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Star embarks on a journey to save Tony. Lucy is not exactly what she seems and Stephen is worried, but they finally hugged!
This chapter is horror-heavy, so trigger warnings: blood, gore, ghosts/spirits, mentioned cannibalism (non-graphic), backrooms/derealization.
The stairwell was empty and dim, illuminated by a single lightbulb hanging on a thin string. It swayed lightly despite the windows being closed, despite the stale, stuffy air that was only barely diluted by short, loud exhales that left my mouth whenever I turned around the corner of the stairs to sneak a look at the unevenly painted floor number on the wall.
2, 3, 4. The stairs were as well-behaved as ever, leading me to each floor in it's proper place. I haven't encountered such consistent numeration since the second day that I moved in. The house seemed to be more sentient than I would have liked it to be; it liked to catch people off-guard. The more tired I'd been, the more likely I was to encounter multiple wrong floors on my way up.
2, 3, 4. The ball of anxiety, cold and tense, spread from my gut towards my limb, its barbed, slimy appendages grabbing forceful hold of my stiff limbs. The logical side of me, one I'd long abandoned after picking up witchcraft, had woken up once more, only to supply the fuel to my worst fears.
2, 3, 4. The house was calm because it was busy with Tony. The house was calm because it'd been fed - or fueled. The heating season wasn't in yet but the paperwork stated the house had a sustainable, affordable heating system and the temperatures were adjustable in every room, all for a fixed price. Now it seemed to good to be true.
2, 3, 6. Was the house itself an entity, was it a portal to the nether realm or was it just a nest for the unsightly creatures that lurked in the shadows? The ones that made you look twice at the darkest corner of your room, at night, because the darkness was a little too thick and the room itself a little too quiet?
6, 7. The 'missing' floors were drastically different from the habitable parts of the building. Here, the stairway abruptly changed in design; white walls and iron handles became more outdated, wood replacing every bit of plastic and iron, except for the knobs. Those were tinted a dirty brass with a hearty layer of dust covering them. The red rug on the stairs themselves was dirty and stained with mud.
The number seven was imprinted on a lacquered wooden plaque, the material faded and old. There was a bell hanging next to the door itself; unlike all the doors I've seen before, this one was big, with a smaller opening at the bottom of it, just like for a housecat.
I rung the bell once. It coughed up more dust, specks of it floating in the air as the metal let out a quiet, reluctant jingle. The cat doorflap moved; something scratched thinly on the other side of the door. Blink-and-you'll-miss-it, soft and reluctant footsteps made me clutch the milk and cookies closer to my chest, as if the confections could save me from whatever was on the other side. It didn't sound human, the footsteps too quiet, the scratching too quick.
With a mighty creak and another wall of dust permeating the small stairwell, the door slowly moved inward. With its underused hinges and sheer size, I waited for what felt like eons until finally it opened enough for me to to be able to see inside.
Darkness. Opaque, saturated darkness; the kind of black that you encounter in the middle of the forest at night: silent, expecting. The footsteps and the scratching stopped completely, I felt as if whatever was waiting for me on the side was observing, sizing me up in the wake of the inevitable. The urge to back away was overwhelming.
I took a slow step towards the room, instead. My foot crunched against something thin and spindly as it made way over the doorframe. The floors here were wooden, the feeling of the old, moist carpet disappearing. My sneakers made no noise on the floor; not a single creak or a shuffle penetrated the odd darkness.
As soon as I fully entered the room, it's contents became visible to me. Not as clear as day, but rather illuminated by an eerie, cold, dim glow; like under the blue moon. My eyes adjusted quickly, finding the room to be wide but empty, no clues to the source of the noises I heard.
Upon closer inspection, the room wasn't empty. There was a counter to the right of me, like at an old saloon, plain save for a single leather bound book on top of it, complete with a quill ink pen standing neatly next to it. A few places behind it was a single bookshelf, it looked to be empty, too, but I knew I couldn't trust my eyes in this place.
I had no other choice but to walk over to the counter. There was a plaque laying flat; it was metal, but very thin, gothic script on it faded.
