death, body horror, and blood): https://autumnrainrunaway.dreamwidth.org/4115.html?edit=7443
The Structure (CW for body horror, death, and the incredible melting body): https://autumnrainrunaway.dreamwidth.org/4115.html?thread=7699#cmt7699
The Chezney Inn (CW for drowning, child murder mentions, and the perils of parenthood): https://autumnrainrunaway.dreamwidth.org/4115.html?thread=7187#cmt7187
The Sanguine Wine (CW for dismemberment, death, body horror, and blood): https://autumnrainrunaway.dreamwidth.org/4115.html?edit=7443
The Structure (CW for body horror, death, and the incredible melting body): https://autumnrainrunaway.dreamwidth.org/4115.html?thread=7699#cmt7699
The Chezney Inn
There was this mother who had taken her son out to tour the town’s college, figuring it’d be a wonderful way to get her child to forget about the breakup he had and to see his father’s hometown. The son, on the other hand, wasn’t having any of it, he was very despondent about the tour and the ride out of the campus as the first snowfall of the season started up. The ride back home had been silent up until then, but when the snow started to become heavier and the landscape turned about as white as a marshmallow fluff, they both agreed they needed to take shelter somewhere. Thankfully, there was an shelter in the storm, the good ol’ Chezney Inn.
“Mom, this place looks like Grandma’s house threw up all over it.” The son complained as he followed the mother into the inn.
“That’s enough from you, besides, this will be for only one night until the storm has blown over.” The mother chided gently as she ushered the kid into the inn.
“I take it back…at least Grandma’s house has the nicer smell of mothballs than this dump..” The son quickly covered his nose upon entering the inn, the elderly innkeeper not looking too pleased with the boy’s remark.
“Welcome to the Chezney Inn, I take it you’re here to avoid the storm?” The innkeeper asked with gritted teeth, the mother looking mortified at her son.
“Sorry about my son, he’s a bit depressed right now, he’s normally a lot kinder than this. Is there a room available?” The mother gently nudged her child a bit for the poor behavior, though it was clear, the son had no remorse.
“I have just the room for you ma’am, room two o’ five, the most popular room for vacationers in these parts.” The innkeeper cheerily produced an old time key like one would’ve seen from the eighteen hundreds.
The mother gratefully accepted the room key and hauled her sulking son off to the assigned room. The room was found easily enough and the inside would’ve been considered museum display levels of quality had it not been a livable room. The mother was in awe of such a beautifully well kept room of history while the son wished they'd still be on the road instead of the inn.
“It’s only for one night, please behave. Besides, this room is absolutely gorgeous, I’m surprised your father never took me here for our weekend getaways.” The mother said, admiring just how grand this room was as she sat on the bed.
“Augh, stop being so gross Mom and it’s a dump here, there’s nothing new here and they don’t even have wifi.” The son scoffed, not wanting to be in the granny grade froufrou room from hell.
“That’s enough, I know that the breakup was harsh, but you have to move on. It’s been five months now and you have college to look forward to. Goodness, I’m sure you’ll find someone far nicer than your ex.” The mother finally had enough as she brought up the sore subject that had soured the entire trip.
“We were dating for three years Mom, THREE YEARS, how do you think I’m going to bounce back from that?” The son yelled, the frustration of how long the relationship was compared to how long the break up happened, having been addressed before.
“I know it’s hard, but, trust me, it’s going to be better. You’re still so young, you’re bound to find someone else to move on with. Now, let’s see if the television works, there should be a nice show on right now.” It was the only thing the mother could respond with, having been circling constantly about the breakup and just how much it’s been affecting her son’s life.
“Whatever, I’m going to see if this dump has anything fun to do.” Being done with the conversation already, the son stormed out of the room, slamming the door without regard to whether there were others in the inn or not.
“Honey don’t…slam the door..what am I doing wrong here with that boy…” Exasperated, the mother decided to use the old dial up phone in the room to contact her husband, letting him know about the overnight.
