The Heir Part I: Heritage (A Percy Jackson Fanfiction)

Chapter Thirty-Nine: "The Mansion of Night"

If you've ever seen a movie with a haunted house in it, or rather, a haunted mansion, you know exactly what Nyx's mansion looks like. The whole thing glows with an eerie purple light, almost like the Shadow Train. The windows are all boarded up. I get the feeling it's to keep things in rather than out. Ivy— or some jet-black Tartarus equivalent of ivy— marches boldly up the crumbling black-gray brick.
I wish I could say I boldly marched up to the mansion, but the truth is, just being near it makes me feel like I'm deep-throating giant slugs. Muffin doesn't look much better. He's drooling like crazy— which I think I read somewhere that dogs do when stressed— and his fur is bristling. His ears are flattened, his eyes darting from one place to another like caffeinated grasshoppers.
I use my sword to slice a strip off of my jeans— I'm too attached to my sweatshirt by now to rip that— and I tie it around my face, making sure there's no place where I can see out. A blindfold. I'm not taking any chances.
Then, grabbing a fist of Muffin's fur in one hand and the can in the other, I stumble into the mansion.
I thought that, with a blindfold on, I was in darkness. But the Mansion of Nyx was a whole new level of oblivion. It's so dark that the very air seems to press its fists into my eyes. My ears pop and pop again. You don't know Darkness until you've been inside Nyx's Mansion.
From all around me, there's a sound like snakes writhing in dry grass. Something is whispering in words I can't understand. I feel a strong urge to remove my blindfold, as if being able to see would help me hear better, even though every movie I've seen suggests otherwise.
I hear Muffin growling softly, like sleeping with a cranky air conditioning unit in the room, and I wonder if he even realizes he's doing it.
"This way," he croaks in a hoarse whisper, and together we march (more like stumble) deeper into the realm of darkness.
****
I'm very glad for Thalia's shoes.
They might be in bad shape from walking across Tartarus, but they still work, and if it weren't for them, I would never be able to keep up with Muffin. He, as a creature of the night, is able to look at the mansion's interior, but I can tell he'll be experiencing the side effects afterwards regardless. I doubt even the Olympians could see this place without, at the very least, a bad case of PTSD. Without warning, my feet pick up the pace, walking, jogging, running, then all out sprinting.
Which is why, before I know it, I'm ankle deep in the waters of Pure Night.
I can feel it. My jeans aren't getting wet, but I can feel darkness seeping into my pores, ice crawling up my bones. Instantly, I step out, and some of the feeling abates, but mostly it's too late. The darkness is a part of me now. Inside me. I drop to my knees, my infected legs no longer able to hold me, tingling and numb all at once, like an extreme version of your feet falling asleep. My hands shaking, I dip the can into the water, filling it up while being careful not to touch the water with my skin. With the other hand, I press the lid onto it. As a regular soup can, the lid never would have worked, but I guess since it's magic, all is well. As I touch the lid to the can, the metal seals itself, welding to the top of the can, sealing the darkness inside. Gripping the hand in my left hand, I reach back up to Muffin.
My hand closes on nothing but air.
"Muffin!" I scream, desperation and terror clamping their steely hands around my heart. "Muffin! Where are you?"
No response. I use both hands to clasp the can, afraid that it too will vanish.
"M-Muffin?" I say again, but with every second, my voice gets weaker, as if the very air in this place, like Night itself, consumes all else.
I stumble away from the Pool of Darkness. Muffin has to be here somewhere.
Muffin!
This time, nothing comes out, and the hopelessness swirls in my head.
He abandoned you.
He wouldn't.
Oh really?
He wouldn't.
But he did.
Evil thoughts turn my head into their stomping ground, trampling every emotion except pain.
Filling me with hopelessness, just like Misery.
Dark thoughts.
Nyx isn't just the goddess of Darkness and Night. She's the patron of all things evil. The creator of all things that are painful.
And right now, her sights are set on me.
I have no choice. Muffin is gone. Without him, I'll never be able to get out, and if I don't get out, this can of Night is useless. I'll wander these halls forever, blind, unable to escape. But I won't let that happen.
I have to take off the blindfold.
There's no time to overthink it. Every second I spend alone in this place, I'll get more and more lost. More and more corrupt, and scared, and depressed.
My hands quiver, like those of a conductor, trying to conduct an entire orchestra at the speed of light. The strange, serpent-like whispering gets louder, stronger, closer, drawing in nearer to see what I'll do. The closer my hands get to my face, the louder the voices get. They're definitely voices, though they're speaking in a language so ancient, so alien, that I can barely tell they're voices at all. Not English, not Greek, not the small bits of Spanish I learned, not anything earthly, but I imagine they're talking to me, saying the same thing over and over: "Take off your mask," they say, hissing in my ear. "Take it off. Let go. Give in. Give up."
As I struggle to guide my trembling hands around the knot, I scrunch my eyes shut. Every instinct is telling me, screaming at me, begging me, "don't look!
The now useless scrap of denim flutters to the floor, and I imagine I can hear it hit the ground with a loud boom, but that might just be my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
I open my eyes.
At first, my brain cannot comprehend what I'm seeing. I have time to think, Well, this isn't so bad.
Then the shadows consume me, and I can no longer think of anything at all.