"The rules of the Archive:
1. Please be quiet.
2. Please sign into the visitor's book: your name, the date of visit and the information you are looking for.
3. Please don't linger on the premises more than necessary.
We hope you find what you are looking for!"
It seemed reasonable, at the time. I immediately picked up the quill pen, opening the first page of the book, hoping for an additional clue in it - just to find it completely empty. The pages were yellowed with age but blank, and the quill pen stung me as I wrote out the necessary details, placing the milk and cookies I'd brought on the other side of the counter.
Jotting down my name, I briefly paused to gather my wits. "Looking to retrieve a friend from the basement of the house." I'd decided on a simple request in a semi-formal tone, clumsily but carefully penning out the words in dark red ink. Something swished against my legs briefly and I immediately looked around, predictably, finding no-one there.
The milk and cookies, however, went missing, tray and all.
Finished with the task at hand and more than a little unsettled, I made for the next obvious objective - the bookshelf. It was fairly small, equally old and decrepit, with darkness behind it - it looked like a wall, almost, except I was sure there was an empty space behind it. No matter how much I strained my eyes, I couldn't see past the lacquered redwood of the bookshelf.
I approached it on quiet feet. A sudden wave of disorienting dizziness befell my senses; the smooth edges of the bookshelf blurred and the scenery around it smudged like viscous, wet oil paint: all saturated colours and creamy outlines of shadows. A hazy presence arose behind me, intangible and unclear, yet I felt it's stare directed at the middle of my back.
Rows of identical, dark brown leather bound books lined the shelves. All of the spines were blank, all save for one - it was conveniently placed in direct line of my sight, golden-painted letters adorning the spine of it. Vision still swimming and senses reeling, I couldn't discern a word. I had to pick it up to read it.
My hands flipped it open without as much as a second thought as I tried my best to force my mind adapt to my surroundings as the darkness around me thickened and the shadows behind my back began to breathe down my neck. I felt the tame touch of long, frail nails drawing senseless lines all across my shoulderblades.
"To retrieve a loved one from the In-between-Place, you will need a large ball of red yarn, a mirror and a candle.
To find your loved one, follow these steps: find an entry point to the Place and tie the end of the string to the door once you enter. Stand with your back to the entry point and place the mirror in front of you so the entry point and the red string is clearly visible. Light the candle and bring it up to the mirror. It will become fogged for a brief moment."
The words burned into my mind. I didn't have to try and memorize them - as the crescendo of shadows behind me rose, their thick, viscous energy flooding my senses, my mind remained clear, vision focusing on the neat letters effortlessly. The creatures behind me grew bolder, wrapped themselves around my legs, leaving a trail of icy needles wherever they touched my skin.
"As the fog clears, the reflection in the mirror will show an empty hallway with the red string clearly visible. The reflection is your compass; it will lead you to your goal. Remember - whatever you see around you, whatever you hear - it is not real. The mirror will stay true no matter what."
I blinked away the tears that had began to gather in the corners of my eyes. My legs felt like I'd gotten frostbite; numb and heavy. I wanted to sit down, to catch my breath for just a moment. My heart was a wild rabbit in an eagle's grasp; jumping aimlessly in my ribcage, thrashing against the cold, sharp claws that pierced every millimeter of my body.
The whispers began as a distant rustle; like falling leaves at first, fading into the background regardless of the pregnant silence filling the wide room. I couldn't differentiate a single word. The noises were full of sorrow, gathering what little free will I had and bringing it up to the surface. So many restless spirits, so many people stuck between the waking realm and the afterlife...
With shaky fingers, I slammed the book shut, sliding it back into place, almost dropping the tome in the process. The cured leather felt like silk between my fingers, soft and slippery. As soon as the spine lined up with the rest of the books, the whispers receded and whatever was holding me hostage released its clutches from my flesh.
The goosebumps gave way to the blood thumping, thumping, thumping in my veins. Warmth flooded my entire being in a rush; I had no recollection of stumbling back, past the reception desk and out the exit, coming to my senses when the loud slam of the heavy wooden door made pillars of dust rise in the air.
