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Vessel had never been very forthcoming about what might happen to them, if they devoted themselves to Sleep.
At first there had only been promises, vague and hopeful and so, so enticing. Promises of belonging and finding purpose and the insinuation of happiness and that had been enough for the three men to join him and forego any questions, enough even for them to drop the names their families had given them and pick up the numerical mantles the man who had only ever called himself Vessel gave them.
‘What’s a name, anyway?’ he’d asked as he told each man their number. ‘Besides an anchor to the things that haunt you?’
And they’d agreed. They’d agreed and accepted their new names and everything seemed fine because, for a while, it was. Because it didn’t take long for them to find those things Vessel had promised, that he said Sleep could give them.
Of course they all found them in different ways, in different degrees but they each of them had their belonging and purpose and happiness so it didn’t bother them that they were living these new lives in an ancient, crumbling manor hidden away in the woods, kept apart from the world at large. They had each other, they had Vessel and they wanted for nothing; their only work was carrying out and aiding in the bizarre but seemingly harmless rituals as their enigmatic prophet instructed. It seemed like there was no price to pay for these new lives, outside of their professed devotion to Sleep and their obedience to its high priest.
But one day, things changed.
It started with II, when he went missing for a week.
It was as though he’d utterly vanished from the manor and the grounds and while IV and III searched for him, pleaded with Vessel to tell them where he’d gone, to call the authorities, to show a modicum of concern that their friend was gone without a fucking trace, the tall man simply told them that he was finding himself, and he’d be back soon. III had raged at the man, and in the moments where III threw insults and accusations at Vessel and the other man said nothing in response to any of the vile things hurled his way, IV couldn’t help but feel a sense of lurching dread seeping into his bones. Because as III grew more and more angry, he could hear the anger in his voice begin to fester into fear, and soon his words were loud and teetering on panicked and each slice of his words fell on an indifferent, stoic target and that’s what unnerved IV the most. That Vessel seemed so beyond concern with what III was saying or what might have happened to II; it felt like a complete 180 from the man who had shown so much compassion for them, who had brought them together in this place.
But even with his deepening dread, something in III’s bladed words stirred something in IV; it was like a veil shifting in a delicate wind, and with each shift of the veil, slips of that wind reached IV, caressing his mind as if to shake him out of a dream and allowing him to think clearly for just a moment before a fog eagerly rolled back into his thoughts.
Had Vessel always worn that mask? What did he look like beneath it?
Why was Vessel’s skin painted so dark? It made him look like he was made up of the spaces between stars, endless and cold. How long had he been painting his own hands and forearms the same way? And III?
Why did it not feel like paint on his skin? Why did it stain him so thoroughly? Why did this change not frighten him?
When had he last heard his name? What was his name? What were III’s and II’s names, why couldn’t he remember them?
When did II get back, and why was he wearing that mask?
That last thought stuck hard and the shifting veil and the wind ceased to exist as IV barked out a sound of surprise, cutting off III’s vitriol. They rushed forward to their friend, taking him by the shoulders and chiding him for not telling them where he’d gone, for making them worry. II only gently, placidly patted III’s face with his hand, his eyes unfocused and dream-like behind his mask as he murmured that III would understand for himself soon.
And as if nothing had happened, II stepped past the two men and silently followed behind Vessel, leaving the others alone in the large, empty foyer of the manor.
IV looked to III, dread still crawling in his veins and the taller man was staring at his hands, a distant and troubled look on his face. When he looked up to meet IV’s gaze, his expression was stark and unreadable and he stared and stared at IV.
The next week, III went missing.
IV had torn through the grounds and the manor proper, calling for III. He never once saw II or Vessel and as his search grew longer and longer, tears stung IV’s eyes, born of frustration not aimed so much at the fact that he felt so profoundly alone in his search, in his corner for the other man, but at the creeping realization that he was trying desperately to hold onto the panic and worry and fear he knew he should be feeling, that he vaguely recalled feeling when II had gone missing.
Now, though, he somehow couldn’t quite hold tightly enough onto those feelings and they slipped from him like sand through fingers, or a fish from a palm. Only when he rounded a corner and saw II standing outside the library was he able to fully hold onto those feelings and they crashed into him all at once - overwhelming and staggering, the sensation of it all rooting him in place but chasing reason from his mind. The shorter man was watching the closed doors, as if he’d just knocked and was waiting to be let in. In silence he turned to IV, preemptively holding a finger in front of his mask where his mouth should be.
At the same moment, something crashed loudly inside the library behind the closed double doors and IV was instantly back to himself and his worry flew to the front of his mind. Worried, worried, worried… for what? No, no, no… for who. He’d been looking for someone, he needed to find them…
III.
