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Secret Revealed
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Chapter 8: Reliving the Nightmare

“Uhh, Murray?” said Guybrush as he walked back into the room. “I just ran into the broom closet.  Would you mind telling me where the door is?”
He was greeted by silence.
“Murray? C’mon, I thought we were done with this.”
Still nothing.  Guybrush flipped the light switch.  It didn’t work.
“Hey Mr. Narrator-person. What’s wrong with the lights?”
Sorry, I’ve helped you too much already.
Guybrush fumbled around in the dark.  His hand closed around a door knob, and he yanked it open.  He was immediately struck by falling mop handles and squeegees.
“But I’ve already found a broom closet. I don’t need another one.”
He pondered the situation.
“Judging by all the other scrapes I walked into over the years, maybe I’m supposed to find this broom closet.”  He fished out a sponge and a broom.  Glinting from the top shelf sat a bottle of Squeaky-Clean™, and Guybrush grabbed that too.  As he packed all of his new inventory pieces away, Guybrush spied the last Love-Bomb package in his pocket.  Lighting the end of the broom with the matches inside, Guybrush was able to find the door leading to the hallway.  His makeshift torch allowed him to see rows and rows of doors lining the walls. Opening each one, he was assaulted by more barrages of identical mops, brooms, and the occasional bottle of Squeaky-Clean™.
“What kind of a place would have all these janitorial supplies?” he wondered aloud.  Guybrush wandered down the long hallway, dreading each new archway, as if he were sure it would collapse as he stepped through.  All this walking left Guybrush with a lot of thinking time.  Ever present on his mind was the absence of Elaine.  The narrator had said she was in the volcano, and yet there was no sign of her.  For that matter, what kind of a volcano would have long and scary tunnels? And why didn’t he find these during his visit here in MI3? Something dark and sinister was brewing, something only an arch villain would contrive, something that had the rotting name of LeChuck plastered all over it.  It did too; Guybrush found a big “LeChuck was here” and a crooked heart with “LC + EM” engraved on the wall.  Wherever he was, Guybrush was sure that this was not your typical long and scary tunnel carved under a volcano.
“Guybrush.”
Guybrush spun on his heel, the torch whirring at his speed. There stood Elaine, perfect like a dream come true.
“Snookums, where have you been?” he said, rushing to her. He leaped back aghast as she disappeared in a burst of flame, only a cruel mirage of his true love.  Laughter crackled through the tunnels, mocking his pain.  Guybrush tore off down the tunnel, panting heavily in his fright.   Further down he found more drawings on the walls, like a child’s simple sketches.  It was mostly ships and misshapen parrots, but then there came one roughly hewn sight that froze the blood in Guybrush’s veins.  It was him.  Younger to be sure, a little thinner, and definitely lacking the essential facial hair, but it was him.  The music swelled.  Little Guybrush was one of several. He stood between his two parents, a little girl, a boy roughly his own size, and a small child that Guybrush couldn’t determine the gender of.
“Does it look familiar?” croaked a small voice.
“Who’s there?” demanded Guybrush of the darkness.  Two round beady eyes regarded him with curiosity and reproach.
“I’m a little hurt that you don’t remember your old pal, Crackers. After all, we’ve been through so much together.”
Into the dying glow of the torch light stepped a small furry monkey.  Guybrush gasped, filled with a heavy sense of repulsion and nausea.
“Oh this can’t be true. I know where I am now. I’m in the carnival of the damned.” He moaned, slapping his hand over his forehead.
“I thought you were just something I made up. At least, that’s what my therapist said.”
Crackers peered up at Guybrush with a somber and pitiful smile.
“I wish I was.  But I don’t blame you for trying to forget all this.”
Guybrush leaned against the wall, the weight of defeat getting heavier by the minute.
“But now all I want to do is remember it. There’s something out there that I don’t understand, and yet it seems so familiar.  Who drew all these pictures anyway?”
