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It was a beautiful autumn night.
Wind blew through the trees shaking the last colorful remnants of leaves that still clung stubbornly to finger-like branches. Below the trees the already shed leaves formed impressive piles that covered the ground in a wet musty smelling mat. A few late growing plants grew up through the thick cover of leaves to sit prominently in dappled pools of moonlight. And it was silent, save for the rustling of the wind and the occasional cry of an owl.
Some might have called the night’s atmosphere unsettling due to it also being October the thirty-first, but many more would have called it absolutely perfect.
The Them were some of those people.
The Them sat huddled around a beaten up, red lantern that cast a warm glow across the overgrown chalk walls of The Pit. A campfire would have been more appropriate, but since none of them knew how to start or properly maintain a fire they had to make do with the lamp Piper had borrowed from her mum.
Currently, Pepper was in the final climax of her story, arms flailing dramatically as the story concludes. The others watch her enraptured, and in varying degrees of terror as she finishes with a flourish.
Somewhere under Adam’s feet, Dog whines.
She gazes smugly at a terrified looking Wensleydale, and Brian. “So, what did you guys think? Pretty scary huh?”
“It was indeed scary…” Wensleydale says meekly.
Brian gives a few jerky nods. “Ye- yeah…”
She nods at the two of them, before turning to Adam. “So… what did you think?” she says rather smugly, “Good enough to win this year’s scary story competition?”
“Hmmm… Maybe.” He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “It was a pretty good story, was it from that book of American Ghost stories I saw you reading the other day?”
“Of course not!” She scoffs annoyedly, “They weren’t all that scary… I just used one of them as inspiration.”
Bian frowns. “Is that even fair? I thought we were supposed to be telling our own stories…”
Wensleydale adjusts his glasses, looking far more relaxed than he did several moments ago. “A lot of stories take inspiration from other stories. West Side Story is just a modern retelling of Shakespear’s Romeo and Juliet.”
“But I didn’t know we could do that!”
Pepper crosses her arms and scowls at him. “Well then it’s your fault you didn’t come up with it.”
As the rest of the Them descend into pointless bickering about rules which had never been discussed, Adam considers what story he wants to tell. He had been thinking about this for weeks and while he had several that he liked, he was particularly proud of the Killer fish from outer space story, there was only one that was a true story and those always felt scarier.
What was the point of having an uncanny amount of knowledge of things if you didn’t get to use it every once in a while?
He clears his throat right as Pepper and Brian start to come to blows. They both quickly freeze and look up at him from their spot on the damp ground.
“I know what story I’m gonna tell,” he says, bringing his hands together with a sharp clap, “So if you two can stop trying to knock each other’s heads off for a bit, I’d appreciate it.”
They both give each other a quick glance before sitting up straight with their attention focused on Adam. Wensleydale adjusts his glasses from where he sat far away from his squabbling companions. Even Dog crawls out from under Adam’s feet to fix him with an inquisitive stare. Adam always told fantastic stories after all.
The lantern casts dramatic shadows over his face as he starts, “Our story starts on a night very much like this one—”
“What? No stormy night with lots of ominous lighting?” Pepper scoffs, “nothing very spooky about a pleasant night…”
“Well it’s not like every night can be full of spooky lightning, and this one happens to be a true story with no lightning.”
Pepper settles back down, grumbling about the merit of scary stories that did or did not include an appropriate amount of thematic lightning strikes, while Adam tries to get back into the flow of storytelling.
“Right… It was a night like tonight. With all the wind blowing through the trees, owls hooting into the night, and moonlight casting the world in an ominous glow which just barely illuminated the outline of a large manor house.
"This house was called Hillshire Manor, and was said to be haunted—”
This time Wensleydale speaks up, “I thought you said this was a true story, but I’m not sure real haunted houses actually exist.”
“And if they did,” Pepper added, “no one would willingly go into one.”
Adam gives them a serious look. “One: Who says the place is actually haunted, two: those two guys we met at the airbase would totally enter a supposedly haunted house, and three: I’m gonna stop if you guys keep interrupting me.”
With a small chorus of grumbles the Them settle back down to simply listen to the story, though how long this would last was anyone’s guess.
To Adam’s side Dog whines and Adam throws him a sympathetic glance. Dog had been his practice audience these past few weeks, and from the intense wagging of his tail this morning, he had assumed the loyal canine had also been excited for this.
It wasn't Adam's fault that the Them could often be as easy to herd as cats.
His brows pinch together as he thinks. “Alright… now where was I?”
…
Aziraphale looked up at the imposing structure illuminated faintly by the pale moonlight. It was an imposing building even though it was only two stories tall; it easily made up for its lack of height with its sprawling footprint. However, its hulking form easily disappears into the night as a series of dense clouds cover the moon, revealing that no lights were turned on within it. It was completely abandoned and, based on some of Aziraphale’s preliminary research, had been for some time.
