Chapter Text
Amy Shelley had booked a reservation for 5 days at Button House. It was her first holiday by herself, and she'd gone full out with the agenda, and maxed out two credit cards. Amy Shelley, 24 years old, was going out with a bang, and planned to die young and beautiful, surrounded by beautiful fancy antiques, having had unburdened fun for once in her life. And most importantly, she would die in control, an entire ocean away from her awful family, discreetly. Perhaps they wouldn't even know what happened.
She'd chosen Button House as accomodation because it looked like something out of a romance novel or a rococo painting, and the man in the promo video had seemed friendly and ordinary.
On day one, she'd met the owners, Mike and Allison, and had a lovely 2 hour chat over cups of tea in their quaint kitchen. They were very accommodating as they showed her the room she'd be staying in. As she was settling in, Mike kept popping by to ask if she needed anything, towels, perhaps more pillows? This was unnerving to someone who was used to waiting on others, not the other way around. She felt guilty, knowing nice people like the coopers would be the ones to find her body and have to call 999 on her behalf, but it also made her feel oddly safer in her decision.
Allison gave her a tour of the grounds. What an odd woman. She was particularly spacey and at times sounded like even she didn't know what she was going to say next, as if repeating lines fed to her through an earpiece.
After a dinner of mediocre shepherds pie, Amy asked Allison directions to the nearest pub, whereafter she enjoyed an evening getting thoroughly sloshed amongst salt of the earth, small town boomers, and got fingered against a mossy stone wall by a chap called Craig or Nigel. That was one item off her bucket list: ✓public sex.
On day 2, Amy spent the first half of the day in bed nursing a hangover, so Allison brought her breakfast in bed. After that, she took a leasurely wal around the manor, looking at the art. It was peaceful despite the lights flickering spookily. The electrical issue seemed to follow her from room to room. The quiet day let to some deep and mournful thinking, so it was just in time that day three would be the busiest of all.
On day 3 she was going to a goth music festival a few towns over. Another few thing off the Bucket List. ✓Attend a music festival and ✓ score some acid/LSD good ole Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds. Oh, and some marijuana too, I guess, but that wasn't new for Amy. She stashed the drugs in her purse for later because it would be too overwhelming to trip balls amongst thousands of strangers. Good thing, too because she doubted she would have had the rizz to pull two tatted-up goth dykes and take them back to her room at Button House. ✓ have a lesbian threesome. Alright, that wasn't on the list originally, it just kinda happened. They'd hit on her first, and were very intrigued when she told them she was staying in a 500 year old mansion.
Breakfast on Day 4 with the property owners was awkward because they clearly knew what had gone down last night and were trying hard not to say anything about it. The weight of unspoken knowledge hung between them like a wet blanket. Perhaps it had been disrespectful to bring over "friends" unannounced and keep the radio on until 3 am. Doesn't matter. Amy was going to be dead by tomorrow night anyway and you can't feel shame if you're dead, right?
At around noon she decided to do the other thing that should have been an unspoken taboo while a guest at someone's house. Amy ate 2 tabs of acid and lit up a bit of that weed and went for another walk around the estate to look at all the art and antiques with an altered perspective. At what point does touring turn into snooping? Is it at the point when you start opening drawers?
The acid made it seem like some some of the paintings were laughing at her. She felt like she was being watched, like people were whispering about her just out of earshot. The patterns in the wall paper and rugs moved in a mesmerizing way. Amy reached the library and started pulling books off shelves. Then there was a tap on her shoulder and an "ahem."
"Oh, Hi Mrs. Cooper." (No, fuck, not now, abort. Go away Allison. Act cool. How do real, ordinary humans act? Maybe smile?)
"How's everything this evening, feeling alright? Looking for anything in particular?"
"Oh I'm great. Just browsing. Is that crossing the line, sorry." Amy cringed. "I just love old books."
"That's good. The library is not off limits. You sure everything's ok? Can I get you some tea? Or… orange juice? No…we don't have orange juice. Nevermind." Allison said.
"I'm fine for now, thanks." (Go away. I'm too high for this. Does it feel claustrophobic in here all of a sudden?)
Allison did turn to leave but quickly turned back around "I Have To ask; who is your favourite author or poet?" She put weird emphasis on the 'have to' part of that sentence.
"Hmm, damn, not to put me on the spot, huh. Oscar Wilde, maybe? The Importance Of Being Earnest is a masterpiece. A laugh a minute, that one. Though I wasn't much a fan of The Portrait Of Dorian Grey. The premise was intriguing but it was surprisingly misogynistic and anti-semitic. You couldn't get away with publishing something like that today. Though aha, I suppose neither did Wilde get away with it back then, just for different reasons. RIP Oscar, you would have done well on TikTok. Sorry, I'm rambling. Sorry. I'm fine, just tired. Actually, I'll go back to my room." (Stupid. She's only pretending to be interested. Abort mission. Too high for this. Oh, the whispering is back.)
Allison gave Amy a perplexed smile. " Don't feel like you have to leave. That was interesting, actually."
"Good night Mrs. Cooper." She said with a curtsey (Wtf, since when do we curtsey, what is this, Downton Abbey?) and turned to retire to bed.
This is the real start of Chapter 1:
The final day had arrived, Day 5.
Amy awoke feeling like she'd gotten negative sleep and the humiliation of last night's awkward conversation burned almost as much as this mornin's acid reflux. Did she eat dinner last night? Probably not, and best not to eat breakfast this morning either. The less in her stomach the better for her chosen method of suicide.
