Monday

I report to you now from yet another reconvening of the Secret Society of the Blimpmen. I was very much looking forward to this meeting for two reasons in particular. The first was that Mandelbaum, my greatest companion in all the world, was being inducted into the Society! After his faithful service to the Blimping Corps and countless hours logged behind the pilot's wheel of a blimp, he had truly earned his place in our ranks. I was so pleased to see my best friend be granted this tremendous honor, so there was no way I was going to miss that.

The second reason for our meeting is a challenge I am intent on winning, but I will get to that later. You see, whenever the Society meets, we always like to mix a bit of business with pleasure. This time, our whimsical group of eccentric blimp pilots decided to meet at a haunted house.

I arrived late this evening at the legendary Horowitz House. I parked my blimp in the potter's field not far from the house and noticed that the other blimpmen had beaten me here. Fashionably late I would be, I suppose.

Just the walk alone along the gravel path toward the house was enough to put a chill in my bones. The woods surrounding the house were exceptionally thick and somewhat treacherous to navigate in the dark. The night air was crisp, a cold wind blew through the trees, and streams of moonlight crept in occasionally through the slithering fog. As I quickened my pace, worried what man or beast may be hiding in the darkness, I could finally see the Horowitz House in front of me. Immediately my mind began racing with the possibilities of what eldritch horrors lay waiting inside.

I paused at the sight, recalling the urban legends surrounding this house, wondering which ones were actually true. I knew it had been built sometime in the early 1800s, was a stop on the Underground Railroad, and eventually became the site of a grisly murder. An owl's hoot startled me, so I kept walking.

I was relieved to finally make my way up the hill to the front steps of the mansion without any harassment. The grounds and the house were in poor upkeep, with the skeletal remains of leafless bushes, cracked pavement, and a lingering odor of unspecified decay. I wasn't sure if the rotted wood on the veranda around the house was even safe to walk on. My every step was joined with an eerie creaking sound. I raised a hand to knock on the front door and--

"The others have been inside for quite a while," said a voice from the darkness.

Oh my goodness, I can't tell you how high I jumped! Stifling a girlish scream, I realized there was someone lurking in the shadows of the porch next to me. The man took a step forward, and I realized it was The Count, the famous magician/vampire blimpman from Romania. A black cloak was wrapped around his body, and he removed his tophat from his bald white head and bowed to me.

"My apologies," he said in a cold and hypnotic voice. "It was not my intention to scare you."

My racing heart was finally getting under control, and I said, "Why aren't you inside with the others, Mr. The Count?"

"I'm afraid I cannot step past the threshold of a home without the owner's permission. You know how those things go." It was an old tradition with vampires - that much I knew. He continued, "In the meantime, you may find me here, waiting on the veranda. I do hate to miss out on the fun. Haunted houses really are quite charming. Please keep me posted."

I nodded and pushed open the front door. If the outside of the house had been frightening enough this far, I was beginning to dread what nightmares the interior might hold. To my dismay, the mood inside was no more uplifting. It was dusty, moldy, and completely dark. A single room was illuminated down the main hall, and I could hear the noise from the others coming from there, so I headed in that direction.

The shadowed hallway was lined with all sorts of antiquated and decaying animal heads - trophies of long-forgotten hunting excursions. There was a taxidermied tiger, a zebra, an antlered jackalope, and many more. Each animal's face was twisted in a grotesque, snarling position, each baring their fangs as if they were frozen in the middle of a vicious attack. They gave me the creeps.

I found my friends in a room that was probably a very lovely dining hall back in its heyday, with an orange glowing fireplace warming the room and a long wooden table stretching from end to end. I quickly spotted my dear friend, Professor Dirigibili, and gave him a wave. There was also the familiar cowboy Cooper T. Custer, the young techie entrepreneur Scott Shazbot, and of course Walt Disney's Zombie. (I made a mental note to myself that Sylvia Wolfenkranz was noticeably absent, but I hadn't expected to find her here so soon after our falling out in Shangri-La.)

It was truly great to see all these old friends again, but no one's presence pleased me more than that of Mandelbaum. I made my way past the others as they continued to enjoy their apéritifs, and I quickly headed over toward Mandelbaum. I gave him a hug, my small arms barely extending around the length of his thick torso, and he too seemed to be in high spirits.

"What an honor!" I exclaimed to him. "You've gone and made yourself a blimpman! You've always been my brother in the skies, but tonight it is official!"

He reminded me that there was still the matter of the induction ceremony first, before he could officially be called a blimpman.

As our acting Commandant, the Professor rounded us up for the proceedings to begin. "Gentlemen," he said, "welcome to another gathering of the Secret Society of the Blimpmen. We proudly recognize our newest candidate, Mandelbaum, whose nobility of heart and resilience in battle against evil squirrels - which I have witnessed firsthand - are second to none. Saluti!"

We all raised our glasses and toasted to Mandelbaum's good health.

"If I may add something, please..." I started to say.

Cooper Custer cut me off, rolling his eyes, and said sarcastically, "Oh great. He's finally going to confess his love for Mandelbaum now."

"Let our friend speak," said the Professor curtly. Then he turned to me, "You were saying?"

I replied rather embarrassed, "Um, never mind."

The Professor continued, "Anyway, we will, of course, get on to the induction ceremony soon enough, but first, let me explain tonight's challenge."

Now this was the second part of the trip that I was really excited about. I told you that the Society loves to mix business and pleasure, and we usually do so in the form of a friendly competition. It keeps things interesting, and - in the spirit of adventure-seeking - a bit of competition drives us to be our best. Plus, there is always a very handsome gentlemanly wager that goes along with it, and I had a feeling that I knew what this challenge's prize might be.

"As you know," said the Professor, "we stand here in the fabled Horowitz House. According to legend, a dark and sinister presence has dwelt here for generations."

Scott Shazbot, the young Millennial, chimed in, "Ghosts, huh?"

"That is part of it," replied the Professor, "but also something... else."

Scott nodded his head and rubbed his hands eagerly, whispering, "Cool... cool..."

I wasn't as eager as Scott, but I wanted to hear more of the Professor's explanation.

"As I was saying, former residents claimed that strange events always took place here, caused by the presence of this sinister influence upon the home. People regularly went missing, never to be seen or heard from again. Some say they were given as sacrifice to a demonic being. No one knows for sure. Then one day, the owner of the house, Governor Horowitz, who was previously known as a successful businessman and a loving family man, brutally took the lives of his entire family, and then his own."

I gulped. Cooper Custer scoffed and said, "Bah! The fella probably just snapped, having had enough of politics and living in this dusty old asbestos trap."

"I beg to disagree," said a new voice, and we all jumped in surprise at the sight of this individual. It was the most gaunt and sickly man I'd ever seen. Had he not been dressed in (a rather dusty and patched-up) tuxedo, I would have presumed him to be a lost spirit. Even Walt Disney's Zombie let out a howl of terror in sight of this apparition-like figure, so he backed away and hid behind Scott.

