netherworldnotgone

[netherworldnotgone]

Chapter 2: Another Business Proposal

As soon as Lydia vanishes into the kitchen, you turn to the inside cover of the book to check the list of targets. Etched below Charles and Lydia is another pair with matching surnames: Adam and Barbara Maitland.

You find it a little odd for a second family to be in here. For all you know, this could be a haunted boarding house and Juno’s sent you to evict a happy couple on vacation. 

Or more blood relatives. 

The next name, “Schlimmer, Delia”, does seem to add to the boarding house theory, as well as the one on the bottom, “Shoggoth, Lawrence Betelgeuse”.

That last one causes you to wrinkle your nose involuntarily. 

How the hell did someone with the weirdest middle and last name you’ve ever seen end up with a name like Lawrence? Come to think of it, why is their middle name specified at all? Guess those’ll be questions to ask before you stab them in the back.

You flip back to the section you were working through, and you’ve found that stress is not an experience exclusive to the living. As you desperately skim through the words, trying to make sense of all the theorems and rules, your brain feels like it’s going to catch on fire. 

You’re clutching your throbbing head, trying to wrap it around the difference between complementary and supplementary angles, when you hear a deep voice clear its throat. 

Standing before you is Charles Deetz, wearing a concerned expression.

“...Are you alright?” he asks.

You’ve clearly passed the point of hiding your breakdown. You shake your head, teeth gritted.

“Let’s see what we have here.” 

He calmly offers a hand and takes the book, but his brow furrows as soon as his eyes scan the pages.

“Ah. I’m more of a…realtor than a structural engineer,” he admits, sheepishly.

He hands the book back, and gestures to the seat to your left. You pat the couch cushion, and he sits down with a groan.

Charles sighs.

“Seems like everyone’s suffering through things they don’t talk about, nowadays. Lord knows we’re all familiar with that here.”

He chuckles, but there’s no mirth in his breath. He’s fidgeting with a simple silver band on his left ring finger.

“I can’t pretend to understand what you’re going through, but I was young and taking jobs I couldn’t handle, too.”

You barely stop yourself from letting out a bitter laugh, yourself. 

Charles turns to face you in earnest. As you take in his rigid posture, unflinching eyes, and ink-black suit, you realize you’ve switched from talking to Charles the father to Charles the businessman, now.

“At the rate this is going, I don’t think you or Lydia will be gaining anything but migraines from this session. I can pay you for your trouble and send you home right now, and I assure you I’ll do my best to make sure you aren’t fired. But the bottom line is, this is your decision.”

Before you can come up with an answer, you feel a pulsing sensation in one of your hands.

The one that shook Juno’s.

You quickly glance to your palm to find that there are glowing red markings scrawled all over it. 

Charles clears his throat, bringing your attention back to the situation at hand.

[netherworldnotgone]

Chapter One: The Revenge of Highschool Mathematics

You stumble out of the Netherworld and right onto the porch of an old-looking house. But before you get a second to observe any more of your surroundings something else flies out of the door and whacks you squarely in the back of the head, sending you stumbling forward for the second time today.

You look down at the projectile as the door closes behind you, and see an ordinary-looking high school maths textbook.

Assuming its being thrown at your head means it’s important, you stoop to grab the book. But you barely have time to stand, let alone investigate, before the doorbell rings of its own accord. There’s just a moment to pull yourself together before the door opens - answered by a tall, broad man you’re pretty sure could knock you right back to the Netherworld if he so desired.

“Ah,” he says, when he sees the book you’re holding. “You must be the new tutor?”

Remembering the rule of ‘yes, and,’ you attempt to make your “...Yes…?” at least somewhat convincing. And it must work, because the man holds out a hand to shake.

“Charles Deetz,” he introduces himself. “Thank you for coming out.”

You make your own introductions, and follow him into the house. He shows you to a table in the front room.

“I’ll just find you your student,” he says, heading towards the stairs.

You assume it’s a fair bet to think that this man is one of the ‘troublemakers’ who need ‘guiding’. It tracks - of course that demon-looking lady sent you after someone who had a kid. And sure enough, when you finally open the textbook and find a list titled ‘Fugitives for Retrieval’, Charles’ name is right at the top. You try to reason with yourself that this mission was always going to be at least a little fucked up.

You read the next name - Deetz, Lydia - as Charles yells up the stairs. Calling his kid with the same name printed on your hitlist.

Wow. Okay. Bit more fucked up than anticipated.

Lydia - your student-slash-target, apparently - comes downstairs dressed head-to-toe in black, and seemingly with very little enthusiasm. Charles lingers long enough for introductions to be made, his hand resting on his daughter’s shoulder, before retreating upstairs. So now it’s just you and the kid, who is quite obviously waiting for you to say something.

Thing is, you fucking suck at maths.

“...So,” you say eventually. “What topic are you on at school?” Seems as good a place to start as any. Lydia shrugs.