I gasped, keening over and resting my palms on my knees. The cat door promptly lifted, ejecting the empty tray and jug with a force almost violent; the metal clanged on the floor, noisy, in the empty stairwell. The sounds echoed over and over, piercing right through my skull.
Fuck all, I decided, leaving the dishes to lay where they had dropped.
One, my skull was ringing from the experience and my skin was stretched taut where the undead, restless souls sunk their metaphysical teeth into my life force. It wasn't their fault - cursed to aimlessly wander the places where the lines between this world and that were blurred, they couldn't help but be instantly drawn to the closest source of warmth. And what is warmer than all, if not a living, beating heart?
Two, I now knew that there was a sure way to retrieve Tony from the elevator. Or the In-between, as the book had called the place he was supposedly stuck in. The doubts were there, as it is when the logical human mind tried to understand the intangible, but deep down in my soul, I knew. And I hoped I wasn't too late.
Stephen and Lucy were exactly how I left them; both blankly staring at the TV. Maggie Smith paraded around on the screen in a frilly dress, completely ensnaring Lucy's attention. The sorcerer's eyes followed her every movement but his eyes were unseeing, mind far, far away.
"I'll get him back," I breathed as I barged through the apartment door. "Give me a moment and I'll get him back," heart still running a mile a minute, hair disheveled and clothes rumpled, I ran towards my bedroom to retrieve the small, handheld mirror and pluck a ball of yarn out of my knitting supply basket with quick motions.
Thudding footsteps approached my bedroom door. "Do I need to come with you?" Stephen asked, the tremors of his hands obvious even as he attempted to stuff his fists deeper inside his pockets.
"No need, it'll be faster If I go alone," I replied, not knowing, in all honesty, what would happen if more than one person decided to go down there. It seemed unnecessarily dangerous and if he remained up here, me and Tony would at least have a small chance of making it out somehow should we both get stuck.
Stephen nodded jerkily, meeting my eyes with his pleading stare. I froze mid-action, feeling my face soften in response to the sheer terror he tried so hard to hide. Pocketing a candlestick and some matches, I approached the man, laying a soft hand on his shoulder.
"I'll get him back. I swear, I promise," the reassurance came out choked up and quiet. Much like him, I could not imagine my life without Tony in it. The engineer's antics had grown on me tremendously, and the fact that his presence alone considerably brightened my days lingered on mind at every possible opportunity. Every time Tony left, he took a small piece of myself with him.
"Okay," Stephen breathed, taking out his shaking hands without breaking the eye contact, laying both of them on my shoulders. "I believe you," his words struck a chord within me, within the very depths of my weary soul.
One of us reached out; neither knew who was first, but we stayed, rocking gently, in each other's arms for the longest moment that still felt too brief. I exhaled some of the tension and worry that had flooded every pore of my being, letting go of the paralyzing fear that haunted the nethermost depths of me since that fateful phone call.
The sorcerer withdrew, smoothing over my hair with a shaky hand before stuffing it into his pocket, wandering back to the couch on unsteady legs.
Lucy stood up, motioning me to the kitchen just as I was about to leave. I obediently followed, figuring the demon child was hungry again. Leaving Stephen as a snack was most certainly counter-productive.
"It's dangerous down there," she signed, a strikingly somber expression on her face. "It lives there. It's always hungry."
I froze, studying her. She looked so much older than she was - it was in her eyes. They were hollow and haunted, as if someone had wiped off her usual childish curiosity with an oily rag.
"I don't have a choice," I mumbled, acutely aware of how stupid I sounded.
"I can help," she carefully observed my reaction. "But it will hurt. A lot."
I leaned against the table, twirling the ball of yarn in my hands. "How?"
"I can bite you. The Thing will stay away." Lucy inched closer to me, as if she knew right then and there, that I had made up my mind. "We have an agreement," she added, smashing the last of my hesitation.
It made several questions pop into my mind but I had no time to ask them. I nodded derisively and Lucy picked up her doll, nodding in the direction of the door, wordlessly telling me it's time to go.
My anxiety rose once again as I caught a glimpse of her mischievous visage return, briefly, as she waved goodbye to Stephen, the eerily blank mask of indifference returning once again as soon as the door to my apartment slammed shut.