The pale, sickly old man cleared his throat and said in a monotone voice, "Pardon my intrusion, good sirs. I am Clive, the keeper of this house and its last remaining resident. My great-great-grandfather was a servant of Governor Horowitz at the time of his most unfortunate passing. But with no surviving heirs, due to the... 'incident'..." (I didn't like the way he said "incident" in quotation marks) "...the house was passed on to my great-great-grandfather, and later to me. I have tried my best to keep it in good condition. My apologies for the... dust."

The Professor replied kindly, "Thank you, Clive, for allowing us to visit. If we need anything, we will let you know."

"Very good, sir," he said flatly, then he turned and disappeared back down the hall.

"Well that guy was a helluva creep," muttered Cooper.

The Professor proceeded, "Now as I was saying, considering the fearsome tale surrounding this house, as well as numerous thrill-seekers' accounts that the place truly is possessed by evil spirits, our challenge will be this: whoever can stay inside this house the longest, without fleeing or succumbing to fear, shall be the winner. And therefore, the winner will also be the recipient of the Hand of Osiris."

I knew it! I had had my suspicions that we would indeed be competing for this legendary artifact, a coveted prize amongst blimpmen.

"Our previous champion in the live salamander-eating contest, Walt Disney's Zombie, will now present the prize."

With that, Zombney reached into his jacket pocket and drew forth the Hand of Osiris. It was a mummified human hand, severed just below the wrist from the rest of the body. Its flesh was entirely green in color, and in the middle of the outstretched hand was an open human eyeball embedded into the palm. According to myth, anyone who stared into the dark brown eye long enough would be granted a knowledge of Death that surpasses all human understanding. What a terrifying temptation that would be! I knew I simply must get my hands on that prize. (It's not like I really cared about or believed in knowing the secrets of Death; I just wanted bragging rights!)

Walt Zombney placed the hand on the table in the center of the room. Cooper was admiring the prize and rubbing his rotund stomach, saying, "Eh, I would've won the Hand last time, but my belly can't handle the kick of fire-breathing salamanders like it used to." Then, upon closer inspection at some marks near the wrist, he muttered, "Hey, was there always a bite taken out it?"

Walt Zombney grinned sheepishly and wiped his mouth.

"So, all we've got to do, in order to win the Hand, is to stay inside this haunted house the longest?" asked Scott.

"That's right," said the Professor, "and may the bravest blimpman win."

He raised his glass, and we did likewise, toasting each other in the start of this friendly competition. For the next few moments, we waited in silence, still standing around and observing the Hand of Osiris. With all the fanfare out of the way, it wasn't a very dramatic start to the competition.

"So what now?" I asked.

The Professor said, "We wait for the spirits to reveal themselves."

Almost as if his words had summoning power, there was an immediate creak coming from the ceiling above us. We all heard it. Then, another creak.

"Someone is upstairs," I said worriedly.

Cooper gulped, and I could see the same fear on his face that was probably on mine, but he said defiantly, "It's probably just that fellow Clive sneaking about."

"It's not I, sir," said Clive, scaring the ever-living daylights out of us yet again by reappearing in the room with a fresh tray of drinks.

Zombney was letting out a most terrified moan and cowering in the corner of the room.

"It's okay, Zombney," said Scott reassuringly, "we'll find out of who... or what... it is."

But then the creaking sound continued. I realized they were footsteps! "Quick!" I shouted. "We'll cut it off at the main staircase!"

Mandelbaum bravely led the charge, and we all followed close behind him. I don't know what I expected to find coming down the stairs - whether it would be a demonic spectre or just some lost vagrant who had made his way into the house in an attempt to escape the cold - but I knew I had to face the danger head-on. My instincts as a blimpman took over.

Walt Zombney was moaning in the back of the pack as Scott urged him to move faster. "Quit crying, Zombney! Seeing a ghost is the whole reason we came here!"

We moved quicker into the hallway and stopped at the foot of the stairs. We waited in silence...

There was nothing. "The footsteps stopped," I said quietly, but the others shushed me.

Then there was another creak.

"All... this... ruckus...," came a faint moaning voice from the dark hallway upstairs.

We gasped. My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach.

"STOP ALL THIS RUCKUS!" yelled the voice louder, now booming and echoing through the hall.

Walt Disney's Zombie let out a most terrified scream, and then he took off running as fast as his undead legs could carry him. He was crying and wailing as he pushed open the front door and fled from the house, screaming into the dark night as he ran away.

"Huh," remarked Scott Shazbot, "a zombie who is afraid of ghosts. Ironic."

Cooper added, "Looks like our former champion is the first one out of the competition."

Meanwhile, The Count poked his head in from the side of the open door and said eagerly, "What was it? What did I miss?"

But we were too distracted to reply; there was clunk. And then a thud. We turned back toward the stairs, and we demanded that Clive explain to us what was happening, but by now the sneaky fellow was long gone.

Scott asked with a trembling voice, "Is it the ghost of Governor Horowitz?"

But we surely didn't know. We looked up, and that's when a shadowy figure stepped out.

"Brace yourselves, gentlemen!" cried the Professor, and we prepared ourselves for a fight, whatever good that would do against a ghost. Then the man at the top of the stairs stepped into the light so we could finally see him.

"So. Much. NOISE. Can't a man take a nap without a bunch of screaming nancies waking every ghost in this place?" said Colonel Albert Futtermann.

I was shocked to see my old mentor standing before us. "Colonel Futtermann!" I exclaimed. "What on earth are you doing here?"

He hobbled toward the first step, and Mandelbaum and I rushed up and helped him down the rest of the way. He explained, "Well I'm not gonna miss out on another meeting of the Secret Society, am I? I'm still part of the Blimping Corps, you nitwit, and don't you ever forget it!"

"I wouldn't dream of it, Colonel. We are happy to have you here. We just didn't see you arrive."

"I snuck out of the nursing home a couple days ago," he said. "Estelle's grandkids were visiting, and I can't stand those little goblins! I heard you were meeting here, so I came early. I've been napping upstairs waiting for you slowpokes to arrive."

"Well, it looks like you've got a heardstart on us in the competition," I said. "If you've made it this long without being run off by ghosts, I'd say you have a fair chance of winning."

"Bah! Ghosts!" he scoffed. "I'm a war veteran, and I'm haunted every day by ghosts. If they were going to kill me, they'd have done it by now!"

Scott chimed in, "Dark, man. That's real dark."

But Futtermann brushed past us nonchalantly. He headed toward the dining room, saying he needed a drink. I agreed with the sentiment.

We returned to the dining hall, and the Professor suggested that after tonight's excitement, we had better put off Mandelbaum's induction ceremony until tomorrow. My companion was a little disappointed, but we all agreed it was better to wait and do the ceremony right, rather than rush it.