The call with the father went about as well as it would, given how the son had been dealing with the break up, though, the mother couldn’t help but feel that her husband was hiding something. There was something off, especially after mentioning the inn they were booked at and the room they’re in. Figuring the pauses could’ve been caused by the storm outside, the mother hung up and got ready for the night. Fatigue took hold of the mother after the long day she had with her child, got ready for and went to bed. In the morning, the snow storm had gotten far worse than before and her son was glaring daggers during the dismal breakfast.
“What’s up with the look? You know I can’t control the weather.” The mother asked, putting the spoon down of the cavity happy cereal clusters.
“You wouldn’t stop touching my head during the night! I couldn’t get any sleep because of you!” The son barked, the shadows lining the lower lids from the sleepless night before.
“I wasn’t anywhere near you and besides, I was in bed long before you came back to the room.” The mother protested, confused and angered that her child would accuse such a thing.
“Whatever, I’m leaving, this place sucks.” The chair creaked loudly as the son pushed to get up to exit the room.
“And how? It’s white-out conditions right now.” There was a casual glance from the mother to the window as the winds continued to howl.
“I don’t care! This place is a fucking dump!” The angry son shouted as he stormed out of the room to do whatever he could to leave.
The door slam shook the vintage room, leaving the mother to only sigh and let her son have some time alone to figure things out. There was a pause though midway through the cheap instant coffee when the question came. If it wasn’t herself that was touching the son’s head, then what on this green earth could have it be? It certainly couldn’t have been spiders along with no telltale signs of a vermin infestation. Then a thought occurred to the mother, her husband had been rather odd the night before after hearing about the location. It couldn’t hurt a bit to grill him on what’s up with the inn as the mother went to use the room’s phone. It rang for a moment or two before the line was answered by the husband who had an anxious tone.
“Is everything alright?” There was a strained tone to the husband’s voice as though he had been crying the night before.
“Our son is mad at me over something touching his head. I know it wasn’t me and the room is immaculate. What do you know about the inn?” The mother started in, grilling the moment she heard that emotional tone to the husband’s voice.
“Shit…look I’m going to try and meet you guys half way, but you need to get our son out of there at once.” The sounds of keys being grabbed could be heard on the line, making the mother anxious given the weather.
“It’s white out conditions outside, what’s going on?” The mother panicked upon hearing the background, grabbing her bag instantly.
“I really don’t have time, you need to get our son right now.” The husband said as the sounds of the car door closing and locking before the revving could be heard.
“Not without an explanation! What the hell is going on with this inn!?” The mother nearly screamed, the stress getting into her head.
“Fine! Short answer is that this place is notorious for young boys disappearing if they stay there too long! You need to get him out right now!” The husband was clearly speeding down the road, ignoring the honks and beeps of cars passing by.
“WHY ISN’T IT UNDER INVESTIGATION!?” Finally the shouting came from the mother, having enough of this bullshit.
“BECAUSE IT’S BEYOND US ALL! Back in the nineteen fifties, there was this young couple that ran off to that inn after prom. In the morning, that girl was found dead in the bathtub, her throat slit and the boyfriend nowhere to be seen. Ever since then, her ghost has been stealing boys away, all of them never being found again. GET OUR SON NOW!” The husband explained hastily as the phone dangled from the receiver, the mother having dashed out of the room to get her child at once.
The mother went screaming out her son’s name from hall to hall, her heart racing with each step she took running. Not a sign of her son anywhere, he just wasn’t there. Rounding the corner, the mother found herself at the reception desk with the innkeeper looking up from his magazine. Before the mother could tear into the innkeeper, from the peripheral vision, she finally spotted her son.
Evidently, the innkeeper wasn’t allowing the teen out of the property, citing not having checked out yet. Relieved and angered, the mother paid up immediately to check out of the inn, taking her son to the room to get their things to leave. It was a quick enough job as the mother waited by the door, but when looking back to check on her son, she saw something. There, right behind her son, was a waterlogged corpse of a girl grinning, looking right at the mother as her swollen fingers touched the top of the boy’s head.
“Mom…stop touching me..I’m leaving now.”
The Sanguine Wine
“Husband, what are we going to do?! Our vineyard is a graveyard and there’s no possible way to make enough money to support ourselves!” The wife was wringing her hands in stress over the situation as she looked to the winemaker for his input.
