'Go to sleep,' he thought, turning around in the lush bed he now owned. His brow furrowed as he turned around in his bed for the nth time that night. 'Go to bed,' he thought more vehemently. After tossing and turning some more he finally laid on his back as he looked up into darkness.
There was no light in his room, he never really liked the light to begin with. It hurt his eyes and he could never find Az in the light, never and always alone at the same time. It made his head hurt just thinking of it.
He sighed as he tossed the blanket off of him, his short legs dangling off of the side before he jumped down, off the bed.
'Do the dishes!' His aunt's voice screams in his ears.
'You better quit that boy!' His uncle shouted.
Charon whimpered in distress, his hand going to cover his ears as he leaned to the side. He took in a deep breath, trying to calm himself.
He walks down the dingy staircase, the only light in the halls are from the burning red torches. The floor was dark yet the fire cast eerie red lighting down the stairs, his steps the only things you could hear in the echoing dark mansion. His bare feet decorated with fluffy socks padded against the floor in stealthy steps, his eyes wandering, his hand trailing on the left side of walls, walking towards the large back door and slowly opening it and stepping out.
The moon shone down onto the ground, lighting it a tinted white, the trees shadows stretched for a nth amount of space. He walks silently through the eerie forest, distant sounds of birds chirping, leaves rustling, and the twigs crunching under his feet make him smile from the rush it fills his chest with.
>>>>>>>>>>>
His legs swung as he sat in the tall chair, his gaze wandering Mr. Slendy's office. Toby sat in another chair that was beside him, facing a desk and behind that desk sat slenderman. The room held a silence that even compared to the mornings with Aunt Petunia and him in the kitchen, her creepy eyes examining him as he cooked.
Toby threw an arm behind Charon's chair, resting on his back. "Sooo, w-what's the mission Mr. Slendy" Toby spoke with giddiness in his voice, practically jumping from his seat, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
Charon remained impassive as he stared up at the tall form of slenderman. The static electricity that accompanied his voice bounced off the walls in his head "you will be dealing with a child abuser" he spoke, setting down a picture of an older man, who looked to be in his late thirties or early forties. "His name is Richard Phillips, he lives with his one daughter, separated from his wife and son, his is 38, and an alcoholic" his same eerie staticky words echoed through his head but he nodded along, glancing up at Toby, wondering how they would work together, as he was more of a stealthy, strategic killer, Toby was more head-on, go with the flow, type killer.
He turns his head back to slender as he dismisses them. Standing, Charon walks out the door, stopping next to it to wait for Toby to talk of the plan they most likely will need. "What do you propose?" Charon asked in a soft voice, his eyes staring eerily up at Toby.
"W-well! You do the planning I do— shhh— the action" he spoke excitedly, his neck cracking as he shook his hands.
Charon sighed as he ran his hands through his longer hair, it reached his shoulder blades, which was quite surprising since it's only been about 3 months since he arrived, but also he's been eating much better than at his… past home. "Fine," he states, "I'll be heading to my room for a moment, to think of a plan, then I'll meet you back up tonight and we'll enact it." He murmurs, waving his hand to Toby as he walks to his room.
>>>>>>>>>>
He sat on a tree branch, his leg swinging off of it as he observed the grand house in front of him, the lights were still on, Toby was above him, standing instead of sitting. "So you go in, stealthily get the kids, then— woo!— I rush in a- shit!— and kill t-the dude?" Toby spoke, making Charon nod as he stood up.
"Yep." Charon emphasized the P when he spoke, slowly getting down from the tree. He wasn't as good as to jump down and look good while doing it, he's only been training with Jeff for the past 2 and a half months, he's also, sadly, been getting etiquette lessons with the girls.
Charon slowly made his way across the large lawn, his steps silent and it appeared as though he was floating. Toby stayed in the tree, as he wouldn't act until Charon gave him the signal.
He took a small Bobby pin from his hair, he decided that he would always keep one on him, just in case. He slowly opened up the locked door, making sure to try and be as silent as possible, even if he was a bit sloppy.
Even if he was sloppy he made sure to not leave any evidence at the places his missions took place at, being extra careful about it.
He walked on the hardwood floor, the house was dark, the halls quiet as he made his way towards the guest bedroom, pausing in front of the door, he flicked his dagger in his hand, a gleam from the moon shooting upwards, the sign for Toby to come in.
He opened the door, the kid, daughter, slept in it, he quietly walked to her sleeping form, he didn't want to hurt her or scare her for that matter, he quickly and quietly picked her up, making sure not to jostle her too much before making his way out the door, noticing that Toby had already went inside, he ignored the distant screams.