Since then, we have all retreated to our rooms. Clive showed me to mine and said, "This was the Master's chamber. I have preserved it exactly as the Governor left it."

I glanced around the room and grew very uncomfortable by the sight of a dark brown stain on the floor near the window. Surely something horrendous and unspeakable had happened in that very spot. I gulped. "Is that...?"

"A water stain, yes," said Clive. "But that over there is blood."

And then he pointed to the adjoining wall, which was spattered from top to bottom with dark stains of some gruesome nature. I gagged.

"So this was the sight of the... incident?" I asked.

Clive said, "Sweet dreams, sir," and left me in peace.

I am highly uneasy staying the night in this room, but at least I have comfort knowing my dear Mandelbaum is in the adjacent room just a terrified scream away. Besides, if I can survive a night in this particular room, of all places in the house, without being scared, I may surely have a chance at winning the Hand of Osiris.

#horowitzhouse #haunting #SSotB #competition
#handofosiris #welcomemandelbaum

Tuesday

I awoke this morning hoping that a bit of daylight pouring through the windows would help lighten the mood in this sinister place. Alas, it did not. The Horowitz House is every bit as spooky in the day time as it is at night. I was quick to get out of that blood-stained room and regroup with the others in the dining hall. I told the Professor how I barely slept a wink last night, and he said in agreement, "I too had a restless night. This place gives me - how do you call it? - the willies."

Cooper Custer grumpily added, "Ghosts or not, how the hell was I supposed to sleep with Shazbot's infernal contraptions next door making all that noise?"

Scott held up some sort of electronic device with a microphone attached. "If you must know, this is an EMF meter and a thermographic spectrometer of my own design. If there are ghosts in this house, I'm not going to miss out on a chance to capture them on film. In fact, check out the sound recording I got last night. Tell me, does this sound like a voice saying 'butt harm'?" He pressed a button, and all I could hear from the recording was a bunch of mindless static.

Meanwhile, Colonel Futtermann had trudged into the room looking the most well rested out of all of us. "Once you've spent a month sleeping in a foxhole across North Korean lines, a night in a soft bed at a haunted house is five stars, if you ask me. You're all a bunch of sissies, and winning this competition is going to be a cake walk."

He laughed at us, and I did silently but respectfully agree that he was indeed the forerunner of the competition. We were all very uneasy with this place, yet this antiquated near-centenarian was flagrantly taunting the spirit world. And now he was smacking on a mouthful of bran muffin that Clive had served us.

"Though I did get this weird tingling in my arm last night," he added softly, scratching at his paw. His sudden change in demeanor actually started to worry me. "You wouldn't mind taking a look at it?"

He held out his hand, and I moved in to inspect it. When I reached for his hand-- IT CAME OFF! Holding his cold, dead hand in mine, I screamed in the most horrific, blood-curdling, and high-pitched scream that my vocal chords could manage. I flung the Colonel's severed hand across the room, and it landed in a pitcher of juice. I was a half-second from fleeing out of that room and relinquishing all my chances at winning, when I suddenly noticed that the Colonel was laughing hysterically. He had his head tossed back as far as it would go, and he was practically falling backward out of his chair.

He clutched his heart mid-laughter and said, "Oh! Oh, that was-- Oh man, you should have seen the look on your face! And that scream! Ha, ha, ha!"

Across the room, the Professor reached into the juice pitcher and pulled out the sopping wet Hand of Osiris.

"Very funny," I grumbled bitterly, and returned to my seat feeling sour and embarrassed by the Colonel's prank.

The Professor cleared the air, saying, "Well, it seems as though this competition is putting us all on edge. Perhaps it is best that we no longer wait for the inevitable, but rather speed this along."

"What are you saying, Professor?" asked Cooper.

"I'm saying that instead of waiting for a spirit to reveal itself... we summon one."

He went on to explain that The Count had provided us with instructions for a séance - a summoning ritual for residents of the realm of the dead. If we wanted to make contact with the spirits in order to see who would be the most brave and stalwart amongst us, then this was the most expedient method.

Now, up until my stay in this house, I've always been skeptical of the whole notion of "haunted houses." While I am quite convinced in the existence of the supernatural and the demonic forces that may, on occasion, mingle with our living world, deciding to summon them - especially here, in this place - truly did not sit well with me. The others, however, were more eager.

We spent the day gathering the necessary materials for the séance. As evening fell, we gathered together in the parlour. There was an open window in the room from which The Count (who still wasn't allowed inside the house) gave us instructions on the assembly from the veranda outside. Cooper complained about the cold draft from the open window, but The Count replied, "This is the only way I get to join in on the fun. No way I'm closing it."

Across the room, the Professor and Scott were finishing their task of stringing a line of Christmas lights on the wall. Next to each light was a corresponding letter of the alphabet or a number painted on the wall. Scott said he saw it on some TV show that I'd never heard of, but it should work as a vessel for communication with any otherworldly spirits.

Meanwhile, Mandelbaum was standing alone with his arms crossed and an unhappy look on his face. "Don't worry," I told him, "we haven't forgotten about your induction ceremony. You'll be a blimpman before the end of this, for sure." He nodded silently.

As the assembly finished, we took our places around the card table in the center of the parlour. The whole while, the Colonel was mocking us for our "dramatic flamboyance fit for Broadway." The Hand of Osiris - with its wide-staring brown eye - was placed in the middle of the table.

The Professor agreed to act as our medium, reciting the incantations that The Count provided. He adjusted the large turban on his head and cleared his throat. He said dramatically, "Spiritus ab inferis et purgatorio! We in the land of the living, summon the spirits who have departed this mortal coil. Join us. Join us tonight in a congregation of our two worlds!"

He cleared his throat again, and we realized he was motioning for us to each hold hands. I took one of the Professor's hands. My other squeezed tightly onto Mandelbaum's, and that one filled me with an immediate feeling of comfort and warmth. Just the touch of his firm hand made me quiver.

The Professor continued, "If there are any spirits here tonight, we wish to speak with you. Particularly, we wish to speak with Governor Horowitz."

We waited. Nothing.

"Should we hold hands tighter?" I asked. "Or perhaps try something else? Maybe hugging?"

The Professor shushed me and told us all to close our eyes. "Governor Horowitz, we demand that you reveal yourself to us!"

Again, nothing. I noticed that we all had at least one eye open, peeping around the room.

But then suddenly, there was a flash of green light in the room. The Count chimed in from the open window, "There! Your lights - look!"

We saw the Christmas lights on the wall starting to flash. Various letters were lighting up in sequence.

"I can't tell what it's saying," grumbled the Colonel.

The lights continued to flash. One letter, then another... Was the seemingly random sequence starting to spell something?

"Quick! Write it down!" shouted the Professor.