“Well, algebra, but I missed the first half, and at least one unit before it. Was out of school entirely for a while, and it’s still kinda hard to focus now I’m back.” She looks down at the table, avoiding your eyes. “...grief, y'know…” she mumbles.

Right. Just getting steadily more fucked up, then.

Hoping desperately that reading from the textbook will be enough to bullshit your way through this, you flip back to a topic Lydia says she missed. Trigonometry. Did she have to miss trigonometry, of all things? And just to add insult to injury, other issues aside, it turns out that this kid is actually good at maths.

After the fifth time that your student corrects you on the proper application of soh-cah-toa, you try to convince her that you’re just trying to make sure she’s keeping focus. A bluff which, apparently, falls flat.

“Maybe you should go to my next maths class,” she says, her tone dry. “Think you’d get more out of it than me.”

Starting to feel a little less bad about the mission, now.

You pretend to laugh as you slide the textbook away from her. “Sure, sure. Y’know what, why don’t we take a breather? Go- go get a snack or a drink or something, go on.”

You wave a hand at her, indicating for her to leave. Lydia looks somewhat baffled at being practically shooed away, but she gets to her feet with an “...okay…” before disappearing into the kitchen. Leaving you alone in the front room.

[netherworldnotgone]

Prologue

Dying hadn’t been an experience you’d call pleasant. And then there’d been the book, and the instruction to move on to the Netherworld… You’d have thought it was some kind of practical joke if you hadn’t been standing over your own very deceased body. 

So you drew the door and the second it cracked open the pull of the Netherworld had dragged you, away from everything living and into its depths of darkness.

You wandered in the darkness, flinching as others of the recently deceased passed you by, until a voice rang out in the darkness. With nothing better to do, you did as the other wandering dead did and headed towards it.

The green-skinned woman gripped her keyboard and shuffled them all into line. You glanced along and there had to be several dozen gathered, most sporting some kind of grievous injury. The man next to you had some kind of metal pipe going right through one eye and out the back of his head, and you recoiled a little. He, on the other hand, didn’t seem bothered by it at all.

Time, whatever that meant in this place, ticked on and you fidgeted in your spot in line, before a new voice interrupted the quiet.

“My name is Juno!” The croaky voice called out, and you peered around everyone else who’d turned to look to see an old, severe looking woman with an impossibly tall hairdo. She took a long drag from a cigarette before her face was clouded with smoke that leaked out from her throat before she started marching slowly along the line, barking out instructions.

As she finished shouting about liquids, a glowing gateway appeared in the nothingness. Juno stood by it and when no one made a move she screamed again.

“Get a move on! I haven’t got eternity to spend on you lot!” With a sharp gesture, the line started to file through the gateway and off into…whatever came beyond.

The green skinned woman with the clipboard stood by her, checking things off as each person stepped through, while Juno stared hard into every face. A couple of times she stopped someone and gave them a look over before snorting out in annoyance and pushing them on through. 

You approached, making to step through, when a clawed hand slammed down on your shoulder.

“You. Wait.” With a dark smile, Juno gave you a look over, before shoving at your shoulder to get you to turn around. “How’d this one die?” She asked. Her eyes were locked on you, but it was the woman with her clipboard who answered.

“Good,” Juno said. “No visible marks.” She pulled you away from the gate and off to the side. “You wait here til we’re done.”

You watched as the rest of the line was shuffled on through, too scared to do anything but wait like you'd been directed. 

“So!” Juno said finally, turning to you. “You want another shot at life - don’t argue, everybody does. You want life, and I have a job that needs doing back on the breather side. So, we can strike a deal. Miss Argentina!” She snapped and the other woman jumped forward, pen at the ready over her clipboard. She looked more than a little uncertain about this whole thing, but didn’t say anything.

“Our deal,” she continued. “In exchange for return to life in the breather world, you - what’s your name?” You jumped at her snap of a question and gave your name. Miss Argentina noted it down.

“You get to live again in exchange for guiding a few troublemakers through to the Netherworld. Three breathers, three ghosts. Simple work. So, we have a deal?”

The way she said it, it wasn’t really a question, but there was a dark slickness that also promised it wasn’t anything near as simple as she was making it sound. 

Her hand was stuck out though, expectantly, and despite all your misgivings, you took it.

Juno’s smile grew wicked, Miss Argentina’s expression more concerned, but there was nothing to do about it now. With the handshake a chill had run through your body and there’d been a definite sensation of something happening. 

“Well, there you go,” Juno dropped your hand and gestured behind you. Another doorway had appeared, ringed in green like the one you’d been pulled through into the Netherworld.

“Don’t keep me waiting long.”

You didn’t get a chance to say anything before a hand shoved you hard in the back and sent you stumbling right through.

[netherworldnotgone]

Collaborative Fan Fiction Incoming

ATTENTION NETHERLINGS!!!

The Netherworld Never Truly Gone discord server will be beginning their first collaborative project very soon, but we're gonna need some help. You will be assisting us in writing the story! That's right! After each story part is posted there will be a poll posted for you to vote on what happens next. The writers will then continue the story based on the option with the highest amount of votes.

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