Beside him his companion shifts, likely trying the get a better view
“Well, you were right about one thing… That is one bloody old looking building.”
The angel glances to the side, just barely managing to make out the sharp features of Crowley’s face in the near pitch-black night. “Yes. Almost two centuries… if my estimation is correct.”
Crowley frowns. “And the landowner is just letting you go through the place?”
“Well, he’s planning on tearing it down to restore the surrounding forest, but he’s letting people go through to pull out anything worth saving,” he explains, “I convinced him to be the first one allowed inside. A bit of a minor miracle on my part.”
“Right… and how exactly does one suddenly inherit a nineteenth-century manor in the middle of nowhere?”
“Apparently, he got it from a second uncle once removed, who apparently went missing almost a year ago and is now presumed dead. The man was not particularly loved by the family by the sound of it, and he was the only one the uncle put in his will.”
“Charming…”
The clouds that had been covering the nearly full moon finally part and bathe the area in cool silver light. Many of the house’s details which had been hidden by shadow suddenly reveal themselves. The windows were dirty and a few of them were broken in places but considering that the building had supposedly been abandoned for quite some time, they were all in marvelous condition. The walls also looked to be in good shape, with only a small amount of peeling paint and not a collapsed wall in sight.
“Seems a shame,” he mutters, never taking his eyes off the structure, “tearing it down when it’s still in such good shape.”
Aziraphale smiles sadly at that. “Yes… But I’m sure he has his reasons, and he is allowing some of what’s inside to be salvaged.”
“I guess we better get started then.”
With a flourish, Crowley gestures towards the large house inviting the angel to take the lead, which Aziraphale takes gladly. As they make their way closer to the house, Aziraphale makes a small gesture with his right hand causing a small ball of light to float dutifully in front of them.
To Aziraphale’s delight, and Crowley’s slight annoyance at the sudden bright light, details that had till now been hidden by shadow slowly start to reveal themselves.
At one point the building might have been a pale blue color, but years sitting out in the elements had caused its peeling paint to become greatly discolored. Boards had also been placed flush together over windows that had likely long since shattered in an effort to keep the worst of the weather out. Aziraphale smiles broadly at this, suddenly much more hopeful at the prospect of finding books in good condition.
With a few more eager steps he manages to reach the door, unlocking it with the spare key the owner had given him the night before. It swings open with a shuddering creak, revealing a near pitch-black entryway.
Crowley sneers into the blackness. “Well, isn’t that inviting…”
“Oh hush,” Aziraphale tuts, raising his hand again, “It just needs a little change in atmosphere… Let there be light.”
In a flash, the small orb of light splits into a myriad of smaller orbs and shoots off into the building. Each one dances across the walls until they find their place in an ancient light fixture, and soon the building is lit up with a pleasant glow reminiscent of gaslight. It reflects almost pleasantly off of the yellowed, antique wallpaper.
“Well I guess it does look more appealing with some lights on…” he says before giving the angel a slightly mocking look, “but really… Gaslight?”
Aziraphale huffs indignantly, “I happen to like the look of gaslight. It’s far superior to those modern fluorescent or electric lights.”
Crowley’s mouth opens, mind already reaching for a lighthearted retort about the wonders of modern electrical lighting but stops when he remembers the time he tried to introduce them to Hell. He had been wanting Hell to invest in better lighting for a while, but as always, they had managed to take the marvelous human invention of the fluorescent light and completely ruin it. On the first day the lights went on, less than half of them worked, and one notable light fixture had begun to leak water. Somehow, hell felt even darker after the switch.
Aziraphale waves a hand in front of his face, causing him to jolt slightly.
“Ngk!”
“Are you alright, dear boy?” he asks with a voice that was torn between genuine concern, and mild annoyance, “you went awfully still there for a moment.”
“Huh? Oh… It’s nothing. Just got caught up in my own head for a moment there.” He looks around hoping to spot something to change the subject. By some unspoken agreement, they had been avoiding the subject of their former sides and he didn’t want to break their current streak. Thankfully, a doorway he remembers from the floor plan Aziraphale showed him catches his eye. “Hey, that’s the doorway that leads to this place’s library, right?”
Aziraphale follows his gaze and breaks out into a wide smile as soon as he spots the doorway. “Ah! Yes! That indeed would be it!”
Without further ado, the angel strides confidently into the building and towards the newly identified doorway leaving Crowley to hurry after him. They have to walk through a long, cluttered, cobweb encrusted hallway, but they manage to reach the library with only a minimal amount of rearranging of clutter.
Aziraphale gasps as they enter the old library.
It really was more of a study than a library, with ceiling to floor bookcases along every wall. Stacks of dark, well-worn furniture, threadbare Persian rugs, and a large stone fireplace take up much of the rest of the room. Everything was coated in a thick layer of dust that showed only the barest hints of being disturbed anytime recently.
Aziraphale looks at the scene in awe.
“Reminds me a little bit of your bookshop,” Crowly mutters, swiping his finger across one of the nearby shelves, “even has the right amount of dust.”