“You did.” said the monkey.  “It was when LeChuck had that whirly thing and-“
“And it was making me forget things, so I drew pictures to help me remember who I was.” finished Guybrush.  “How could I have forgotten the whirly thing?” he shuddered at the memory.
“So do you remember now?” asked Crackers.  He tapped a knuckly finger against the wall.  “Who’s this?”
“Well that’s me.”
“And these people?”
“My parents.”
“And him?”
“My evil twin brother, the one I defeated in a tangent LucasArts™ story line. [Hint: Go read “The Dark Side of Monkey Island.” Don’t you like it when the stories correlate?]
“And what about that little fellow?”
“That’s you actually.” Said Guybrush, cheering up a little.
“I was awfully touched when you drew me too.”
“You reminded me of my favorite teddy. I loved that teddy. But a seagull stole it.”
Crackers shook his head in frustration.
“You’re wandering. Focus Guybrush! Wandering will take you places you don’t want to go.  So who is this little girl?”
Guybrush stared long and hard, his mind twisting and curling with the strain of trying to remember.
“I need a crayon.” He said slowly.  The monkey handed him one.
Guybrush stared a little longer, then suddenly began adding pieces here and there, and erasing other parts.  He finally stepped back.
“Hey, how’d you do all those different colors with just one crayon?” asked the monkey.
“Practice.” Guybrush shrugged.  The picture now showed a blond girl, tall, and with sword at side.  “That’s my sister.” Guybrush said, his voice small and childlike. ”My sister Dimweed.”
“And what about your brother Chuckie?” prompted Crackers.
“I never had one.” scoffed Guybrush. “That was just one of LeChuck’s mind games, just like Wak-a-Rat™.”
“Wow.” said the monkey approvingly.  “You really do have a good therapist.”
“I’m still confused about you.” Guybrush shook his head in disbelief. After all, it was talking monkey.
“I’ve told you a hundred times Guybrush.  Every night in fact, during those first few weeks you were here.”
“I was here how long?” Guybrush asked.
“Six months.”
Guybrush sagged to the floor.
“Okay.” He squeaked. “Just keep talking; I’ll be fine, I guess.”
“While Herman Toothrot was trapped on Monkey Island, he trained a bunch of us to pilot a ship.  Of course, I wasn’t any more willing to be trapped on a ship full of monkeys than he was, so I used the cannon to fire myself back to shore.”
“Really quite clever of you.” Guybrush nodded.
“Then after a bad deal with a traveling circus and a job as a skipper aboard a glass-bottomed boat, I came across an advertisement for a carnival.  The benefits sounded great: full health plan, yearly bonuses, unlimited banana supply, and a happy work environment. I didn’t mind starting out at the bottom, as most of the other employees were starting out even lower, six feet lower.”
“Tell me about it.” groaned Guybrush. “Those walking undead really don’t know how to take a joke.”
“And they never drink, so they’ll tattle on you for taking too long at the water cooler, when we still had them at least.”
“But what then?” Guybrush said.  “One night I got out, leaving my memories of this ghoulish hellhole behind, and I haven’t seen you since. Not even when I freed your compatriots from the monkelectronics machinery.”
The monkey shrugged his furry little shoulders.
“I was promoted. I got to wear the Melee Monkey™ costume.”
Guybrush took a minute to consider this.
“I don’t get it. You ARE a monkey.”
“Yeah, but Dingy Dog™ didn’t think I was cute, and marketable.  Then you pretty much destroyed the park’s attraction for families and retired pirates, so I knew it was time to hit the road.”
Guybrush got stuck on this next mental hook.
“Why are you back in the basement then?”
The monkey shrugged again. Or maybe he had fleas.
“I have a terrible sense of direction. Why do you think the glass-bottom boat sunk?”
“Oh. Well. Now that I remember the basics, whad’ya say we go find my sister who is trying to kill me and fix this dysfunctional family before I have to live through too many more chapters?”   Guybrush’s smile dimmed as the broom/torch, its head nearly burnt away, began to fade.
“That’s alright,” the monkey said, “I know my way around here anyway.”