He silently set the sleeping girl on the doorsteps to an old lady that he knew was nice and cared for the girl. He wrapped the girl in multiple layers of blankets, not wanting her to get too cold. He left after a while, making sure to ring the doorbell before leaving quickly, high-fiving Toby, who was covered in blood.
>>>>>>>
Charon sat back at the desk in front of slendy, looking up at the tall entity with wide eyes "I'm a what?!" He exclaimed, his hands on the desk in front of him, his eyes held a mix of surprise and excitement.
"A wizard, as explained, and a famous one, as explained again" slendy spoke with a monotone voice, opposite of Charon who was practically jumping with joy.
"So I can do… magic?" Charon speaks the word with a grimace, and while the 'parents' he used to have were not alive anymore to berate, more like beat, him for saying such a word the fear itself is still there.
Slendy nods, "and… and I'm famous?" Charon spoke again, his eyebrows furrowed "because, somehow, I defeated this dude who tried to kill me as a baby? I mean I guess I'm glad he tried to make it painless but still… isn't that a bit weird? After all I was a baby" Charon mumbles, zoning out as he thought, he did always have strange things happen around him, after all sometimes when he was gardening for his aunt he could talk to snakes, it was pretty freaky.
"Precisely" slender spoke calmly nodding along with his words "and you'll be taking lessons to learn how to control this magic" his static voice spoke calmly, like normal but every nerve in Charon was bouncing and twitching to gain information about this strange ability he found out he had.
"Are there any books you have right now that I could read about it, my magic?" He spoke quickly, slender nodding.
"I'll send them to your room later, for now go train with Jeffery" he spoke calmly, Charon nodding along eagerly before jumping down from his seat and running his way towards the living area.
>>>>>>>
Charon stared up at the women with wonder, the lady had white hair and tan skin, with pointy ears on the side of her hair, she stared back at him with an eyebrow raised. She cleared her throat before speaking "you may call me professor shalia, i will be teaching you charms, and later on arithmancy as well." she spoke calmly, her voice stern but warming. "We will be starting with the charm, lumos, a spell that gives light" she says while doing the wand movement and whispering the incantation, making the tip of her wand light up.
He uses the custom wand that Slendy got him, since he wasn't supposed to use magic until he registered at 11, Slendy went to a… friend that owed him a favor.
"Wait!" Charon spoke eagerly, if a bit loudly "what are you" he asked with wonder in his eyes before speaking abruptly again "that wasn't meant to sound mean" he spoke, no remorse in his eyes either way.
"An elf, now let's get on with the lesson, try it" and so the lessons went. Near the end of two hours he had learned three spells, Wingardium leviosa, lumos, and Alohomora.
He would be doing a class called DADA tomorrow, but in the meantime he went to visit EJ, as EJ wanted to teach him something about bodies.
>>>>>>>>
Charon opens up the rustic metal door to the basement, or EJ's room. It was extremely cold inside, and there was a lot of silence. The room was dimly lit, tools and such scattered on the walls, many different hospital-like beds lined the walls below the tools, most having lumps covered by a thin white sheet, most likely a human body underneath the sheet. The room was grimey, blood stains on the beds and sheets, rust on the metal tools and frames of the beds, he heard clanking somewhere, most likely EJ. The air was slightly murky, or thick, he followed the sound into a separate room, looking much cleaner than the other part of the basement, although it wasn't too clean anyways but it was missing a lot of the dirt and the air was less thick.
The room itself wasn't as big as the other parts of the basement, there were drawers on the walls, a, what looks like, medical tray was next to the lone hospital bed in the room, the tray was rusty and had many different types of tools on it, most covered in blood.
EJ was standing next to the bed, gloves on his hands, which didn't do much as his body was still covered in blood. "Good, you're here" his murky voice spoke, pointing to the front of him, or the opposite side of the bed for Charon to go to.
"So- what exactly are we doing here?" Charon spoke with slight confusion etched into his voice.
"Learning" he responded shortly, handing gloves to Charon. Charon automatically put them on.
"Did you just get done with another body?" Charon asked softly, his gaze trailing up and down EJ's body.
"Mh." The man hummed in reply.
"Shouldn't we sterilize these?" Charon asked hesitantly, his gaze meaning EJ's, though they were covered by a mask.
"We don't need to, we're killing them either way." Charon nodded in reply, it seemed reason enough.
"Just watch me, I'm teaching you where every organ is and how to remove them with precision. Be sure to remember and observe." EJ spoke in that murky and muddled voice, the scalpel slicing cleanly down the middle of the person's chest. For all that the scalper and tools are dirty there are most definitely not dull.
Charon watched in excited interest as the skin split down the middle, blood oozing out the wound as he caught a glimpse at bloodied bones. EJ gently took out the intestines, placing them in a large cooler by the patient bed.