He sighs happily, “It is rather lovely, isn’t it? It really is a shame it will be torn down in a few months.”
“Yeah, I guess…” he walks over to one of the open leather chairs in front of the fireplace and flops noodle-limbed into it. “You should probably get started, angel”
“You’re not going to help me?”
“Nope,” he says, lazily popping the ‘P’.
Aziraphale gives him an indignant look. “Then why did you agree to come with!?”
“I was bored, and thought rooting around an old, abandoned manor house sounded interesting.”
Aziraphale groans, and gently massages his temples. “Well, I hope you enjoy yourself then. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
Crowley very deliberately does not pout at the angel’s tone. He also doesn’t pout as Aziraphale selects an armful of books and settles down to carefully inspect them. In truth he had been hoping to get Aziraphale to explore the old house with him, but he could tell from the serious look of concentration written across the angel’s face that he’d have a rough time convincing him. Still, it was worth a shot.
“Oh come on Angel…” he grumbles, “a whole manor to explore, and you're really just going to sit here and look at books? You already have a dragon’s hoard in your bookshop!”
Aziraphale barely glances up from his first book. “I’m not planning on keeping many of them. In fact, I likely have better copies of some of these back at the shop already, but having extra copies that I am not overly attached to would be beneficial if ever there comes a time where I must sell one.”
“Are you really going to spend the whole night looking at books?”
“I only have this one night to go through everything,” he shoots back annoyedly.
“How about this…” Crowley tries diplomatically, “You get through, oh I don’t know, fifty books? And then you come and join me for a little bit? Best of both worlds.”
Aziraphale gives him a contemplative look. “I suppose that could work… Humans are always talking about the importance of taking breaks to increase productivity."
"Great! I'll just wander around then. See if I can find anything interesting.”
“I’ll leave you to it then.”
With a note of finality Aziraphale returns to his stack of books, leaving Crowley to start exploring by himself—
…
“Why would anyone willingly go off by themselves in a weird old house?” Pepper interrupts irritably, “splitting up is always a bad idea in these kinds of stories!”
Wensleydale fixes his glasses and fixes Pepper with an equally irritated glare at her interruption. “That feels a bit unfair… assuming that anyone knows what genre they’re in.”
“Yeah,” adds thoughtfully, “It’d be like saying that we’re dumb for being out here because a lot of horror stories start in dark woods.”
“Fine… but I still would have expected it to at least be scarier by this point. This is supposed to be a scary story competition after all.”
Adam, who had been listening to their feedback with a mixture of curiosity and irritation, frowns at Pepper’s comment. Of course the story didn’t feel ‘scary’ yet. Many good scary stories didn’t start scary right from the beginning. They started almost normal and slowly the feeling of unease, of wrongness would build until in one foul swoop it would break. They just had to be patient.
“It will get scarier,” he states frankly, “or at least it will if you stop interrupting me.”
The other them look sheepishly between themselves before settling back down. Between them the lantern light flickers ominously, almost expectantly, as if it too was waiting for the next leg of the story. The shadows flicker in response.
Adam takes a deep breath, “Alright… let's get back to exploring the hallway…”
…
Crowley steps out of the library and into the hallway finally getting the chance to properly look around now that Aziraphale wasn’t making a beeline through it. Despite Aziraphale’s miracle, shadows still clung to the edges and made the cover furniture that sat flush to the walls look like ghosts. Much like in the library spiderwebs and dust coated every surface, though it was perhaps even thicker.
Crowley runs a finger through the mess, sneering as he brings it closer to his face. It’s gross and a testament to the months if not years this place had been sitting here empty, but just as he’s about to wipe his hand clean of it, he notices something odd out of the corner of his eye.
While the dust sat heavy and thick on the forgotten furniture, a faint trail of noticeably dust free floor ran the length of the hallway. And while he expected there to be footprints from where Aziraphale had walked before, that didn’t explain the complete lack of dust.
He quickly walks back to the library.
“Hey, Aziraphale? This place is supposed to be pretty abandoned isn't it? As in no one else is supposed to be here?”
Aziraphale flashes him a confused glance. “Yes. No one has lived here for almost a year as far as the owner is aware. Why? Is something wrong?”
“I just found some signs that some people besides us have been moving around house—”
Suddenly Aziraphale’s eyes light up with recognition. “Oh! That’s probably from when the owner had this place inspected for demolition! They had inspectors wandering around for almost a full day. I’m sure that would be the most likely cause of any disturbance you saw.”
“Ah… Well, that explains it.”
“No need to be nervous, dear boy.”
Crowley scoffs, emotions ricocheting violently between being offended at the suggestion that he was nervous and embarrassed that Aziraphale’s observation had been correct. He had never liked it when Aziraphale called him out on such things.
“I wasn’t nervous,” he mutters petulantly, “Just wanted to make sure there were no delinquent, trespassing teenagers running around.”