IV pressed his weight against the thick oak door, opening it to reveal the expansive room and his mouth dropped at what he saw inside.
The library was a disaster; shelves demolished or torn from the wall, books in shreds and scattered, the floor and walls streaked with dark, ink-like stains that shone in the faint light. Something moved near a far corner of the space and IV’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of it, blind panic taking control of him to freeze him in place.
Whatever the… thing before him was, it was long and serpentine, black scales iridescent in the waning light. Its massive, thick body was coiled up on itself, constantly moving and writhing as if in pain, as if staying still would somehow hurt it. Along its body he caught sight of claws on long, hawk-like legs, the tips of the obsidian-dark talons digging into the wood floor, clawing deep gouges into the planks. A rattling growl shuddered through the beast’s form and IV traced his gaze along its body, finally finding the head of the monster, swaying in the same perpetual motion of its body. Despite being curled into itself, the thing was easily twice IV’s height, if the other two long, talon-tipped legs were any hint. From where he stood, he could see that the front-most set grappled at the floor, splintering wood and paper beneath them. Above those limbs, a ruff of feathers circled its cylindrical body; draped on its shoulders as if it was wearing a mantle made of shards of an oil slick. Above that, on a short neck hidden by the feathers, rested a skull. It was some sort of animal, too big to be anything real and short snouted and full of blunted teeth, with large fangs towards the front of its mouth. A larger set sprouted from the top jaw while a smaller but no less fearsome set jutted up from the bottom. The jaw of the thing opened and closed as if to imitate speech, and the clatter of bone against bone echoed in the otherwise silent room. Eerily, its skull wasn’t the usual stark white; instead it was a dull stone-black, giving it the appearance of being carved of rock rather than being composed of anything organic. Its eye sockets were empty, but the dark within them seemed alive in a way that IV could not and did not want to consider.
The beast had pressed itself into the corner of the library, its entire body heaving with every panting breath it took; the dark hollows where its eyes ought to be fixed towards the doorway where IV and II stood, its true focus far beyond it. The shorter man gently grabbed his elbow as if to pull him back, but IV, just as gently, pulled his arm from his touch.
Even in the low light cast from candles that hadn’t fallen victim to the beast’s evident rampage, he could now tell that the dark stains he’d spotted upon first opening the door was blood smeared all over the floor, and his heart thudded in his chest. Where was III, and who did the blood belong to?
A low growl from the monster dragged his attention back to it and he watched as it seemed to coil tighter onto itself, the sound emanating from it rattling and needling: like a winter wind through dead trees, like a pebble skittering against other rocks. The monster made the sound again, a little louder this time and there was an anger at the foundation of the sound, an anger that was teetering into fear.
Despite the ice-cold panic the sound roused from him, despite the terror the thing before him invoked in him, IV stepped into the room. No response from the monster. He took a tentative step towards it, unable and yet also unwilling ot take his eyes from it. There had been something... familiar under that last rattling growl. Something pleading in the warning it seemed to carry.
“I can hear you,” he said quietly to the beast and it shifted again. IV paused, thinking it might have moved to put itself in position to strike at him, to end him where he stood but somewhere deep in his mind the veil shifted.
It was moving as if trying to get further away from him, as if it was afraid of him.
It growled again, this time the sound edged with a sadness that IV knew he’d heard before. Flashes of the first nights they’d all spent in the manor, when they’d laid their souls bare for one another. IV would never forget the way III had sounded as he’d told his story, the despair that tinged every word, the sadness that had been at the core of him, then. IV frowned a little and took another few steps towards the monster, it’s scales flashing red and gold and orange in the faint, flickering light. “This is…”
“IV, don’t-” II’s voice was tight, and IV turned to look at him. For a moment, the two men locked eyes and there was a clarity in II’s gaze that IV thought might have been missing lately, but the sinking horror of that realization ebbed in him like sand in the wind. In a thought that moved through him as if it were trapped in mud, IV wondered what the other man knew and wasn’t telling him, what he hadn’t told III.
IV could feel something like rage flare in him but it was gone in the same moment, II blinking placidly at him. IV turned back to face the thing, its rattling growl filling the room again. IV let his gaze wander over the entirety of the beast, taking all of it in, letting the pressure of its existence rest against his senses as he tried to fully comprehend it. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the monster’s blood-splattered jaw, from the way its entire body heaved irregularly; as if it were out of breath. A viscous, oily liquid welled over the edge of its eye sockets and IV couldn’t help but wonder if monsters could cry.