Scott immediately pulled out a notepad and began jotting down whatever words were being dictated to us from beyond the grave. As the lights continued to flash next to the letters and numbers, he wrote them down and read aloud, "I can't quite make it out... SAZNAR J QUIVREN, C CCC, BUTT HRM-- I knew it! I knew it said 'butt harm' - I so told you so!"

"It's all complete nonsense!" shouted Colonel Futtermann.

I agreed, saying, "He's right, I'm not understanding any of it."

The Professor added, "Governor Horowitz, if you are trying to say something to us, we can't understand you. Please check your spelling."

But the lights continued to flash randomly, and Scott persistently wrote down the confusing message. After several moments, when the lights finally finished, all he could make out was the following message, if it even was one: "SCOO, 1J1, MVEMJSUNPX, 666 CTHULHU--"

"Wait!" shouted The Count from the window. "That last word... I know it."

"C-Thu-Lhu?" read Cooper slowly, trying to pronounce the seemingly nonsensical word.

"Yes," said The Count with a dire seriousness in his voice, "Cthulhu. It is a name I never hoped to hear spoken aloud. Do you not know his tale? Cthulhu is a most dangerous entity, originating from a mysterious planet in a dark dimension. According to myth, he dwells in the subterranean abyss below our feet, deep in the bowels of the Earth. Waiting in his darkened prison, he bides his time, until the day he can rise again and feast upon the souls of the living."

I was growing uneasy with this dramatic and fantastical tale, but more so with how convincingly The Count was able to deliver it, as if it were truth.

He added, "If Cthulhu has had any part in the unspeakable horrors that have transpired in this house, then you must all leave here at once. Fly, you fools! Run away now, before it is too late."

We glanced around at each other, breathing heavily and hearts racing.

"Bah!" scoffed Colonel Futtermann, and he stood up from his chair. "If this Cthulhu fellow is so tough, I demand that he show himself, so I can give him a taste of that 'Futtermann Fist of Fire!'"

Then he raised up his fists as if he were ready to duke it out, and suddenly-- the Christmas lights along the wall EXPLODED! There was a brief fiery flash of light, then the room went dark, and it was followed by the sounds of shouting and the scuffing of chairs along the wood floor.

In the darkness, I fumbled around in terror, crying out Mandelbaum's name and grasping for his hands in my blind state.

Suddenly, the lights came back on, and Scott was holding up the blown-out stream of lights. "Must have blown a fuse."

But the Professor was shouting, "Help! It's Colonel Futtermann - he needs assistance!"

I looked over and saw that the Colonel was sprawled out on the ground, seemingly unconscious. His mouth was agape, and he lay there lifeless, like a beaten sack of potatoes.

The Count muttered, "Cthulhu claims his first victim."

"Will you shut up?!" I shouted at him. "You're not helping! Colonel! Colonel, are you okay?!"

But as I got closer, a horrendous smell overtook me. I gagged.

"Oh god," cried Scott, "he must have gotten so scared that he soiled himself."

But then the old Colonel groggily stirred and muttered, "Actually, that was from earlier." And then he passed out again.

"I think he'll be okay," said the Professor, "but all this excitement was too much for his old heart to handle. It's best we get him to a hospital."

We summoned Clive, who told us he had a carriage parked out back and he would dutifully deliver Colonel Futtermann to the nearest hospital.

Out on the veranda of the house, we watched as the carriage trudged down the hill and away from the house. The Count stood behind us, saying, "The Horowitz House strikes again."

And we knew it was true. Haunted or not, this place was surely becoming a curse upon us all. If Colonel Futtermann - the bravest and most stalwart of our group - couldn't make it past the night, I had fear that none of us could.

#secondvictim #séance #cthulhu #freakedout
#strangerthings #buttharm #getwellsooncolonel

Wednesday

Today I made it my goal to occupy my mind with an investigation into the strange history of the Horowitz House. By now, with the former champion Zombney gone, and the brave Colonel Futtermann eliminated, I could admit to myself - an average joe in the group - that my chances of winning the blimpmen's competition were dwindling. I wasn't feeling very brave, and I knew the mysteries of this house were the primary cause of my fear.

My biggest fear was, quite simply, the unknown. Therefore, I made my way into the library this morning to see what clues I could find in order to hopefully lessen some of the mystery surrounding this place and pacify my uncertainties. Apparently, Professor Dirigibili had had the same idea, for he was there too.

"Perhaps we could work together," he suggested, "to find out a little more about the fate of the people who lived here."

It seemed like a fine enough idea, so I asked if he had found any clues yet.

"I'm not sure," he said. "I wonder if there was something strange happening with the Horowitz family. I was able to find this family tree."

He pointed to a painting on the wall that had a large tree with dozens of branches, each displaying a portrait of a family member at the end. "Here's Governor Horowitz, his wife Edna, and his young daughter, Laurie Horowitz. All three were slain here in this house - I believe in the very room where you are residing."

I didn't need that horrific reminder. I scanned the room and the shelves for any further clues, and a thought dawned on me. "Clive the butler said this house has been preserved just the way the Horowitzes left it, right?"

"Yes, I believe so. Why?"

"Because maybe there is a clue in this study as to what exactly Governor Horowitz was working on at the time of his death."

The Professor's eyes lit up, "An interesting notion indeed!"

We spent the next several minutes scouring the room for clues. I was able to find some articles about political scandals from the time period, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Governor Horowitz had his hand in a few unpopular legislative decisions, accusations of party-flopping, and a particular scandal involving black magic deals with voodoo practitioners and protective spells.

"So the usual politics then? Inconclusive, I'm afraid," said the Professor, and I shrugged hopelessly.

"What about this?" I asked, pointing to an old newspaper that was sitting on the desk and still open to a certain page. We had to dust it off a bit in order to read the words. I read aloud:

"Gov. H.P. Horowitz, who has been suspected of assisting fugitive slaves from the South, has made plans to have the woods around his home demolished. Those attached to the deforesting project have claimed that he plans to build a new wing to his house in which to harbor fugitives, thus single-handedly fostering further tensions between the two sides of the country.

"When asked to comment, Horowitz denied the claims adamantly. 'I simply want to get rid of the pesky wildlife around my home,' he said. 'Now please skedaddle and harass me no more.'"

I put down the newspaper and said, "Seems innocent enough."

"Yes," said the Professor pensively, "but there is clearly something we're missing in regards to the events that later transpired. What would drive him to the murder of his family? And how is any of this connected to this cosmic entity called Cthulhu--?"

Right as he said that name, a wind blew and flung open the shutters of the window. Papers went flying everywhere, and the two of us ran away in fear.

...

As the day wore on, thankfully uneventfully, I believe a few members of our group became a little too comfortable with the down time. They were starting to jab at each other in the spirit of friendly competition, teasing each other about who would be the next one eliminated. I caught up with Mandelbaum, Cooper, and Scott in the lounge, and they were testing each other with a series of frightening dares.

"You wouldn't last two minutes!" scoffed Cooper.

