Hush the Scarred Soul

IV. Ichabod & the Valentine Brothers pt. I

♫ O, they saaaaaay

They’ll take my heart

Tear me apart

Turn my soul to dust

But ne’er will they 

Catch me

‘fore I turn them into lunch!

O, merry man, cherry man

Don’t ye look so sick?

Well, sit on down

No need to frown  

We’ll fix ye up for dinner quick!

The main course’ll be the cheeks

Served with a side of rye

The second course shall be the breast

And for dessert the eyes! 

Cheer up, my friend

And listen good

Don‘t be so discontented

For your life will ne‘er 

Be remembered

Nor will you be lamented ♫

Ichabod swung his trocar and curved needle around merrily as he sang, reeling a bit too much in the pleasure of his work. Once he had completed his work around the neck area, where he had carved an intricate necklace into the young woman’s flesh, he carelessly threw his tools over his shoulder with a tilt of his head as he began humming his song.

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CASE FILE:  Subject 010

NAME:  Ichabod Valentine

ABILITIES:  Unknown, though thought to be immense and reckless

PERSONALITY/OTHER:  Suffers from paranoid schizophrenia, though few know it; becomes very grim and malicious when threatened, and jubilant and merry when working on ‘projects’; very shy and bashful around women in general; otherwise, very reserved.

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The ting of more bloodied and stained tools as they hit the floor echoed in the otherwise eerie silence of the darkened room. Ichabod continued his work, instead picking up brush and make-ups to complete his most recent discretion. He dabbed a bit of pink here and there on the cheekbones, a bit of rose on the lips that he had mechanically upturned; his final installation was nearing absolute completion. He only had one more thing to do…

Ichabod flung his brush and paints on the metal tray next to him and grabbed at the young woman’s arms, picking her up quickly and twirling her about him as he hummed his too familiar tune.

“Ta-tum, ta-tum, ta-dummmm,” he finished the song and flung the girl into a recliner in the far corner of the room, dramatically bowing his head past his chest, his arm out behind him; her sky blue dress billowed out around her knees and squished underneath her as she slumped down into the chair; Ichabod licked his thumb and pushed a stray blonde lock aside from her face before positioning her upright in the soft seat. “There,” he mused, his voice ringing with finality. He then stood to his full height--all six feet seven inches of it--and clasped his hands behind his back, surveying his work.

The setting was spectacular--all the props in just the right places, all of the guests together in form befitting of the perfect family. Yes, he would entitle it that…the perfect family. Considering his surroundings one last time before agreeing on everything as it was, Ichabod walked toward his camera; he leaned down and lifted the veil over his head, and grabbed ahold of the adjustment dial. After he had everything perfectly aligned, he smiled to himself.

“Still, now, everyone,” he whispered, “ we don’t want the picture ruined.” He chuckled at their mischievousness; when would they ever learn to behave? Shaking their nuisance from his thoughts, he refocused his attention on the setting, and with one quick snap! the photograph was taken. He would put it in the bin to develop soon enough. Smiling, he took in his work:  the plush living-room set up housed a family in its apparent entirety--a boulderish man in his late fifties with slacks and a crooked set of suspenders, an elegantly plump brunette woman in her late forties with an equally plump gown, a young black-haired boy dressed in knickers and stockings, and a fair skinned beauty in the midst of her teen years with golden curls befitting a porcelain doll in a moderately embellished blue dress and coat….all of them, sitting together; all of them, smiling much too happily.

“Ichabod!” A voice called from beyond the door. Ichabod turned his head quickly, disgruntled at being interrupted. At least he had taken the photograph before being called upon. He wiped an escaped strand of almost-black hair out of his face and walked toward the door of the room. They would wait for him to answer the door…they would not dare to open the door on their own and enter the room if they knew what was good for them.

Of course, he knew his brothers did not lack curiosity, but he trusted them enough not to go snooping around--sometimes.

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I know, I know, it's very short. I apologize. I needed to update this part, solely, so you could have it : )

I'll be posting more soon, and it'll get into the nitty gritty details of the ACTUAL story, so stay tuned!