Just a few things left on the agenda. 1. Smoke the other half of that Devil's Lettuce as breakfast, just to loosen up the nerves. Then pick out an outfit she wouldn't mind being caught dead in. Finally put on some calming music.
The weed did improve her mood greatly. Amy even found herself humming and dancing as she dressed in her final outfit: a black knee length turtleneck dress with half length sleeves, and black and white stripped knee socks. She accessories with a little red bow hair clip and winged eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man. Underneath it all was a matching bralette and thong that was little more than string. Just a flirty little surprise for whoever does her autopsy.
She left a note that simply read "Sorry for the trouble. Lovely home, 5 stars. Also I want to be cremated." No maudlin, soppy words of her woes. There was noone here in England that knew her well enough to truly get why she was doing this. Amy actually felt better than she had in the past year, if not longer. There's been no endless serving and fetching for men who still in 2023 think pinching your bum is an acceptable way to say thank an intern. And then just to go home to a manipulating and gaslighting mother who demands her daughter's meager earnings then inevitably pisses it away at the casino.Not to mention the stepfather who everyone lowkey knows he fondles kids because she'd been one of those kids. And the sister who is literally a genius and also prettier than her and takes every opportunity to remind her of that.
Oh Amy would rather burn in hell than go back to all that. Not to mention if she failed to kill herself today she'd actually have to pay off those credit cards that had funded this little get away.
Amy withdrew the pill bottle that had been hidden in her purse before she'd entered the country. She poured out a handful of belladonna berries. Deadly nightshade. She knocked them back like actual pills. Amy pulled up Spotify on her phone and laid in bed to await her death. Literally as soon as she lay her head there was a knock on the door. Ugh.
"What is it?"
"Hi, it's Mike again. He called from behind the closed door. "We were wondering if you wanted to join us for lunch. Ha, that makes it sound like we're going out to eat. I mean just in the kitchen."
"No thanks. I'm not hungry. I've just had a snack from my purse."
"Oh."
A few minutes later Amy started to feel weird. Like really warm and itchy and her heart was pounding despite laying down. The spot under her ribcage was burning. And she was hellishly thirsty. Amy debated whether it was worth it to get a glass of water. She lifted her head and the world wobbled and shadows passed over the edges of her vision. Nope. The shadows stayed and pulsed to the rhythm of her heart. A sense of dread filled her entire being. She thought "Oh shit,I'm going to hell, huh."
Her eyes locked on the window across from her bed. The early afternoon sunlight streamed in, smearing streaks of silver acrossed her blurred vision, locked in fierce battle with the shadows crowding out her peripheral. She heard birdsong distantly. "Wait, I want to stay. It's probably too late but I have a few more things i want to do. I haven't seen the new Top Gun. I want to know if the US actually bans tiktok. I have overdue library books." Amy had no idea if she said that aloud or not. "What time is it?"
"Fifteen hundred hours." Said a disembodied voice.
"What?"
"The time. It's 15 hundred hours, or 3 pm. Just hold on, young lady, Patrick's already gone to alert Allison.The shadows shifted, her whole vision fading out. The burning in her chest ceased, giving way to deep exhaustion. Breathing no longer felt worth the effort. She heard footsteps and then the doorknob jiggled.
"Oh no, oh shit. Stay with me, Amy Shelley." The last thing Amy felt was was Allison cradle her face in her soft hands. "She's so clammy. Guys, what do I do? Chest compressions?"
"I'm not sure that would help in cases of poisoning." Said a figure in beige behind Allison.
Amy felt the world coming back to her. Her body felt light and calm. She rolled over and unfortunately rolled right off the bed. Her vision, now clear, revealed a a whole crowd of people around her.
"Ryeah, new guy!" Cheered a man dressed in furs.
"Mm, fresh meat." Said a man with no trousers.
"Can you two show some empathy?" Squeaked the short man in beige. "Give her some space."
"Never have I met such an inconsiderate, disorderly harlot such as yourself. Killing yourself as a guest in someone else's house, good heavens, it's the most self centered, attention seeking thing I can imagine." Ranted an old woman with a Gibson girl hairstyle and a grey dress. "Back in my day, a lady would…"
"QUIET!" Shouted Allison, perched on the edge of the bed, her gaze fixed on her lap. "Everyone out of the room. Pat, you can stay."
The crowd shuffled out of the room, through the walls not the door, making various noises of indignation. "Can I use your phone to call an ambulance?" Allison asked.
Amy felt like she was going into shock. "Yeah."
"Hello, my name is Pat. Welcome to Button House. You're a ghost so that means you're stuck here, but that's not so bad. We have lots of fun. Music Club was supposed to be today but given the circumstances…"the man in beige held out his hand for Amy to shake. She noticed he had a thin rod going into his neck and out the other side. An arrow maybe?
"No, no. I think I know what's going on here actually." Amy spoke up, shaking off her sense of shock. "I read online that with nightshade if you eat less than the dose for fatality you will experience vivid hallucinations indistinguishable from reality and seeing people that aren't there is a common one. You Lot are simply a figment of my poisoned imagination, perhaps even Allison is, and I am still in bed, and soon I'll either cross over to the Other Side, or I'll wake up in the hospital."
"Well, you are still in bed. Or at least your body is. Take a look." Amy got up off the floor to see her body still in bed, pale and motionless. Peaceful. Her arms were already crossed over her chest as if ready this instant for her funeral.
"Out of body experience, that can happen too." She explained, though her confidence in the rationalization was waning as she watched Allison pace the room on the phone with presumably emergency dispatch. If this was a hallucination, why did everything else look so ordinary?