"The intestines are probably the easiest to take out, considering they are the longest organ besides skin, we don't need the skin though." EJ explains as his hands become bloodied, gently cutting at
the places where each organ is attached to another, when it came to the livers he set it on the metal plate next to him instead of the cooler.
"I'm going to have a snack after this." EJ explained as if that was completely normal, though for the creepypasta mansion it was.
As longer minutes passed by Charon continued to watch intensely, his eyes trailing EJ's hands at all times as he stood there.
After about 30 minutes the corpse was almost bare, besides its bladder, appendix, and gallbladder.
"We'll be more than likely eating some of these for lunch." EJ says softly. "Well, me and some others. Not everyone likes cannibalism."
>>>>>>>>
Charon sits on his bed, his blood thrumming in his veins as he gazes down at the two books in front of him, both quite large.
His hand wraps around the top one, the title was 'Whispers of the grave: A study of ghosts and spirits' and the bottom one was titled 'The First Steps Beyond the Veil: A Novice's Guide to Necromancy'
Whispers of the Grave: A Study of Ghosts and Spirits
By Vaelor Duskrain
Chapter 1: The Nature of the Unseen
The world of the living and the world of the dead are not as separate as many believe. Though mortals walk in the realm of the tangible, spirits drift just beyond the Veil, unseen but ever-present. To understand ghosts, one must first understand what they truly are. Not all who die linger, and not all who linger remain unchanged. Some spirits are mere echoes, reflections of moments long past, repeating themselves like a melody half-remembered. Others are self-aware, filled with purpose—whether that purpose be vengeance, longing, or confusion.
At the heart of all hauntings lies a single truth: spirits remain because they cannot let go. Whether bound by emotion, duty, or a violent end, ghosts are tethered to the mortal realm by threads of unfinished business. Some seek closure, attempting to resolve what their death left undone. Others refuse to move on out of fear—of judgment, of oblivion, or of losing their very identity. It is for this reason that the study of ghosts is also the study of human nature, for in death, as in life, the soul clings to what it knows.
There are different kinds of spirits, each unique in its existence. Apparitions are the most common—faint, flickering images of the deceased, often bound to a location of great significance. Poltergeists, by contrast, are spirits of emotion, not form, lashing out by disturbing the physical world. Wraiths, revenants, and shadow-born entities are rarer still, beings infused with magic, malice, or something even darker. The distinction between these spirits is vital, for each requires a different approach—one does not reason with a wraith as one would with a lost soul.
The question of where spirits reside when they are not seen is a subject of great debate. Some scholars believe they dwell in a liminal space, neither here nor beyond, a mist-shrouded plane that exists between the living and the dead. Others argue that spirits are simply echoes, reverberations of past energy that flicker in and out of perception. However, necromantic studies have proven that at least some spirits retain thought and will, suggesting that the dead are not merely shadows but sentient beings trapped beyond the reach of time.
To approach the study of ghosts is to step into uncertainty. Unlike the laws of magic or the cycles of nature, the behavior of spirits is unpredictable. What makes one soul move on while another lingers? Why do some ghosts retain their memories while others dissolve into madness? These are questions that scholars have debated for centuries. But if there is one certainty, it is this: the dead do not forget, and they do not leave without reason.
Charon reads attentively, his eyebrows furrow in thought as he calls out softly. "Az?" Charon's voice barely carries through the thick, silent air of his dark room.
He always keeps the room dark unless another proxy is in the room, and even then it would only be a small fire or a crack through the curtains.
|Child.| Death answered immediately, its voice brushing against his ears even though it came from nowhere.
The darkness in his room deepened whenever Az was near. Not like a shadow—shadows came from light. This was something else, something heavier. The air turned dense, like the weight of a hundred unspoken words pressing into Charon's lungs.
But it didn't scare him. Not like it should. If anything, it felt right.
Death had always been with him, after all. Long before he ever knew its name.
"I have a question. Do you talk to me like you do others?" Charon asks softly, His fingers pressed into the book in his lap, gripping the pages like an anchor. He wasn't sure why he felt nervous asking. Maybe because, if Az said yes, it would mean Charon wasn't special. If Az said no… it would mean something else entirely.
A cold weight pressed down on his head, freezing him in place. His breath hitched. He hadn't heard Death move, but suddenly, Az was there—looming, silent, impossibly close. A shiver crawled up Charon's spine, but the touch was not harsh. It was steady.
|No, child.| The voice curled through his mind, thick as smoke, ancient as the grave. |You needn't worry. Why should I speak to anyone but my master?|
Something twisted deep in Charon's chest, something warm.
Slowly, he grinned, though his cheeks flushed with an emotion he couldn't quite name. "Okay," he murmured, softer now, like a promise.