Aziraphale’s eyes drift back down towards his work before answering with a voice dripping with sarcasm, “I see… Well, I doubt you’ll need to worry about that either, since this place is so remote, but I would greatly appreciate it if you told me of any delinquency you find so I could tell the Owner. “
“Fine.” He turns around and starts heading back out of the library. “I’ll try and find something interesting before you take a break.”
Behind him he hears Aziraphale illegibly mutter something that could have been a farewell, or another sarcastic remark. He has half a mind to turn round and try to get the last word but stops himself at the last moment. Quickly, he makes his way down the hall back towards the main entryway.
Slowly, he works through the first floor cataloging every interesting room he finds. Off the main entryway he finds a door leading to an overgrown patio and garden, a foul-smelling kitchen, a dining room, a set of servant’s quarters, a ballroom with a cracked hardwood floor, and a room with an organ that seemed to have originally been used as a small chapel at some point though it no longer held any holiness. Each room was as equally covered in dust and cobwebs as the next, and it wasn’t until he stumbled across what appeared to be an old coal shoot that he managed to find something even remotely interesting.
It takes him a moment to fully process what exactly is wrong with the room. It looked like many coal shoots he had seen back in the day; cramped, filthy, and dark. They had come in handy several times when Crowley had needed to make a quick getaway, but none of the ones he ever saw had quite the same coverage of spiderwebs as this one.
The webs were thick, almost threadlike, and pale silver in color. They stretched wildly between the walls of the shoot, creating a thick net-like mesh that even a fly would have struggled to pass through. Despite his better judgment he reaches out to touch it and finds it surprisingly wet and tacky. With more effort than he was expecting he manages to pull his hand back. The web makes a dull noise like a plucked loose guitar string.
“Well… That’s gross.”
He quickly miracles the threads off his hand and makes his way out of the room. Almost as an afterthought, he closes the door and miracles a lock on it. He didn’t know what British spiders could produce webs like that, but he didn’t really feel like finding out.
Not wanting to explore the basement after that slightly unsettling discovery, he heads to the second floor.
He quickly finds himself disappointed to discover that most of the upper rooms were bedrooms, restrooms, or sitting rooms. Though the Master bedroom did have the highlight of having a nice balcony, and more full bookshelves. He’d have to tell Aziraphale about this even if he dreaded the prospect of the angel spending even more time looking at books.
Out of the corner of his eye he notices a book left out on the end table. It looked old; with crumbling yellowed pages and a cracked leather cover that was curling away from the pages like a sneer. The gold foil inlay lettering had long since faded away, but he could still read the embossed letters announcing that this was some obscure book about the occult.
Curiosity piqued; he peaks inside.
It was written in the most god-awful Latin Crowley had ever seen, though the information seemed to be more accurate than books about hell tended to be. The squiggly alchemical symbols were unsettlingly accurate looking, and Crowley felt a shudder creep up his spine at the sight of his former coworkers’ names scrawled across the pages. Nothing good could come of something like this, so he picks it up to dispose of later.
He frowns looking down at the book as he considers what he’s found so far; rooms stuffed with old furniture, horribly gross amounts of dust and cobwebs, and a potentially dangerous occult book that only a few people on this planet could properly read. It was honestly rather disappointing. When Aziraphale had invited him to come visit the old house he’d been expecting some kind of mystery or intrigue around the missing human the house had once belonged to, but it was just turning out to be a regular old, abandoned house.
Oh well… There was always the basement.
He carefully tucks the book into an inner pocket of his blazer before hurriedly walking out of the room and towards the main staircase. He was itching to find something worthwhile to talk with Aziraphale about, though the longer he thought about it the more he realized that Aziraphale would probably be able to talk for hours simply about the sorry state of the house, or the craftsmanship of the old house.
Resigning himself to several rounds of boring conversations on historical architectural practices, or the importance of proper and regular cleaning in the upkeep of antique items, he tromps down the stairs and towards the rickety looking door that likely leads to the basement.
Though perhaps dilapidated would have worked as a better descriptor for the door than rickety. It looked to barely be holding onto its hinges, with paint peeling off in large ragged looking flakes, and several large, deep scratches marring its simple wooden surface.
He gestures with his hand, miracling it open with a small flourish to avoid touching more of those thick cobwebs.
The door opens with a horrendous screech of rusted metal, and all at once Crowley is hit by several things. Firstly, the basement was dark, with none of the light Aziraphale had miracled up before lighting the way. Secondly, the basement had a smell to it that was different from the rest of the house. It was pungent and stale, almost as if something had died down there long ago and no one had bothered opening it up and removing the dead thing. Thirdly, there was a feeling that eked out of the blackness like invisible tendrils, causing his heart to pound and the fine hairs on the back of his neck to rise. It was a feeling not dissimilar to the one he got when he first realized what the subject of the book was.
“Well…” he mutters halfheartedly to himself, “I was hoping for something more interesting…”
With no small amount of hesitation, he steps into the inky darkness.