"Not only would I last that long," said Scott, "but I'd do it with my back turned the entire time!"

Cooper laughed and replied, "Now there's a challenge!"

My curiosity got the better of me, and I asked, "What is the challenge?"

"Well, look who wants a piece of the action!"

"I never said that," I replied. "I was just curious."

"Ah-ah, there's no backing out now! A dare's a dare, and what sort of blimpman would you be if you chickened out?"

I knew they were trying to get a reaction from me, and it was working.

"Fine," I said, "if my honor as a blimpman is at stake, I accept the challenge. Please explain the rules."

They excitedly explained that the challenge was this: at the end of the main hall was a doorway leading into the basement cellar down below the house. If I could stand at the top of the stairs with my back turned to the darkness behind me, without looking back, and without stepping away or fleeing in fear, then the others would each surrender a fine bottle of 1922 Drôle-Mère absinthe. It seemed a tempting prize for such a seemingly simple dare. I told the others to lead the way to the cellar door.

When we arrived, the four of us opened the door and stared down the stairs into the darkness leading into the basement. There was no telling what lay below us in that darkened corner of the home - ghosts, dead bodies, Cthulhu himself? The cold updraft immediately sent a shiver down my spine, and on top of that, I was overcome with a sudden vertigo as if the darkness were looming toward me at incredible speed and I was falling down the stairs. I braced myself on the doorjamb.

"Already got the shakes, huh?" mocked Cooper. "This challenge'll be finished in no time."

I waved him off, saying, "You won't win that easily, Cooper. Now if you don't mind."

Then they backed away so I could take my position at the door.

"I simply turn my back to this open door?"

"Without looking back. For five minutes," said Scott. "The clock starts now."

I positioned my heals so they were dangling slightly over the first step. I could feel the cold air continuing to flow up from the cellar. I kept my eyes forward toward my friends for the first two minutes, but then I began to grow weary of standing there for so long. The silence behind me was unbearable - that was the worst part. Not being able to hear or see anything, my imagination was starting to run wild. What was below and behind me? I had to know...

"Ah-ah! Eyes forward!" scolded Cooper.

I realized he was right; I had unintentionally been glancing sideways out of the corner of my eye. I straightened my gaze. But I was beginning to suffer a cold sweat. As the silence wore on, I started to picture a lurking, knife-wielding murderer creeping up the stairs behind me. He took another step.

Then another. How could he be walking so silently? Suddenly, I knew it, I could feel him there, this wasn't my imagination anymore, he was really there, he was standing on the step directly behind me, breathing on the back of my neck, raising his dagger, ready to plunge it into my spine and--!

"That's it - time's up!" announced Scott.

I darted away from the door, stumbling as I fled. Glancing behind me, I let out a tremendous sigh of relief to see that there was no one coming from the cellar. I stood straight and adjusted my tie.

"That wasn't so hard," I said proudly, though probably not very convincingly. "Anyway, it's your turn."

Scott, Cooper, and Mandelbaum played demon-salamander-oracle to see who would go next. Cooper and Mandelbaum both threw demon, which as you know, always trumps salamander, so Scott was forced to go next. He took his position in the doorframe, and within seconds I could see the same fear I experienced earlier starting to take hold of him. Seeing him squirm, it was a little embarrassing to know that I myself had looked so cowardly simply standing in front of a blackened door.

"Stop fidgeting!" demanded Cooper.

"It's cold!" replied Scott.

"You're just being a wuss. Four more minutes to go. This is going to be too easy."

"That's a lot of talk, cowboy. If you're so tough, why don't you join me?"

"Join you?"

"That's right. Get off your fat butt and show us what you've got."

Cooper accepted Scott's challenge, and he too squeezed his rotund body into the space inside the doorjambs. Together, the two of them were standing with their backs turned to the darkness. Even Cooper, the perpetual tough guy, was uneasy with the challenge.

After a few more minutes, he started rambling to himself as a way to keep himself distracted, but there was a slight tremble in his mustache as he spoke. "There's nothing behind us. Just an empty cellar full of cobwebs. It's not like anyone is down there..."

Suddenly, a pair of HANDS REACHED OUT and grabbed both men by the shoulder!

Cooper and Scott screamed at the top of their lungs and fled from the doorway, shaking and shivering from the touch of those ghostly hands, screaming the entire way down the hall. They kept on going, straight out the front door of the house and never looked back. I suspected they were now out of the running.

But Mandelbaum and I had no time to think about that - we took up a defensive position in front of the door, waiting for the owner of those devilish hands to show himself.

"Come out of there!" I shouted fearfully.

And slowly from the darkness, the Professor revealed himself. "You won't believe what I found in the cellar!" he exclaimed.

We breathed an immediate sigh of relief. I demanded to know why he was lurking about in the basement of the house all alone. As he got closer, we noticed that he was covered from ankle to waist in a thick brown muck. He reeked to high heaven!

"Professor, why do you smell so bad?!"

He replied, "Our investigation into the history of the Horowitz family has led me to a certain clue. I do believe the family was being poisoned, and that may have been what caused the Governor to slay his entire family. It is my theory that he was driven into madness by a large collection of night soil that was being deposited below the main floor."

I gagged, knowing full well what night soil was. It was a collection of human waste that, through years of layering due to a poor disposal system, would begin to emit noxious, hallucinogenic gases into the atmosphere.

"Apparently, we've been breathing in the fumes since we arrived, none the wiser."

I was not keen on the idea of continuing to stay in what was now not only a haunted house, but a house laced with poisonous poo gas. "What do we do now, then? Do we call it a draw and leave the house together?"

But Mandelbaum emphatically demanded no, we were not going to do that. We were going to ride out the competition until the last man was standing. No one else would leave. Then he stormed off alone.

I looked at the Professor, confused what all that was about, but he seemed as confused as I. I wonder what's gotten into Mandelbaum...

#cellardoorchallenge #finalthree #investigation
#doodybasement #nightsoil #moodymandy

Thursday

I didn't sleep a wink last night. Even after three nights in the house, I can't find the peace of mind to shut my eyes for more than a few minutes at a time. Every hour, I'm consumed by some horrendous thought, whether it is the grisly murder of myself and my friends, a visitation by ghosts and demons, or my paranoia over the poisonous night soil below us. I wandered downstairs groggily, hoping to find comfort in the company of my friends. Cooper and Scott had gotten so scared that they never returned. The Professor was God knows where, probably off conducting further investigation into the history of Horowitz House. Mandelbaum was still being moody and wouldn't talk to me. When I asked what had gotten into him, he scoffed and walked away.

That left me with no one but The Count to talk to, so I went to go meet with him on the veranda. I planned to catch him up on all the events that had transpired so far. When I found him, he was in the middle of a heated argument with Clive the butler.

"I'll have no more insults from the likes of you!" shouted Clive angrily.

"What's going on, Count?" I asked.