“I’ll think of something, Love, just let me think for a moment..” The winemaker pleaded, his eyes ringed purple and blue from having no sleep after the crops had died suddenly.
“No, not a moment, I need something concrete right now!” The wife raised her voice out of frustration as it snapped the winemaker into a fury.
“What do you expect me to do, wave a magic wand or make a sacrificial offering to bring the vineyard back!?” He was about to storm out of the room when the winemaker got a glint in his eyes, an idea of sorts that drew the wife’s attention.
“Husband, you figured something out, didn’t you?” The wife had a hopefulness to her voice before she saw the darken gaze of the winemaker.
“I suppose I did, who are our top three worst harvesters?” The winemaker asked, there was a tone to it as murky as dregs in old wine that left the wife uneasy.
“Well that would be Barry, Joe, and Paul. Why?” The wife was becoming uneasy as her husband loomed forward with the dreaded instructions.
“Invite them over when the strawberry moon in in the sky for a feast of sorts.” The winemaker turned to leave, cutting his wife off before she could question anything, “And if anyone asks why, you know nothing, understand?”
The wife, not wanting to push anything further than she had, went about doing as instructed with a pit deep within the wife’s stomach. To say these three men were the worst harvesters they’ve hired didn’t mean they were bad people. No, they had their reasons like all others have.
Barry was one of the most skilled grape pickers in the company up until a work injury took took it all away from him. Barry had been struggling to keep up with the demand and still had some years left till retirement. Joe, now Joe was in a horrible situation. Joe had lost his wife and a child that would get sick often that needed his attention. There was no way Joe could possibly keep up with the load demands, but still needed the job to keep his home afloat with food on the plate. Then there was Paul; Paul had a very rough start in life, having normally resorted to petty crime and theft to survive daily life on the streets. It was hard for Paul to even find a job that was willing to take him in due to his background and arrest record. When he got hired by the winemaker, Paul was overcome by emotions to finally have an honest job. Sure, he had bad days, everyone does, but ultimately, Paul was making an effort to turn his life around for the better.
You can imagine the mens’ collected surprise to find one day they had been given an invite for a private feast with their employer’s family. Surely, this was a good sign, right? Maybe they’ll be given recommendations for other employers out there after what happened with the cold snap? There was no suspicion in their hearts or minds, they had no reason to be. They’ve all worked for the winemaker for many years now, surely, this was something of a show of gratitude for their services. Without hesitation, the men took up the invitations for the feast, not knowing what was in store for them on the strawberry moons. A fortnight later and the men made their way to the house of the winemaker and his wife. As always, all was warm, all was welcoming, the spread of food that decorated the table was inviting. Things were merry for a time being, stories being shared as drinks were poured from the reserve.
Then, one by one, the men started to pass out on the table, the winemaker and his wife watching with a cold indifference on their faces. Carefully, the winemaker started to collect the unconscious men into a wheelbarrow he had out in the back. Once loaded, the winemaker wheeled the men out to the dead vineyard. For you see, the reason why the grapes were always the deepest of red and why there was so many a plentiful harvest was simple: the winemaker’s family had made a ritual pact with the land, lives in exchange for profit. Every few generations, a sacrifice of three to be cut up and scattered amongst the rows was to be carried out to ensure the longevity.
Fear and greed played a hand in the ritual crime as the winemaker went about strewing the pieces amongst the vine. Days later, as though a miracle, the vineyard once more showed life, the browning leaves becoming green once again and the vine regaining girth after withering so badly before. The winemaker was back in business as per usual, the hired hand having no idea what happened to their fellow coworkers as they went about tending to the plants.
The lunar cycle went by before not too long, the harvest moon was upon them and the grapes ready for harvest. As before, the grapes were a brilliantly deep and dark red as always, like rubies glittering in the autumn sun as the harvesters began their ritual of gathering. Things took a turn, however as one by one, the men hired to harvest the grapes started to scream in sheer horror upon seeing the clustered fruits. Hearing the commotion outside, the winemaker made his way out to the vineyard to see what all the screaming was about. Surely, he had buried the body parts deep into the soils of the earth, right?