It takes a few moments for his eyes to adjust to gloom, though he’s eventually able to piece out the shape of the stairs in front of him. Not wanting to miracle lights like Aziraphale had done earlier, he simply slides his phone out of his pocket and turns on its flashlight. The remaining shadows give way allowing Crowley a better look at the stairs and basement landing.
The basement landing was, for the most part, a sea of featureless gray brick. The only thing that broke up the monotony of the room was a pile of coal sitting under what appeared to be the other end of the shoot he had found on the first floor. Much like the top section of the shoot, this bottom portion was also covered in thick, silvery cobwebs.
To Crowley’s mounting dread, he notices a trail of webbing also leading away from the pile, and towards one of the empty doorways. That first batch of webs he could have explained away as just overzealous spiders, but this was a bit much. And with the discovery of the book of the occult he found upstairs, he was starting to wonder what exactly caused the previous owner to disappear.
With a shuddering breath he walks through the doorway and into another dark basement room. The first thing that hits him is the smell of stale, damp, rot permeating through the air. The next thing he notices is a large collection of bare wooden shelves and barrels, suggesting that this room had at one point acted as a larder and wine cellar. Though all the food had long since rotted away or been eaten by pests.
Investigating the shelves further, he notices that even some of the stained wooden boards had been chewed away by any number of pests in a likely desperate search for any residual bit of food that had once sat there.
There were no rats or mice now.
Though he found himself greatly tempted by the idea of checking the barrels, he instead turns back around and heads back to check the other doorway that led out of the basement landing. Being drunk likely wouldn’t be the most helpful thing in the world, and it would only work to temporarily relieve some of his quickly fraying nerves.
He passes through the other door and discovers what appears to be a laboratory space, with an operating theater attached to the back of it. Benches and tables covered with various pieces of glassware and equipment clutter the small space. As he moves the flashlight around, shards of broken glass twinkle like stars on the dusty floor. That would have to change before he investigated the room further.
He flicks his wrist, sending the glass to the bottom of the ocean somewhere, before taking a cautious step forward. In theory his miracle should have removed all of it, but he could have missed something. Though his confidence grew with every step he took inside.
Ignoring the labeled glass bottles filled with who knows what, he instead walks towards the stack of yellowing books sitting dejectedly on the corner of the far table. Though, on closer inspection he discovers that they were in fact journals.
“Alright… let’s see what secrets you were hiding…” He checks the cover, “Mr. Harrison.” He flips open the leather cover.
Due to a mixture of poor penmanship on the author’s part and the bad lighting of the basement, Crowley has to take his time reading. Much to his annoyance. In the back of his mind, he laments the fact that Aziraphale would be rather smug to find out that the most interesting things he’d encountered so far had been books, but that thought is quickly ignored as soon as he reads a section talking about a hidden room attached to the wine cellar.
He closes the journal with a loud crack that echoes loudly around the tiled room, before tucking it under his arm and marching out of the room towards the back of the wine cellar. These humans were both far too clever and far too stupid for their own good, and while he hadn’t read of any incidents of humans inadvisably contacting Hell, they were all a bit preoccupied preparing for the failed Armageddon. Though there was always the chance they managed to accidentally pull something through.
Crowley pauses in front of the wall described in the journal and rakes his eyes across it, looking for the odd colored brick that acted as the door release. The difference is so subtle that it’s a matter of luck that Crowley manages to push it, and with a shuddering groan, a section of the wall swings inwards. What greets him, makes his blood run cold.
It was a simple room, much like the basement landing, with the floors and walls made with the same monotonous gray bricks. In the center of the room was a large circle carved deep into the stone with extra markings marked around it in what appeared to be chalk. From just a quick glance Crowley could tell that they were wrong.
Unlit candles, many still standing upright in their holders dotted the area around the circle and near the walls. With a flick of his wrist, Crowley lights them and casts the space in a warm glow. He sneers as the light reveals several things that had been hidden in the dark corners of the room. They were little more than silvery veiled lumps now, but it was obvious from the shape, and the bones haphazardly poking out, that these lumps had once been human. There were about four in total that Crowley could see, and they probably belonged to Mr. Harrison and some of his various assistants.
“Stupid humans indeed…” he mutters darkly to himself, “They never manage to get the runes quite right and manage to pull something unexpected through…”
A noise, no more than a rustling of something behind him, catches his attention and he spins around to fin—
…
Brian screeches in panic, flinging himself to the ground and flailing in a way that causes the other members of the Them to squeak in alarm. Under Adams’ feet, Dog lets out a startled series of yips and whines.
“Something’s touched me!” Brian continues to shriek, his hands reaching behind his head to pull at the offending thing that had fallen into his hood. Eventually he manages to fish it out, revealing a rather large and impressively spiny leaf. It looks almost like a spider, much to Adams’ amusement.
Piper is noticeably less amused.
“Really Brian?! All that fuss over one silly leaf???” she scolds.