He replied, "This cretin has been lurking about at all hours of the night. I keep seeing him sneaking away into the woods, clearly up to no good."

Clive retorted, "If anyone is lurking about - it's you!"

"He's lying," said The Count, "and also, I've begun to smell a strange odor coming from below us. It is most foul and unappetizing."

I briefed him on our discovery of the night soil down in the basement.

"Night soil?!" scoffed Clive. "How dare you imply such a thing! I have lived here my whole life and never would a butler allow night soil to collect in his home!" He brushed past us and stormed inside the house.

The Count shouted, "I'm not finished with you, you scoundrel!"

But Clive waved him off, saying, "If you want a piece of me, then come in here and get me!" And he disappeared into the house. I noticed The Count was grinning now.

"Anyway," he continued now that we were alone, "I saw that Cooper and Scott were run off last night. That leaves just the three of you, if I'm not mistaken."

I said I was eager for this competition to be over. It was doing nothing but causing strife in my life. I knew everyone left in the challenge was too honorable and too stubborn to surrender their chance at winning, no matter what evils revealed themselves to us. Therefore, we would remain in this house until we either discovered the mundane and wholly unsupernatural truth surrounding this place, or we would die in our increasingly prideful taunting of the nether-realm.

"Perhaps the two sides of the coin are closer aligned than you realize," explained The Count. "I see you are in need of some enlightenment."

"Please don't drug me again," I said, recalling my previous encounter with him when he slipped me some mushrooms.

"No, no, nothing like that," he said, "but I do believe you have in your possession an artifact which can open the doorway between our living world, and the spiritual nether-realm."

That evening, still reflecting upon The Count's advice, I made my way into the dining hall. I was alone in there, and still propped up in the middle of the long table was the green out-stretching Hand of Osiris. I sat down in a chair facing it. Its green mummified flesh was truly unappealing to look at. Even worse was that eye in the center of the palm. That horrible brown eye. I placed both elbows on the table, propping my chin up with my hands. I stared into the brown eye and muttered to myself, "Open wide, brown eye, and suck me into your dark chasm. Dump the knowledge of the truth upon me." The words didn't seem to have any effect for the longest moment.

Then I heard a faint sound coming from the hallway. I stood up from the table, leaving the Hand behind, and followed the sound. It was music. It seemed to be coming from the antique grand piano in the lounge. I hovered down the hallway to inspect the matter more, the floorboards creaking with each step. A most comforting, sonorous tune was being played, yet the closer I got, the more eerie the whole situation was becoming.

As I walked into the lounge, I was shocked to see three individuals seated in the room. They were, no doubt, the spirits of the Horowitz family. The Governor was playing the piano, his wife Edna was knitting a sweater from her rocking chair near the fireplace, and little Laurie Horowitz was reading a book on the carpet.

The music stopped as the Governor noticed me, and he said quite kindly to his wife, "Ah look, Sweetums, our guest has arrived! Come on in and have a seat in the comfy chair."

I looked where he was pointing and noticed that the "comfy chair" was, in fact, a murderous-looking death-chair with all sorts of rusty knives and blades protruding from the cushions.

"I'll stand, thanks," I said wearily.

"Suit yourself," he said. "I was just about to light up a cigar. Care for a smoke? Oh, Clarence!"

Right then, another figure drifted past me and joined us in the room. Had I not been watching closely, I would have undoubtedly confused this "Clarence" for our own butler, Clive. They were nearly identical in appearance, save a few slight dissimilarities. This butler, Clarence, offered the master a tray of cigars. The Governor popped one into his mouth, but instead of retrieving a set of matches from his pocket, he withdrew a pistol. He positioned it below his chin, aiming it at the cigar, fired, and the bullet shot into the ceiling. I was startled by the sudden thunderous gunshot and flinched, but Edna didn't even stir from her knitting, nor Laurie from her reading.

I had shielded my eyes from the whole thing but when I looked back, dust was raining down from the ceiling. The Governor was standing there, puffing on his now-lit cigar as if nothing unusual happened. When he turned toward me, I could see that half of his head was blown off, and one eye was completely missing. The sinister looking butler, Clarence, was smiling as if the most humorous thing just happened. I backed away in horror and fled from the room.

I raced down the hall until I came to the area with the mounted animal heads. I recalled them being trophies of various animals before, but now it seemed that they were all, in fact, heads of ravenous squirrels. Each one was frozen in a snarling, gnashing, open-mouthed roar. Blood was dripping from their razor sharp fangs.

And there... standing in the middle of the hall... was the one squirrel I never, ever imagined I'd see again.

"What's up, loser?" he said sinisterly.

"KEITH," I said. "That's impossible, I must be dreaming. I watched you die."

"Yes, it is I. Bet you never thought you'd see me again. Well, it'll take a lot more than a hydrogen explosion to get rid of me, you dick. Don't you get it? I may be dead, but I'm far from gone!" He let out a horrible, squeaky little laugh.

"This can't be...," I muttered. "I'm imagining all of this. The ghosts..."

"Oh those guys? I bet you think the Governor actually murdered his family. That whole thing back there?" He chuckled. "That's not how any of that went down, believe me. You've got it all wrong."

"What are you talking about, you evil little creature? I'll have no more of your lies!"

"You really have no idea!" he said mockingly. "You've been driving yourself crazy in this house - madness, madness consumes you! But you've been looking in the wrong place. There's no answer to be found with ghosts. Typical blimpman stupidity if you ask me - what more would I expect? A demon is responsible for everything that has transpired here. And you know his name..."

"Cthulhu," I muttered.

"No!" shouted Keith. "Not Cthulhu. KEITH-ULHU!" and he threw his head back and cackled at the top of his lungs.

Suddenly, Keith's form began to change. His fur was turning green, and he grew ten times larger than he was before. Tentacles began to protrude from his fuzzy chin, writhing and wriggling and flinging putrid slime all onto my face. He hunched his back and a set of bony bat wings ripped out of his spine with a sickening crunching sound. When he arose to his full height - twenty feet high and consuming every inch of the corridor with his bulk - he was a terrible demon to behold.

"This doesn't even make sense!" I shouted. "You can't be Cthulhu!"

He bellowed, "Nothing makes sense anymore! That pathetic demon was weak. I consumed him! I'm running things down there now, and soon the bounds of hell will be broken!"

He laughed and swung at me with his clawed hands. I backed away, narrowly dodging an attack. "Oh I'm not going to kill you, not yet," he bellowed in a thunderous yet squeaky voice. "First, I'll kill everyone you love. Starting with that jackass Mandelbaum!"

