The garden of names #7 (freewrite)

This is the seventh part of the story. I highly recommend you stop breaking the rules immediately and read the first parts here:

The garden of names

The garden of names #2

The garden of names #3

The garden of names #4

The garden of names #5

The garden of names #6

A smiling house is not always a happy one, the boy thought, as they stood and watched the walls of their host's house contort into monstrous grins and listened, somewhere in the distance, to wild, indeed maniacal laughter.
The nameless boy didn't even notice that his little feet wee quietly retreating toward the entrance, preparing to make a run for it before Lord Glasto made his return. It was only when the girl put out one steady hand and caught him by the tip of his still-wet shirt that he realized what's he'd been doing.

'Surely, we're here for a reason, we can't have come here by accident,' the girl said and that settled it so that she didn't need to say anymore. She always hated speaking her mind. It was all just so much more clear in her own head.
And before either of them could say or even think anything else, there was a loud screech from the other end of the hall and they turned just in time to see a long door open. Perhaps you are thinking that what the author means is a tall door, as doors tend to be sometimes, especially when they are not short. But the door in question was not tall in itself, as it did not possess any tall like qualities. It most certainly was not a regular door only made to go higher. Not in the slightest. Instead, this particular door looked as if somebody with very thick, strong hands had pulled on it thoroughly, much like one would pull on play dough to make a long and slightly disgusting snake.
Only what stepped through the long door was not a disgusting snake, at least not in this form, but Lord Aniston Brovotz Telacious Puritan Fieldy Glasto.

Or rather, Lord Aniston Brovotz Telacious Puritan Fieldy Glasto, dressed in a party suit. Indeed, the equally long, thin man had ditched his boisterous, ruffled clothes for a mulch-colored costume that suited his skin tone, so that in this great big screen of color, there was a long thin mulch-colored stain, that seemed to disrupt the whole thing.
And yet, it worked, for this was the world of Lord Glasto and Lord Glasto alone and mulch or no mulch, he would cut a dashing figure in it.

'Welcome, welcome, I am so pleased you could come. Lord Glasto informs me you had a most troubling and indeed beige journey,' Lord Glasto said, spitting out the word 'beige' as if it caused him indigestion.
'But you are Lord Glasto,' the boy said, still maintaining his most childish belief that there is some sense to be made of the world.
'How dare you?' the long man yelled out dramatically. 'The good Lord Glasto has just gone to fix us all some drinks, a toast to his health.'
'But you said the party is for you,' the girl grumbled.
'No,' and they could see that the tall man was becoming more than slightly annoyed, 'the party is for him. For my good friend, Lord Aniston Brovotz Telacious Puritan Fieldy Glasto. I am not him, I am your most generous Host, and you shall address me by that name and that name alone.'
'What, host?'
'No, no, Host, with a capital H, there is quite a difference. As you can see, I am no common scoundrel, and I will not be addressed as one.'

And it passed through both the children's minds at the same time that maybe, just maybe, they were the guests of identical twins, that perhaps they were not in the presence of a madman, and that it was all a perfectly understandable misunderstanding.
It is pointless to say they were most dreadfully wrong, as they were about to discover.

Their most gracious Host, who was coming toward them with a cheery gait stopped mid-corridor and bent over, which for an incredibly long individual is quite a feat. They watched the Host gurgle and shake his head and when he looked up to them again, they saw they were again in the presence of Lord Glasto.
'I take it you've met our wonderful Host, have you, children? He is a most amazing individual indeed, is he not?' he asked standing up slightly straighter and turning to bow his head at the great picture of himself.
'But, Lord Glasto, that was you. You were only standing there a moment ago, talking as if you were the host,' the boy argued.
'The Host,' Lord Glasto interjected,* with a capital H. And I was most certainly not, why would I be so silly as to impersonate our good Host? That is only something rude children like you would do.'*
'You're the one being rude, again,' the girl mumbled, angering the man who was Lord Glasto, but also their host.
'Really, what is wrong with your little friend?' he asked, turning to the boy, 'is she, by chance, particularly stupid? In which case, I do apologize, I hadn't known. Although I did have a gnawing suspicion ever since you arrived...'
The girl had been about to retort something, but the man doubled over again, shaking his head and she saw there was no point, as they would soon be standing face-to-face, or rather, face-to-elbow with the Host, who had really said nothing to them.

But when the man of many faces looked up to them, he was neither Lord Glasto nor their gracious Host.
'What in the name of the Devil are ye doin' here?' he barked at them and it was worth noting that this particular man was only standing at half his length so that he was about the same height as the children.
'We've been invited to a party,' the boy replied, carefully.
'Ye? What good would ye be at the party? Has Hostie finally brought along foot stalls? I's been tellin' him that for years. Very well then, I'll have ye, girlie, yer back seems plumper, if ye don't mind me sayin',' the man screeched and then proceeded to cackle loudly at the two of them.
'That's rude!' the boy yelled, suddenly angry.
'What did ye say?' the long man who had suddenly become short said, looking up, all trace of amusement gone from his eyes.
He narrowed his gaze until the boy saw the reflection of cold steel in his green-purple eyes. By the time he noticed the two blades that had suddenly materialized in the man's hands, it was too late, for the man was already lunging at them.
'Nobody speaks like that to ole Dinby Fedders, ye hear me? No one!'
And just as the man collapsed over the little boy and the girl screamed, trying to pry him off, Lord Glasto came to his senses and spat loudly to the side of the boy's head.