“ You try keeping a straight face when you feel like something’s crawling up you neck!” He lets out an indignant huff, as a slightly apprehensive look crosses his face. “Adam’s story just had me on edge is all…”
Piper throws her hand up in the air in mock defeat. “But nothing’s happened! It’s just been a lot of descriptions of dusty, dark rooms, and weird stuff. Nothing scary has even happened yet.”
In a fumbling move that is far shakier than normal, Wensleydale pushes his glasses back into place from where they had been knocked askew in the commotion. “Maybe that's why it feels so unsettling,” he suggests shakily, “we keep thinking something bad is going to happen, but it never does, so the feeling just never goes away.”
Adam breaks into a wide grin. “See! Wensleydale gets it!”
“Well somethings got ta happen eventually... No point in a story where nothing happens…” Pepper says huffily, though she was starting to seem a bit unsure of herself. It was entirely possible that Adam could be telling a scary story with no ending just to make a point. It was Adam after all.
Brian, having calmed down slightly, looks at the rest of the group with a contemplative expression. “What do you think the monster is? I’m betting it’ll be a big spider or something because of all the webs.
“But there aren’t any big spiders in England!” Wensleydale complains, making a face like someone had spat in his food, “we only get those small ones that show up in the corners!”
“Yeah, but it’s not like it has to be an English spider.”
“Then what kind of spider is it?”
Brian scrunches his nose up in thought. “It could be an American spider… I bet they get big spiders. Or maybe an Australian spider. They’re always talking about how big the spiders are over there.”
Pepper crosses her arms. “It’d be lame if it was just some regular spider…”
“Well maybe if you’d all let me continue,” Adam interrupts, “then you’ll actually get to know what happens next.”
At first, he had found their speculation interesting, maybe even a bit amusing, but he knew how long these three could go on, so it was time to put on the breaks. Hopefully now that he’d be getting to the more exciting part of the story, the other three would stop interrupting as much.
He claps his hands together and gets right back to it.
…
Crowley spins around and comes face to face with another one of those strange, silk wrapped bundles. The empty eyes sockets of a skull stare into him almost judgingly.
“Gah!”
He jumps back, inadvertently putting his foot through one of the other bundles with the sickening snap of dry bones. He hisses as he pulls his foot out, scraping his ankle across jagged bits of bone, and tries not to step on anything else in his scramble.
After taking a moment to calm down, he surveys the room a second time, making sure to also look up at the vaulted ceiling. A couple more of those bundled remains hang haphazardly from the ceiling. It looks as if his opening of the room’s secret door. Worryingly, he also notices a large hole in the rooms ceiling that looks as if something had torn it apart brick by brick.
It was possible that whatever did that had been already dragged back down to hell, but…
His shoulders go rigid as a shiver passes down his spine. “Aziraphale…”
Aziraphale places down the book he had just finished with and surveys his work. He had already gone through most of the books, which was faster than he was expecting, but it had helped that much of the library’s contents had been much more modern than he had been expecting.
With a flick of his wrist, he sends his current pile to the backseat of the Bentley to join the others, before focusing his attention on the last bookshelf. This one seemed to contain the oldest of the books, with many of them containing tomes with cracking leather or linen covers. He plucks several promising specimens from the shelf and miracles them straight to the car, not bothering to even look them over, before cherry picking a few more to go over in more detail.
He had lit a fire in the fireplace earlier, and now the room was bathed in it’s warm flickering glow. It lent, what Aziraphale thought unconcerned as he was with the darkened corners of the room, the perfect atmosphere for reading.
A click, like someone loudly tapping a long fingernail against the wall, resonates thought the quiet space. Aziraphale looks up and scans the room for its source but sees nothing. The room in front of him is just as empty as it had been moments before.
“Crowley?” He calls out, a frown forming thick creases across his face, “Is that you, dear boy?”
No response.
He closes the book and sets it aside. Crowley did occasionally like to pull pranks, but he hardly thought that this was the demon’s style. He usually liked to be a nuisance and though there had been a few notable instances of him deliberately trying to frighten people, they usually backfired even more spectacularly than his usual acts of ‘evil’. This was far too unsettling, far too sinister.
A shiver passes up Aziraphale’s spine, as he glances around the room before his eyes lock onto the doorway heading out to the rest of the house. Satisfied with the warm glow the fire provided, he had dispelled many of the lights he had created when they had first entered, and while they would have provided Crowley with enough light to see by, it left Aziraphale squinting vainly into the doorway's dark maw.
Aziraphale steels himself. “Is someone there? It is quite rude to go around peering at someone from the darkness!”
Nothing moved.
Nothing made a sound.
Until…
Aziraphale practically jumps out of his skin as the tapping noise, this time louder and followed by a loud almost sandpaper like rasp that pierces the quiet. It seems to echo around the tight space, but now that he was focusing on it, he could definitely place its origin coming from the hallway just out of sight.