“What is all this screaming all about!? We have a deadline before the first shipments are to be sent out!” The winemaker yelled out to his frightened workers who simply stared at their boss at a loss of words before the head harvester spoke, “Boss, the grapes, they aren’t right! Something is unnaturally wrong with the grapes!!”
There was a scoff from the winemaker as he went to inspect the grapes. How foolish these men were in the eyes of the winemaker, to be afraid of mere grapes? Nothing possibly wrong could be with award winners such as his before pausing. At first glance, they would’ve been seen as normal albeit beautiful grapes, but the closer the winemaker got, the more horrifying detail came into play. The fruits, they writhed like worms in shallow soil as they twisted and contorted, faces of the missing men on each of them, their mouths moving as though screaming. Screaming in fear, screaming for the lives they lost, screaming for the loved ones they’ll never see again, screaming for justice.
None of that could be heard, not in the cold eyes of the winemaker unphased by this development. He will not let them get in the way of profit, the order to continue with the harvest horrified the men working the vineyard. The winemaker was going to have his sanguine wine ready and damn it all, it was going to happen regardless of the force at hand. Soon enough, the grapes of faces were harvested and processed into wine. The wine thick as syrup and dark as the old winter nights ahead, bottled nicely in forest green glass for sale.
It was on the first snowfall of winter when it happened you know, the winemaker and his wife sipping their tainted harvested wine by their fireplace, safe in knowing their financial situation was no longer something to fear. They were found in the morning, on the floor, dead with syrup thick blood dripping down the sides of their mouths like tar. The autopsy said they both had an aneurysm in their lungs, effectively drowning in their own blood during the night. That is not what the workers believe though, no, they believe, especially after finding the bones in the vineyard, it was the spirits of the men finally gaining the justice they had sought for.
No one drinks the sanguine wine anymore from that area and no one ever dares goes into the vineyard, the screaming faced grapes are still there, this time, of an old man and woman screaming into the voids of night for no one to hear.
The Structure
Furrowed brows tightened in annoyance, Lonnie was missing lunch all because of this one person until he heard the claps of shoes on pavement as though a horse was loose. Looking up, Lonnie saw the squat, old representative running towards him in dress shoes like the white rabbit in Wonderland.
“Oh my goodness! I am so sorry for how long you waited! I’m Mr. Brisbin of the Lakeshore Historical Society, it is incredibly wonderful to meet you Mr. Charter!” Mr Brisbin introduced himself, offering a delicate hand to shake before continuing, “Please, if you could follow me, I’ll give you the tour around where you’ll be living in as well as our wonderful jewel of our township, the lighthouse.”
“I was about to make the call, but I’m ready to get a good idea about where I’ll be living in for the foreseeable future.” Lonnie grumbled a little as the hunger pain started to poke about, shaking Mr. Brisbin’s hand in annoyance.
“Right then, I shalt not keep you waiting longer than you’re willing to be. If you would, please follow me this way to the lightkeeper’s household and I’ll give you the full tour.” Mr. Brisbin didn’t seem to mind the grumpiness, rather, he was tolerating it concerningly well as though the property couldn’t afford to lose another lighthouse keeper.
Relieved, Lonnie followed Mr. Brisbin out to the household, a one story ranch style home that would be right at home in the nineteen fifties. It was a lot smaller than Lonnie would’ve liked, but a free paid home wasn’t something to complain about in the least. The interior was as expected, filled to the brim with beach lake house decor and kitsch lake fish adorning the walls as far as Lonnie’s eyesight would allow. There was a sneer that was threatening to form on Lonnie’s face before having to repress it at the sight of the little porcelain lighthouse salt and pepper shakers in the kitchen.
Truly, this was hell for Lonnie, none of these things were stuff the man would never have found attractive in the slightest. Mr. Brisbin, on the other hand, was all faux bubbles and cheer as he showed how the appliances worked as well as some bland historical facts that Lonnie couldn’t give a rodent’s behind about. In an effort to get his boredom and hunger under control, Lonnie glanced to the side, his eyes connecting with the lighthouse outside. At first, it had looked like a beautiful piece of history in its nantucket blue paint and cherry red trimmings showcasing the off white accents until seeing the platform it stood on. There stood a structure made of scrap wood, sycamore, and birch branches that bulged beneath the historic site. It was a hideous sight to Lonnie, it was like a wooden tumor that had grown off on an otherwise beautiful building.