He murmurs softly, remembering what else he had wanted to ask. "Oh- why do-" he got cut off by Death's gentle voice.
|I'll need to take my leave now, I'll see you later, Child.|
The entity disappeared as he heard creaking outside of his door, his door slamming open as a tall figure stood in the doorway.
But the absence left behind was like a phantom limb.
Charon clenched his fists. He hated when Az left so suddenly. It made the room feel… empty.
"Hey kiddo!!" The clown spoke excitedly, Charon wincing softly at the loudness.
"Lj." Charon responded shortly, closing the book and setting it beside him as he redirects his gaze to the clown.
It wasn't fair, he huffed, being so short. He was even shorter than sally! Though she was twelve and he was 8, he was also much smaller thanks to being starved every day. LJ was almost slendys height, and was 7 foot tall.
"I refuse to let you waste away in here reading that dull, boring, nerd-crap!" LJ whined, spinning them both in a dizzying circle. "We are going out. We are going to wreak havoc."
Charon sighed, hanging limp in LJ's grasp like a tired cat. "Books are not boring. They're—"
"—Informative, yeah yeah, I get it, you little dork," LJ interrupted, rolling his glowing spiral eyes.
>>>>>>
"Alright, lesson one in LJ's School of Terror—"
Charon raised an eyebrow. "That's what you're calling it?"
"Oh shush," LJ waved a hand dramatically, "Fear is a game, kiddo. And we? We are the champions."
Charon leaned forward slightly, his gaze locked onto their target below—a man walking alone, completely unaware. He watched the way his steps were relaxed, the way his shoulders weren't yet tense.
Not yet.
"So…" Charon murmured, "how do we start?"
LJ grinned wildly.
The street lights flickered.
The man slowed, glancing up.
Charon's eyes shined in the dark as he watched the subtle shift in the man's body language—the pause in his step, the slight hunch in his shoulders. The first spark of unease.
LJ giggled.
The lights died.
The man froze.
Charon tilted his head. "He's listening," he murmured, almost to himself.
"Mmm-hmm~," LJ hummed gleefully. "Waiting. Wondering."
A shadow flickered in the corner of the street—too quick, too unnatural.
The man turned sharply.
Nothing.
He swallowed hard. Took a step back. Then another.
Charon let out a soft breath, something curling in his chest. The man's heartbeat must be so fast right now. He could almost feel the fear sinking into the air.
This was… fun. It was nice to see someone hold fear, see how their breath quickens, how they become more restless, become more sloppy and clumsy with their movements.
>>>>>
He walked into his bedroom covered in blood that night, a smile on his face as he made his way to the bathroom.
Blood.
It dripped from his fingertips, thick, warm, vibrant. Tiny droplets slid down his skin, staining the floorboards beneath his feet in slow, deliberate splatters.
Charon didn't move for a long moment. He simply stood there, watching.
His pulse thrummed beneath his skin—not from exhaustion, not from fear, but from something deeper. Something thrilling.
He flexed his fingers, watching the red smear across his knuckles. It had dried on his sleeves, flaking at the edges where the fabric stretched with movement. His clothes clung to him, damp with sweat and blood—his, theirs, it didn't matter.
Slowly, deliberately, he pressed his thumb to his cheek, dragging it down in a slow stroke. A dark smear of Crimson followed.
The blood suited him.
The thought sent a slow, creeping warmth curling through his chest.
He stepped forward, his bare feet pressing into the bloodied floor, leaving faint footprints in his wake. His reflection stared back at him from the long mirror in front of him.
He looked different.
Not just because of the blood.
Not just because of the dim glow in his eerie, unnatural green eyes.
But because of the way he stood.
For the first time in his life, he wasn't curled in on himself. Wasn't tense, waiting for a blow that never came. Wasn't afraid.
He tilted his head, examining himself.
The Charon who lived in a cupboard under the stairs would have been horrified by this. He would have gasped, would have scrubbed at his hands until the skin peeled raw, would have been ashamed.
But that boy was gone.
He ran a bloodied hand through his hair, smearing red across raven strands.
He grinned.
He wasn't ashamed.
He liked this.
Liked the way his body still hummed from the adrenaline, from the rush of watching fear bloom in someone else's eyes. Liked the way the night had opened up before him, endless and exhilarating, when he walked alongside LJ.
Liked the way it had felt to be the one causing fear, rather than the one feeling it.
He laughed.
It was soft at first—barely above a whisper, curling at the edges of his lips. Then it grew, light and breathless, a real, genuine laugh.
He leaned back against the wall, sliding to the floor, his laughter echoing in the dark.
It wasn't madness.
It was relief.
The quiet acceptance of something that had always been inside him, lurking in the shadows, waiting to be acknowledged.
And now, finally, he had accepted that darkness inside of him.