He’s about to call out again, perhaps re-miracle up some more light, when something slowly emerges from the inky dark. Aziraphale feels his throat constrict in blind panic as a black, hairy, segmented arm tipped with two large sickle shaped claws stretches towards him, followed closely by the glint of many eyes.
For a moment he doesn't move, watching as the thing in the shadows watched him. Then in one swift motion Aziraphale dives for the rod iron fire tending stick just as the creature lunges its horrible hulking form at him.
Crowley scrambles up the basement stairs, taking the steps almost three at a time. dread had turned into fear when he heard the loud crash coming from the first floor, and fear morphed into blind terror as he reached the top of the stairs only to be greeted with the acrid smell of smoke.
A cloud of it hung thickly in the air in front of the basement entrance. The usual contributors to the aroma of smoke, that of charring wood or other plant materials, were clearly present, but they were almost completely overpowered by something else. It was a smell that brought Crowley back to the fifteenth century.
“Az— Aziraphale!” Crowley hacks, trying to shield his eyes and nose from the acrid smoke. Near blindly he begins sprinting in the direction he remembers the library being in.
As Crowley turns the corner towards the library, his brain starts to run through everything that could have possibly happened to the angel. Generally speaking, he was expecting to see Aziraphale hurt and at the mercy of whatever hell beast these stupid humans had managed to drag to earth. What he wasn’t expecting was the scene of Aziraphale going toe-to-toe with what appeared to be one of the large spiders hell used for eternal punishments.
Aziraphale was wielding a fire poker which was glowing white hot at the tip, and from the scattered burn marks dotting the spider's carapace, he had managed to hit his mark more than once. Though he was also likely responsible for the large quantities of fire dotting the room.
“Aziraphale!” Crowley shouts over the hissing of the flames and spider, “What in the blazes do you think you’re doing!?”
“Good on you to finally join me!” he shoots back, barely taking the time to throw an irritated glance at him, “And I believe what I’m doing should be rather obvious!”
The Angel makes another swing at the spider, barely missing it and setting a corner of the rug alight.
Crowley uses a quick miracle to snuff the small flame. “Yeah! You’re trying to burn the whole place down!”
“Well maybe if you’d help me instead of sitting there like a—”
Aziraphale finds himself falling to the floor as one of the spider’s massive arms sweeps his feet out from under him, and in a flash the monstrous thing is bearing down on him with its fangs. For a terrifying moment Aziraphale thinks that this is the end. That he’ll feel the burning tear of venomous fangs before finding himself back in the bleached white walls of heaven, but the pain he was expecting never comes. Instead, he feels himself yanked bodily across the floor by his feet giving him a good view as the spider sinks its fangs deep into the wood floor.
“Get up you idiot!” Crowley barks, still dragging him roughly by the leg.
He gives Crowley a dirty look, though he’d probably thank the demon for the quick rescue once this was all over. For now, he shouts back, “Well perhaps I’d be able to if someone wasn’t holding onto my legs!”
Crowley quickly releases him and Aziraphale quickly scrambles to his feet, grabbing the fire prod on the way. Behind him the spider yanks itself free from the floor, breaking one of its dagger sized fangs in the process.
It lets out a hiss.
“I think…” Crowley says slowly, “that we should run…”
The spider rears on its back legs.
“Yes, I do believe—”
The spider lunges.
“RUN!”
They both take off sprinting down the corridor with the sound of skittering following behind. The dark hallways pass in a blur as Crowley carefully leads them upstairs and into one of the bedrooms he remembered having a lock. They close the door, bolt it, and then shove several pieces of heavy wooden furniture in front of it for good measure.
They wait for a moment, carefully listening for the sound of eight clawed feet rasping against the floor, but the hall remains silent. The only thing they can hear is the sound of their own labored breathing, and the gentle creaking of the house’s old walls.
Aziraphale lets his shoulders relax. He hadn’t even been aware of the tension that had pooled between his shoulder blades, but it was fading as quickly as the adrenaline was, leaving him with a feeling of exhaustion he hadn’t felt since the failed Armageddon.
He sits down on the bed sending up a cloud of dust.
Crowle glances over at him. “I wouldn’t get too comfortable, angel. The house is on fire, and I don’t think we should stick around too long.”
“What about the spider?”
“What about it?”
“We can’t just leave it here.”
Crowley frowns at that. “Why not? Hell will notice it’s missing and come pick it up… eventually…”
“Because” Aziraphale starts rather testily, “humans are bound to come across it and get hurt.”
“Yeah? And so could we!”
Aziraphale reaches up to rub his temples. “Crowley… be reasonable… Human firemen are likely going to eventually get here and when they do, they’re going to be defenseless against that… that… that thing ! We need to do something about it!”
By now Crowley had begun to rapidly pace across the small expanse of the bedrooms floor. On one hand he knew better than to be tangling with a creature from Hell. They were dangerous by design, and every demon knew that messing with them would lead to a quick disorporation… or worse. However, he knew he’d never hear the end of it from Aziraphale. And truthfully, though he’d never admit to it out loud, he really didn’t want to see any human hurt by the hell beast either.