We walked out into the stairwell, hip to hip, a bounce to her step that didn't fare well with the grim situation I was about to face. Our steps echoed as we reached the door of the elevator and Lucy immediately turned around, looking up at me expectantly.
Taking a deep breath, I rolled up the sleeve of my shirt and offered her the soft flesh of my forearm. Her fingers closed around it as she drew nearer, letting me take another quivering gulp of oxygen. The click of her jaw sounded like a button pushed too hard, too many times; the thin, jagged teeth pierced my skin without a hitch.
Warm blood trickled down my arm; it was in my mouth where I bit into the side of my cheek to curb the scream that was building in my throat. Lucy's bite felt like a thousand paper cuts, so sharp it felt hot. It scratched against my bone, bypassing it and delving deeper into the energies making up my higher self.
Lucy took a hefty chunk of me and ran it through a meat grinder. The pain was enough to make me faint, yet I clung onto consciousness with stubborn determination, forcefully squeezing my eyes shut. It didn't make a difference, however, as the darkness behind my eyelids burst into colour, crimson, like the blood pouring down my arm, and sicky yellow, like the old, dirty stairwell I was about to get devoured in.
In place of Little Lucy was a blob of concentrated darkness, the kind that children chase away with colorful nightlights; the obscurity was everywhere, the walls were made of it, the doors - everything was saturated with it. It pulsed and throbbed, pus-like appendages growing and writhing from it, snagging onto each other only to immediately begin tearing the other to shreds.
Like hungry lampreys, the arched and oozed towards me, none quite reaching me, but squirming close enough that I could sense the putrid, rotten stench.
The pain ebbed away and I stumbled back, opening my eyes, blinking away the disgusting scenery, dumbly searching for the elevator button. Lucy was nowhere to be seen; I wasn't sure how much time I'd spent standing there, too terrified to open my eyes, held captive by the morbid vision.
The car opened and I stumbled in; it immediately began descending although I had not pressed any buttons. Too dazed to seriously consider the implications of what was about to happen, I prepared, lighting up the candle. Once the elevator doors opened again, I beelined for the plain white door, throwing it open and tying the loose end of the yarn without a second thought.
The mirror didn't exactly fog up; the world briefly fell out of focus and then, I had a path to follow. Keeping my head down and my eyes peeled to the contents of the mirror, I began walking ahead, straight down the empty hallway.
The walls were plain and a pale yellow, like in a hospital. It smelled just as neutral, too, filled with cool, slightly dusty air. There were no doors or windows, no visible ventilation holes, the continued journey felt more and more like a dream the more rooms I went through.
Archway after archway, their angular edges began to blur. If I dared to raise my eyes from the reflection and the red string, I immediately became dizzy, me eyes watered, making it harder and harder to keep the thin line of red in focus. The string was the only thing that felt real, the saturated colour standing out in the noxiously bleak hallways around me. Even the flowers on the front of my shirt seemed to have lost their colour, as if the shirt had gone through hundreds of washes in the short time I spent in the hallways.
Time? I had lost track of it as the scenery blurred, faded in on itself just like my memory. The ball of my yarn hadn't grown any smaller in my palm despite me having made way through dozens of spaces just like this one.
Where is Tony?
Just as I gathered enough thought to ground myself into the reasons behind this peculiar journey, something wandered directly into the line of my eyesight.
I screamed, jumping back, daring to lift my eyes just to meet two blank, brown orbs blearily blinking in my direction.
"Tony?" I breathed, bringing the mirror to see if the string was pointing to him. It was.
"What? I'm, I-.." He seemed so confused, stuttering, looking around. "I don't know..."
What Tony didn't know, I wasn't sure of. He didn't resist when I grabbed him by the arm, linking us together, turning around to follow the string back to the exit. A dozen archways, perhaps, was all it took us to find a way out; the doors of the elevator opened invitingly as a still-dazed Tony shot me more incredulous looks when I began to shake at the mere sight of the empty elevator car.
I didn't know how long I'd spent in that place. I didn't know what happened to Tony, I didn't know if he was okay or would he ever be. I was sure of only one thing: I am never stepping foot in the basement again.
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