He roared, and the whole house began to shake. The lights were flickering and changing colors, creating a swirling, vivid neon vortex that seemed to be a portal opening to another dimension. As Keith-ulhu stomped and smashed, the ceiling was crumbling and collapsing all around me. A crack opened in the floorboards beneath my feet, emitting a blinding, infernal light. I backed away in terror as a loose chandelier came crashing down on me--

--And then I awoke back in the dining hall. I was on the floor, my chair having spilled over. Mandelbaum was leaning over me, shaking me, but I leapt to my feet, screaming something about Keithulhu. Mandelbaum said I was just dreaming, and there was nothing going on. It was probably all a hallucination brought on by the effects of the night soil. Worse, the Professor had gone missing. He demanded that I get up and start searching for our friend.

"Mandelbaum, no!" I shouted. "The vision I had was real. It's not safe for you here! You must go! Go, now, before it is all too late for you!"

He backed away slowly from me. Then hesitantly, he said that I was simply trying to deceive him, that all I cared about was winning this stupid competition. With him gone, I'd be the winner. He added that all he ever wanted to was to be a blimpman, to proceed with the ceremony, but all the rest of us - me included - never gave him a second thought. We were so wrapped up in our stupid game. He scowled at me bitterly and said I didn't care about him.

"No, Mandelbaum, that's not true," I cried. Then I took the Hand of Osiris and threw it at him. He caught it, and I said, "Take the prize, I don't care about it any longer! I simply cannot stand to lose you, and if it makes you feel any better, I will be the first to walk out that door. Just promise me, please, that you will follow me."

He stared at me in silence. Moments later, I indeed left the house, hoping he would follow me. But alas, he never did.

In the dead of night, I wandered back down the gravel path, through the thick and discomforting woods, and back to the potter's field where I had parked my blimp. When I got there, I was confused to see that all of the other blimps were still there. Sure enough, there was the Professor's Vitruvia, Shazbot's Millennial Petticoat, Custer's Angelina Eberly, and even Walt Zombney's blimp the Steamboat Willy. All were present. How could this be? All the other blimpmen had left the house before me, some of them days ago. Why were their blimps still here?

A horrifying thought overcame me, and I raced back to the house as fast as my legs could carry me. I was pretty sure I heard the terrifying squawks of squirrels, skittering about in the darkness and in the treetops above me, but I didn't stick around long enough to find out. I was afraid something sinister was indeed afoot.

#visions #keithulhu #forfeit #handofosiris
#browneye #whereiseveryone

Friday

I returned to the Horowitz House but didn't see The Count as I entered, nor could I find Mandelbaum anywhere. I was shouting his name, and my voice echoed through the empty halls. I was all alone. Some sinister force was indeed at play, and I feared I was too late to save my friends.

When I turned around, a knife came within inches of my throat. Clive's long, thin arm was outstretched in front of me, and he had the point of his knife aimed right at my jugular.

"Take another step, and I'm afraid that'll be the end of you, sir."

"Clive, you treacherous monster - what have you done with my friends?" But he didn't respond; rather, he told me to start walking and we made our way into the library.

As he led me forward at knifepoint, I was thinking of a way to escape from Clive, but he was diligently keeping that sharp blade within striking distance. I knew a sudden move on my part would be foolish. When we got to the library, he made his way toward a marble Venus de Milo replica near a bookcase. He pressed his hands on the statuette's bosoms, and suddenly the bookcase swung open, revealing a secret passage into the anterior wall. (Had I not been a hostage in that situation, I would have thought it was pretty cool. Secret passages are always fun.)

He urged me forward and we continued down into a dark, dank hallway that led down a long ramp. The darkness ahead was unsettling. "Keep walking," he hissed.

We must have traveled 50 or so meters underground. Clive made me hold a lantern, which was the only source of light, and as I saw the long-neglected stonework of this mysterious tunnel, I gradually started to piece together the clues about the nature of this secret passage. I recalled that the house was indeed a part of the Underground Railroad, and this must have been one of its clandestine routes to and from the main house.

We came to a pit somewhere beneath the earth, and inside, I was horrified to see that my friends were all there! There was Walt Zombney, old Colonel Futtermann, Cooper, Scott, the Professor, and even Mandelbaum. They were all bound and gagged and tied to chairs. How Clive had managed to capture all of them, I could only guess, but this proved he was a far more cunning villain than I gave him credit for.

"I demand you release me and my companions at once," I said assertively, but it was a futile attempt.

Clive laughed as he forced me into a chair and started tying me up. He said, "You're in no position to be making demands, blimpman. If anything, you should be settling your debts with your creator, for none of you will live past midnight. The squirrels will be here soon enough."

My eyes went wide, "Squirrels? What squirrels?"

"Try to keep up," said Clive. "This was all their doing. They've been trying to summon their demonic lord for the better part of a hundred and fifty years, but all sacrifices up until now have failed."

"What are you talking about, Clive?"

"I'm talking about Cthulhu, you fool! You've heard the story by now. He is their overlord, and he demands a sacrifice in order to arise and bring his forthcoming apocalypse. It is only we butlers of the house who were wise enough to choose the right side in this ongoing conflict."

I started to realize his role in the terrifying tale. I said, "Your great-great-grandfather didn't serve the Horowitz family... he betrayed them."

"All for the greater good," declared Clive. "My ancestor was wise enough to know that humans were eventually going to lose the war. Therefore, he made a pact with the squirrels and helped arrange the human sacrifice for Cthulhu. The Horowitz family was indeed a pure and noble family and made a fitting sacrifice. The Governor had been combating the squirrel threat for years and was helping all victims from the South - not just slaves - escape the rodents' violence. Horowitz was going to destroy the squirrel-infested woods surrounding this house, but that just made them... angry."

"So your ancestor was the one who... murdered them."

"The sacrifice went according to plan, but the Horowitzes were not sufficient enough to please Cthulhu's insatiable appetite. Though an honorable family they were, there was simply not enough blood to summon him. So that brings us to now..."

He waved his arm and pointed to me and my fellow blimpmen. I realized, finally, just what this all meant. I gasped. "This has all been a ploy to lure blimpmen into this house."

"That is correct," replied Clive. "A society of blimpmen as noble and honorable as all of you will surely be the sacrifice that Cthulhu requires. He will feast on your pure and selfless hearts. And this time, there will be plenty of blood to go around."

He started sharpening his knife on a whetstone, and I cringed at the sound of each scratchy stroke he made. He continued, "It was simple enough to capture each of your friends as they fled from the house. I knew the underground tunnels well enough to drag them all here once I knocked them all out. The Colonel was especially easy to transport, having passed out before I even got to him. You even helped me load him onto the carriage! But the others were no more difficult, honestly. They never even saw it coming. Who would suspect a butler?"

I kicked myself and whispered quietly, "It's always the damned butler..."

Clive continued, "The big one over there put up quite a fight." He pointed to Mandelbaum. "At first, I deceived him by telling him you had fallen and hurt yourself when you fled the house last night, so he was easy enough to dupe into following me here, but when we arrived, it took a few extra doses of chloroform to knock him out. So I think he'll be the first to go."