Guybrush followed the sound of his skittering little feet across the dusty hall floor.  A couple of times Guybrush knocked his head against low ceilings, or ran into the wall, but the sound effects made it appear worse than it actually was.  Then the pitter-patter stopped.
“What now?” asked Guybrush.
“We’re at the door to the surface.” Crackers answered. “Are you ready?”
“Not really.” Guybrush admitted, “but it beats running through these tunnels.”
The door swung open.
The sudden flash of daylight caught Guybrush off guard, his arm flying up to shield him from the blinding rays.  He stepped forward.
“Shhhhhh! Not so loud.”
His arm dropped to his side in amazement.   This was no freakish festival of the demonic and fun-loving dead, this was the Phatt Island library.
“I don’t understand,” Crackers stammered.
“SHHHHH!” hissed the librarian.
Sorry, this is actually my fault.
“Who said that?” demanded Crackers.
“That’s the narrator.  Crackers, meet the narrator guy. Narrator guy, Crackers.”
Crackers continued to glance suspiciously around him, refusing to acknowledge the hardworking, loyal, patient, outrageously handsome-
“That’s quite enough.” Guybrush sternly reprimanded.
Sorry.
“So why did you bring me here now?” asked our hero.
You have questions don’t you?
“Well, yes.”
This is a library. Get busy.
“Ummmm,” said Guybrush.  “I don’t know what to look for.”
Card catalog, quick-wit.
“I didn’t bring my reading glasses,” Guybrush stalled. “So tell me where to look.”
Sigh. Try ‘Not Eating People and Feeling Good About It.’
Guybrush trotted over to the irate librarian and asked for the book.  She gleefully wheeled her squeaky chair to a shelf in the back from which she pulled the requested book.
“So who in my family background is a cannibal or was eaten by one?” Guybrush prompted.
You think I made you come all the way here to make you get a book and then just TELL you about it? Slacker.
Guybrush hauled Crackers off the miniature lighthouse where he had been gnawing on the miniature lawn furniture, and dragged him into the nearby alley.  He perched on a crate, and began to read. The book was actually co-authored by Dimweed Threepwood, and included a chapter of her personal experience with the cannibal lifestyle.  Even worse, it included her personal experience with LeChuck.  At the tender age of four, young Dimweed was building a sandcastle when a bully kicked it apart in her face.  She cried, and then beat him up.    This actually impressed the tormenting teenager, who asked if she wanted to be in his crew.  She laughed, and beat him up again.  Some time later, she heard of his quest for the Secret of Monkey Island™, and regretted her decision.  Something deep within her was stirring, something dark and sinister.  Despite warning from her parents, and one of her older brothers, she ran away one night, joining the crew of the Jolly Rasta, but was never put on the crew list.  Instead, she traveled under the guise of being the navigator’s daughter.  No one would believe that a ten-year-old girl was capable of being a pirate. She was even drinking a daily mug of grog by the time she was twelve.  Guybrush flinched. She was scary.  Worse, she was family.
“I didn’t realize LeChuck was actually that young.” Guybrush said.
You’re just jealous of the facial hair.
“That squiggly blue moldy mass?” He paused.  “Okay, okay, maybe a little.  Now that my biggest question is answered, what do I do now?”
I suggest you get back in that tunnel and continue on your way.
Guybrush and Crackers strode back into the library, returned the books, and reentered the tunnel hidden in the back room behind the periodicals and Aye Matey! Magazine rack.  The darkness embraced them as they began their journey under the sea to Monkey Island, where Guybrush would face his past, present, and future, all at the hand of one person.
“Nice detail.” Guybrush said.
No problem. But no more talking. You’ve got a long walk ahead of you.
“Wanna speed it up for us?” Guybrush said hopefully.
Sorry Guybrush. You’re on your own. And I mean it this time.
“Thanks anyway.  That thing with the library was both entertaining and educational. I bet the kids really liked it. I’ll see you when we get to the other side of the tunnel okay?”
Just go will you?


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