“What is THAT thing underneath the lighthouse!?” Lonnie sharply asked, his nose wrinkled up at how hideous the eyesore was.
“Oh that, well we haven’t been able to figure that out ourselves quite yet. We think it may have been an illegal art installation, but we hadn’t had luck in getting it dismantled. We fear that because of how close it is to our lighthouse, it could cause severe damage if we attempted a removal.” That artificial cheery expression melted from Mr. Brisbin’s face the moment Lonnie asked about the structure, his eyes hardening upon it as though taunting the old man.
“You’re joking, right? That thing is an absolute eyesore and no one has ever tried to get rid of it?” Lonnie gasps out an exasperated laugh at the absurdity of the situation.
“It isn’t like we hadn’t tried, we’ve hired so many and they never come back to us about it. Just leaving their stuff behind out of annoyance I suppose from how weirdly shaped it is.” Mr. Brisbin explained, adjusting his circular glasses during the explanation.
“If that’s the case, why not let me give it go? I’m sure I could get rid of it.” There was no way Lonnie would even dare live with that hideous structure within his line of sight as he glared outside.
“Don’t, this lighthouse has been through many major events throughout our town’s history. If something were to go wrong during the process, it would be near impossible to repair given its age. Do not even attempt it.” Mr. Brisbin’s voice dropped and his eyes focused right on Lonnie, the atmosphere shifting at the idea of letting a novice attempt removal on his own.
All Lonnie could do was glare at the structure with disdain and he was not too happy that he couldn’t do anything about it. As much as Lonnie wished to turn down the position, he didn’t have much choice, it was a free living situation and Lonnie didn’t have the cash needed to support himself. He accepted the job, taking the keys for both the ranch and the lighthouse, though Lonnie couldn’t help but loath just how fake of a cheery expression on Mr. Brisbin’s face as the job was accepted.
For the next week, Lonnie was forced to see that wooden structure everytime he had to go into the kitchen, staring out the window as though to say ‘what’cha gonna do about it? I’m here to stay.’ It seemed to get bigger each day, pulsating even as Lonnie watched the wretched thing outside. By week two, Lonnie had enough of the grotesque wooden bundle. There was someone that Lonnie knew from the next town over that could dismantle the atrocity right away, regardless of what Mr. Brisbin had said beforehand. It didn’t take long for Lonnie to strike up a deal with the carpenter, promising that he could keep the wood for future projects if all of it were removed. The carpenter arrived the next day, Lonnie outside eager to greet him.
“Carl, thank you for coming out this way for me! Seriously, I was losing my mind over that dumpster fire out back.” Lonnie heaved a sigh of relief upon seeing Carl coming out of the truck with a box of tools.
“It can’t be as bad as you’re making it out to be, Lonnie. I knew you since we were kids, you’ve always had a knock for exaggeration.” Carl snorted out a laugh at his old friend, stretching as he went about it.
“I’m not exaggerating this, it’s seriously hideous and massive! Come, I’ll show you the eyesore to see for yourself.” Lonnie said with conviction, there was no way he could possibly exaggerate such a hideous structure.
“Fine, but if it’s just you being you, I’m asking for a free round of beer after this.” Carl couldn’t help but roll his eyes a bit at that before adding in the wager.
“Alright, but you owe me a thing of whiskey if I’m spot on.” Lonnie raised it, his eyes glinted a bit at possibly winning this wager.
“You’re on, now show me this ‘terror’ you’ve been dealing with.” Carl had a scrunched up smirk on his face, it was the same ol’ game they’d play as boys.
“Oh right this way, just follow me Carl.” Lonnie motioned eagerly for Carl to see the structure for himself, knowing well that whiskey was possible for the future.
Carl paused the moment he saw what Lonnie had been talking about before, the structure beneath the lighthouse was spilling over onto the steps now, branches intertwining with the step way up to the lighthouse. The branches gripped on tightly like the gnarled hands of an old man not wanting to let go of its prize. Lonnie gave Carl a look before the carpenter conceded, Lonnie won the wager for whiskey.