IV’s thoughts began to fly, and he couldn’t find one to hold onto. He was struggling to understand what he was seeing, the connections his mind was beginning to make and how this creature could feasibly exist within the bounds of reality. This was impossible. Whatever hell they’d trapped themselves in, in this manor, whatever had happened to II when he’d been gone…this monster. All of it was impossible but here before him was finally something tangible: something that was breathing, writhing, crying and bleeding all over the library. He felt himself slip from his own mind for just a moment but a cold jolt dropped down his spine and dragged him back to reality. There was no way it could be true, but a sudden thought lodged itself in the front of his mind and he couldn’t shake it free. Was this…
“III?” The man said, voice barely a whisper. The beast’s breathing skipped a beat, its unblinking, empty stare shifting to focus on him for the first time, as if finally willing to perceive him. IV held a hand out, as if to touch its stone-black face. When it didn’t pull away from him, finally didn’t move at all except for that crawling, eternal writhing of it’s body he pressed his palm to the side of its skull. It was large, so much larger than it should be and unexpectedly warm. For a long moment both of them stayed still, as if waiting for something to shift, for permission from something beyond them. And then, the monster spoke.
“You found me,” it growled, the same rattling sound overlaying a distorted version of the voice belonging to the human it used to be. It came from within and without the beast, echoing in IV’s mind and he wondered if II could hear him as well. The sound was impossible and horrific and heartbreaking and when IV only nodded in response, the beast pressed his head into IV’s touch. The action was so much like III; it was something he’d done with IV dozens, hundreds of times before that IV couldn’t not see what - rather who - the monster before him was.
“What…. what happened?” he murmured, stepping back to take all of him in again.
“The debt-“ A choked off sound of pain that was neither human nor animal rumbled through III and he shook his head as if to clear it, then bowing it as if in atonement. A moment later he lifted his skull and a shiver pulsed through his body. The action unnerved IV and he took another step back. III spoke again.
“I didn’t want you to see me like this, didn’t want anyone…” he rattled, the coiling length of his serpentine body still in subtle, perpetual movement. IV frowned, letting his hand move towards III’s body, towards a dark, shining patch of scales half hidden by the feathers. III flinched violently at his touch and IV quickly pulled his hand away, fingers coming away bloodied.
“Were you trying to…?”
“I don’t know how to change back. I thought…” III said plainly, voice trailing off. He sounded so much more human in that moment that it summoned a tightness in IV’s chest that stung him. He didn’t want to think the implication of the other man’s statement was the truth of it. IV could only tug III’s beast-skulled head closer to him, and without thinking he pressed a kiss to the point between the dark wells where his eyes should be. The skull was so warm… just like III had been warm. The pulse he could feel in that bone felt like the man’s heartbeat he’d spent so many nights listening to, its rhythm more familiar to IV than the cadence of his own breath. How could this… monster… be the man he’d come to love so dearly? How could this be real? How could this be happening? Again, IV fought to hold onto the terror he knew he should be feeling, desperate for that tenuous connection to reality.
“This is a dream, it’s a dream, III. We’ll wake up and we’ll get out of here, we can’t stay… I’ll fix this, I’ll find a way to help you and-“
“No need.” Vessel’s voice was smooth and somewhat bored as it interrupted IV’s increasingly hysterical words and the man turned, keeping himself between III and the masked man.
“What did you do to him?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit! Look at him!” IV stepped forward, ready to lay the taller man out. The wind and the veil were within him again and it felt like the veil had been ripped away from him entirely: rage and fear and desperation flooded him, coalescing into a panic that rendered him blind to anything but the figure in front of him, his void-black skin eating the light around them. It seemed as if a shadow loomed behind Vessel, tethered to him.
“I see nothing wrong with him.”
Vessel’s voice was like a pinprick of light in a pitch dark cave, and IV sprang for it, desperate for a lifeline out of his panic. He blinked and was back in himself; Vessel standing before him, II not far behind, gaze calm and fixed on a point behind IV’s back. IV turned and saw III behind him, just as he remembered him: whole and human and watching him with a placid, gentle gaze from behind a stone-black mask marked with gold.
“Are you alright?” III asked, reaching for IV to trace along his jaw, his touch gentle and tender. Something in IV writhed and in the moment, he couldn’t tell if it was fear or if it was desire. Maybe they were the same. Maybe they were all the same, anymore. IV nodded and let III press his mask to his cheek in mimicry of a chaste kiss and that same co-mingling of desire and fear welled up in him. He wanted to ask what had happened, why they were all in the library, why Vessel was looking at him like that but the root of his questions was withering away faster than he could preserve it. Suddenly, none of it mattered.
“You’ll understand, soon.” III said, dropping his hand from IV’s face and turning to follow II and Vessel from the room, leaving IV alone in the blood-stained, ransacked library. He felt words rise up in him, words that might calcify his unease into true horror of what he and the others had become trapped in, but when he opened his mouth to give them life, he couldn’t make his tongue move to free them from his mind. And for the briefest, sharpest moment, IV realized Sleep had finally named its price.