Then he finished sharpening his knife and stood up tall. He marched toward Mandelbaum with his knife held high, and I screamed, "Wait, no! Please take me instead!"

But Clive wasn't listening. He raised the knife high over Mandelbaum's head. No matter how hard I screamed, a look of murderous bloodlust consumed Clive's eyes. Mandelbaum blinked at me sadly, and I was hopeless. All our moments of friendship together were flashing before my eyes, and I knew, deep in my heart, this was the end for him.

Somehow, I always knew my life's tale would end in tragedy...

Clive's knife came down and--

--A metallic bong sound filled the room. Clive's lanky body tumbled to the floor in an unconscious heap. The Count was standing there with a metal pipe in his hand, breathing heavily. He looked worse for the wear, having somehow suffered a tremendous gash across his forehead. He was bleeding badly, and his cloak was ripped. Blood was also dripping from his mouth, but I couldn't tell if it was his own.

"Count!" I shouted. "You have saved us! Quickly, untie us please."

"Right away," he said.

As he was cutting us free, the Professor spat out his gag and said, "Wait, how did you get inside? I thought you could only enter the home with the permission of the master."

"Ah yes indeed," replied The Count, "you may not have noticed when Clive - the current owner of the house - unwittingly invited me inside." I didn't recall hearing that happen, but The Count continued, "I never trusted that sneaky rat, and I knew that egging him on would cause him to be careless about me. He picked a fight with me on the veranda saying, 'If you want a piece of me, then come in here and get me!' That was exactly the invitation I needed."

"Well, we're glad you made it, and just in time," I said, "but how did you get all those wounds?"

"Clive was telling the truth about one thing. The squirrels are coming. In fact, they are already here. I've been fighting them off as best I could, but their numbers were too great. I'm afraid the house is entirely surrounded."

With that, we made sure to bind up Clive nice and tight and we left him there in the tunnel. The rest of us - the whole entourage of blimpmen - retreated back to the house. As soon as we got inside, we snuck a glance out the window and sure enough, out on the lawn were a dozen squirrels - no, a dozen-dozen. They kept pouring in through the dark forest surrounding the house, and their numbers were increasing by the second.

"It's an invasion!" declared the Colonel. "This is war, gentlemen!"

The Professor shouted, "Quick! Everyone to the lounge!"

We retreated into the Governor's lounge where we quickly took up a defensive position. Mandelbaum pressed the piano up against the door, while The Count and I knocked over bookcases to act as barricades. Everyone armed themselves. Cooper found an old musket mounted over the fireplace, which still seemed to be in working condition. The Count was using one of his magical illusions to make blue fire emit from his fists, the Colonel had made a Molotov cocktail out of an absinthe bottle, Scott Shazbot was swinging a cord of shattered Christmas lights, and the rest of us grabbed whatever we could find - pipes, letter openers, a rusty axe. Though vastly outnumbered, it was impressively clear that none of us were going down without a fight.

It was quiet for a few moments as we waited for the impending attack. We almost assumed that the squirrels wouldn't be daring enough to attack our group, but how wrong we were. Suddenly, all hell rained down upon us. Squirrels were bombarding us from every possible entrance. Some smashed at the barricaded door, some were crawling in through the air vents in the walls, and others were charging through the window.

Cooper blasted a few of them away with the musket, The Count was tossing blue fireballs in every direction, and the Colonel was delivering wallops with his own "fists of fire", but it wasn't enough to stave off the attack. For what seemed like hours, we were bravely fighting for our lives. Every blimpman in that roomed showed his true colors, and not a single one of us was a weak link in the battle.

Mandelbaum was stomping squirrels left and right, Walt Zombney was grabbing them by the handful and shoving them into his mangled mouth, and even I got in a series of unstoppable kicks that sent squirrel bodies sailing limply across the room.

But we each suffered grievous wounds. Scott had a bite on his neck that was bleeding profusely, and the Professor was knocked out by an untimely acorn thrown at his temple. I even stubbed my toe.

Though a mountain of squirrel corpses piled up in the room, their invading horde seemed to have no end, and all hope was beginning to fade for us. Their numbers were simply too great, and our most valiant efforts were not enough. I turned to Mandelbaum in the chaos and confusion and took solace in a comforting glance exchanged between us. I knew he had forgiven me for all my selfishness this week, and I knew we would find each other again in the afterlife.

"Official ceremony or not, you're the finest blimpman I know," I said proudly to him. "It is an honor to die by your side."

But then he said quite simply, "Ah hell no, bro, I ain't dying today!"

It was the single-greatest rally cry that any of us could have heard, for after that, it was like a second wind came over us. We each picked up our arms and fought tooth and nail until every last squirrel in that room was either slain or driven off, retreating back into the darkness from whence they came.

Once we were assured that victory was achieved, we let out tremendous celebratory "Huzzahs!" and praised each other with hearty claps on the back. Though each one of us was battered, bruised, and bloody, never has there been a finer moment of celebration amongst the Secret Society of the Blimpmen.

We waited all night in the lounge, holding our position, but the squirrels never returned. As the morning sun crept over the hill, we stuck around to lick our wounds and get some rest where we could. Clive was hauled off by the local authorities, who also suspected that the pile-up of night soil beneath the house was caused by our large group's sudden appearance there. Apparently we wreaked havoc upon the decrepit old sewer system. I guess that one was our bad.

Additionally, the entire mood around the Horowitz House seemed to have changed. The air was crisp and clear (aside from the lingering musk of the night soil), and for the first time, light was pouring in through the windows. I do believe our actions in defeating the squirrels helped settle a long score, and I wondered if the lingering spirits of the Horowitz family - if they had ever been trapped there to begin with - were finally at peace and able to move on.

Best of all, we were finally able to give Mandelbaum the thing he most desired - his induction into the Secret Society. We performed the ancient ritual (which I shall not reveal here), though I was a little upset we skipped the part where the inductee strips down naked and we lather his body with fragrant oils.

"That's not part of the ceremony," said the Professor. Whatever. I guess we're just changing five hundred years of tradition then, huh?

Anyway, I met up with Mandelbaum afterward and shared a moment alone with him. I thanked him for being my truest friend in all the universe. I was proud to say, also, that having been the last remaining person inside the Horowitz House, he was the winner of our competition. The Hand of Osiris was all his. He said he didn't really care about the prize, as he suspected it was just a prop from an old costume shop (there was even a price tag still stuck to the bottom of the severed wrist), but he was glad to be a part of the Blimping Corps.

Together with the Professor, Colonel Futtermann, Walt Disney's Zombie, Cooper Custer, Scott Shazbot, and The Count, we raised a toast and joyously celebrated our newest member. I can only imagine what the future holds for Mandelbaum, but I can assure you of one thing: he and I will be side by side in whatever adventure awaits.

#theend #winner #blimpmandy #killerclive #squirrelbattle
#epicfinale #horowitzhouse #blimptales #totheskies

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