'What on Earth are you doing so close to me, you filthy peasant?' he screamed, pulling himself up at once.
'But you jumped on him,' the girl said, angry.
'I most certainly did not, girl. It's bad enough our Host has deemed fit to invite such...' he paused dramatically, 'to our party, I would not jump at him if he was the last boot-licker on this earth. And as you see, my boots are well licked already.'
He stood up taller, so as to allow them to admire his remarkably clean boots.
'Now follow me, our Host awaits,' he said, and with that turned and began walking back toward himself.

The two nameless children had no choice but to walk after him down the hall of many faces, which were all his. Under the many pictures of the man who sometimes claimed to be Lord Glasto, there was a vast array of names. It seemed that sometimes, he was the Host, sometimes he was a Faceless General in the Army of Clouds, sometimes he was Tinner Dablington, a man with closed eyes, and sometimes a man simply called Bill.
'Oh don't worry, you shall meet all our Host's good friends at dinner, for he has invited everyone to meet me,' Lord Glasto grinned.
The boy had not been wondering about that at all, for he was quite certain that, if they were to remain for dinner, they would indeed, meet all the people in the pictures. And he had no doubt some were even less friendly than Dinby Fedders. What the boy did wonder was who had painted the pictures?
Was there indeed someone else on this island who had taken all the portraits of this tormented man? And if so, would he be here tonight, too?
He would've liked to tell his friend this, but was afraid, for they never could know when they were in the company of Dinby or one of his friends. But he hoped, by the glint in her eye, that she was thinking the same thing. There was some hope to their seemingly desperate situation.
And then, there was not.

As they reached the end of the hallway and with it the door through which the Host had come, they realized there was no help a-coming.
They stopped on their feet, staring at the last portrait in the gallery of faces. And the portrait was empty. It wasn't a blank page even, just the frame hung over the wall and underneath, the carefully inscribed letters 'Inkling Mcdermott'. They did not need the Host to tell them he had been the painter, but he did anyway.
'Ah yes, indeed, this is a most funny one. See, old Inkling is our beloved artist in residence, as they say, and since all of us are terrible at painting, there was no one to paint down his own picture. Now of course, we could've gone by a self portrait...actually, that's not a bad idea. Children, remind me to suggest that to him when he arrives.'
'We will do no such thing,' the boy said, and the words echoed out as clearly as day through the hallway of faces.
Lord Glasto, who was himself once more, turned slowly to stare at this small, meaningless child. 'What did you just say, you toad?'
'I said we won't tell you that, because there's no Inkling Mcdermott coming, is there? It's only you.'
'Are you mad, child? You spoke to our Host, just now and as I have told you, I've only just arrived on this island, myself, how could I be the only one coming to a party in someone else's house? Besides, I'm not alone. You're here.'
And it was then, in Lord Glasto's ghastly, misshapen grin that the boy realized the second piece of the puzzle.
'We won't be staying,' he said, grabbing the girl's hand.
'And why on earth not? Besides the fact you're vastly inferior to tonight's crowd.'
'Because you would eat us up, just like you ate everyone else here, Lord Glasto, or whoever you are.'
And their Host's face turned even mulchier.
'You've been eating up the people on this island, one by one, taking them all into your giant self.'
'Ah, but how do you account for all the pictures?'
'They're all pictures of you!' the boy screamed, 'You made the painter paint your picture as you ate up everyone else and in the end, you ate the painter. That's why he doesn't have a picture.'
'Look, I already explained that one and besides, how would I eat an entire island of people? I am no cannibal, I much rather prefer some carefully marinated duck,' Lord Glasto said, although he seemed slightly less sure now.
'You didn't eat them, physically, you stole their names, you started telling everyone that was you and soon, you became all of them. And you want to become us, too. You've exaggerated, you've eaten too much.'
'You underestimated the power in a name,' the girl said coldly.
Admirable work, indeed, the heavy voice boomed from above. I knew you would figure it out. Congratulations, you have passed your second test, boy and are now ready to move on to your final feat.
'What about him?' the boy asked, gesturing toward the confused Lord Glasto.
I'm afraid he is beyond help, he has gone outside the world of names and it would be very cumbersome to bring him back. Besides, he is most happy with himself.
And so, the children waved goodbye to Lord Glasto and all his many faces.

Today's chosen prompt was 'a smiling house. I admit it took way more than 5 minutes. Check out @mariannewest for more freewriting fun!

Thank you for reading,

Picture my own.