It was indeed as hideous as Lonnie had been claiming. First things were first as Carl broke out the hand saw to trim back the branches away from the stairs to get a better look at what he was dealing with. The structure was strange, that was for sure. No bolts, no nails, nothing, there was absolutely nothing in place to keep the branches from falling apart. It perplexed Carl to pieces as he started removing sections of the branches and rotting wood like layers of an onion. Lonnie could only stand back and watch as his friend went to work on dismantling the offending object. Carl was five layers into dismantling when an entry opened up to the insides of the structure. An eyebrow was raised before Carl motioned for Lonnie to come over to see it.
“Okay Lon, looks like your merry band of ugly sculpture creators are deranged geniuses. I haven’t found a signal nail or bolt with the dismantling and I think I’ve figured out why. They must have set up a support beam with chicken wire on the inside to keep it from collapsing. If I can get in there, this thing should topple like a house of cards immediately.”
“Seriously? That’s all it’d take? Hell I’ll just go inside and get lunch made for us both to celebrate getting this heap of lumber out of here. You’d like a chilled can of beer to go with it?”
“It shouldn’t take that long either, fifteen minutes tops. I’ll see you for lunch shortly after this.”
Lonnie shot a grin at his friend as Carl lumbered into the interior of the structure with some tools on hand to get the support taken out. With a wave, Lonnie went back inside of the ranch to fix up lunch to enjoy together of pan fried paninis and cold cheap beer from the fridge to celebrate getting rid of the awful thing outside.
There were no signs of Carl coming out after the fifteen minute mark had passed, Lonnie figuring it had been an underestimation of how long it’d be to get the support out. Fifteen minutes turned into an hour, then two, then five, the paninis long since cooled and the beer back in the fridge to stay cold. Lonnie was becoming nervous, normally by twenty minutes, Carl would’ve been out to say something about it and to eat. This time, he hadn’t and that had Lonnie on edge as he got the flashlight out, heading out towards the structure to see if his friend was alright. In the twilight air, the structure looked as though it were breathing as the wind passed through it. Animal instincts were crying out in the back of Lonnie’s mind to flee as he began to enter the structure. It was strangely moist, almost humid inside of the structure as a strange rotten egg-like smell lingered about, forcing Lonnie to cover his nose at once.
“Carl!? Everything alright!? Carl!?” Lonnie called out before realizing how hard it was becoming to lift his feet before it hit something hard.
Quickly moving the flashlight down to the object, Lonnie found Carl’s handsaw, but something was off about it. The wooden handle of the saw mashed in as though it were a sandcastle as drippings from the metal spider webbed off of Lonnie’s boot that had been actively melting from contact with the ground. Lonnie’s eyes widened at the sight as his flashlight slowly traced the ground before landing on a figure.
At first, Lonnie was relieved, it had to have been Carl, maybe the smell had made him pass out, right? Lonnie trudged along to see his friend, eager to get him out of the structure before reality set in. Carl had indeed collapsed into the ground, either from the smell or losing balance from trying to retrieve the saw, but whatever the reason, upon impact, half of Carl had been dissolved into a jelly-like substance. He was still slowly sinking into the floor as Lonnie backed away in horror at the sight of his departed friend. This thing, this creature, had taken away his childhood friend in a horrifying fashion and Lonnie was about to be next as the ground started shifting as though the structure was about to move.
Lonnie didn’t have time to get his friend’s remains out as he fled from the now mobile structure, beelining for the exit that dimmed ever so slightly. It didn’t help much that the rubbers of his boots were dissolving at a heightened pace until Lonnie leaped right out of the shrinking exit. Lonnie’s body hit the ground and discarded wood in a hard thud, his eyes looking up right in time to witness the creature’s descent into the lake.
It looked like a mass of sticks that a beaver would build before sinking into its depths, taking with it what was ever left of Carl inside. Lonnie’s body shook violently as he slowly got up in pure pain from the landing, tears streaming down his face as the only things left of his friend was the toolbox and truck. It’s been years since that day and Lonnie still works as the lighthouse keeper, though now, he has a gun permit and every night, he sits on that chair looking out to the lighthouse gun in hand, waiting, always waiting for that thing to return.