He lets out a frustrated groan. “Ugh… fine. Alright. I hope you actually have a plan and aren’t doing this because of a moral whim.”
“Of course I have a plan!” he scoffs, “I noticed something about it while I fought it in the library… Despite it being from Hell, it seemed remarkably susceptible to regular fire or heat.”
“Yeah, that’s because hellfire and regular fire aren’t the same thing, Aziraphale. I could stand in a column of hellfire for as long as I bloody well pleased, but I’d be at a real risk of discorporating myself if I got trapped in a burning building.” They both cringe slightly at that last part. The memory of the bookshop fire still fresh in their minds.
Aziraphale continues, albeit more sedately, “Yes… well that’s precisely my point. We could trap it somewhere in the house so it can’t escape white it burns.”
Crowley’s brows shoot up above the rims of his glasses in surprise. “Arson, angel? After all you were saying about how much of a tragedy it was that they were tearing this place down?”
“Yes. Well… that was before we learned of the presence of that spider.”
Crowley balks at him slightly. “Right… Okay… that’s— that’s fair, I guess… So, any plan on how to trap the spider?”
“No… I was hoping you might have some idea since you went and explored the entire house.”
Crowley thinks about that for a moment. There were certainly a number of options that could work, though many of them had about as many negatives as positives. They could try locking it in the kitchen, plenty of flammable things in there, but the spider could just as easily jump out of the room's large windows. There were several windowless rooms on the second story that could work, but it would take the fire a while to reach them, and who knows if they could keep it contained while they waited for the house to burn around them.
He growls in frustration causing Aziraphale to give him a worried look. “Is something wrong, Crowley?”
“I can’t think of a single place in this damned house where we could trap the thing in long enough for the fire to reach it!” Crowley snarls.
“There must be somewhere…”
“No! there isn’t!” He throws his hands up in the air in defeat before dramatically collapsing on a cloth covered armchair. “There’s too many damned windows in this place and any room without windows probably isn’t sturdy enough to trap that hell beast for long!”
Aziraphale takes a deep breath. “Certainly, there must be a cellar. What about that?”
“It’s all stone save for the ceiling, so unless you’re planning on waiting and hoping the place collapses—” Crowley suddenly cuts himself off as a memory fizzles to the front of his brain. He had almost forgotten it in the rush of events leading to now, but faintly he remembers a room piled high with old stashes of coal.
“Crowley? Did you think of something?” Aziraphale asks cautiously.
Crowley nods. “Yeah… there was a furnace room down in the basement, completely made out of stone with an iron door. Still had a bunch of the coal they probably used to heat it too.”
Aziraphale sits up straighter and looks visibly more excited as he leans forward to say, “we could lure the spider downstairs to the basement.”
“Light fire to everything in the furnace room.”
“And then trap it inside! Oh! Crowley that’s a marvelous plan!”
The demon shrugs nonchalantly, though the sly smile betrays the humble action a little. “I try my best.”
“Yes,” he agrees, “now all we need to do is find a way to lure it to the basement.”
“Oh, I have an idea for that too, don't you worry…” Crowley stands up and clasps his hands together in an almost approximation of excitement. “It should actually be fairly simple…”
…
Adam stops to catch his breath, casting a look out across his audience as he did so. They were all bent forward in rapt attention as they listened. Even Dog had crawled out from his hiding spot under Adam’s legs to sit in front of him, though one paw was still covering his face.
He smiles.
“What’s so amusing Adam?” Pepper asks, scowling, “and why have you gone and stopped?”
“Just taking a moment to catch my breath a bit. This is the longest you’ve all let me go without interrupting.” He says almost sarcastically though no one seems to catch it, or care enough, to call him out on it.
Brian scratches his chin a bit. “Anyone else thinking that the story, I don’t know… feels less scary now? Like the part before the big spider, and it showin up was creepy… but now that they’ve seen it and have a plan to stop it, it doesn’t feel as creepy.”
“It’s because,” Wensleydale begins to explain, “it had the fear of the unknown to it. Something unknown moving in the dark is much scarier than watching an animal move in front of you in broad daylight.”
Pepper scoffs, “depends on the animal.”
“Yeah? And what animal would that be?”
She crosses her arms and gives him a smug look. “Spiders.”
“ Spiders? ” he repeats incredulously.
“Yeah. Spiders.” When Wensleydale’s frown deepens and his eyes crinkle in confusion, she lets out a dramatic sigh. “You ever see someone freak out over a spider? They never flip out until they figure out what it is.”
“Yes, but—”
Brian chuckles. “She’s got a point Wensleydale.”
“But that’s not—”
“I think we should add centipedes to that list,” Adam adds, knowing full well that he was only adding fuel to the fire, “found one crawling on me one day and nearly jumped clear across the garden when I figured out what it was.”
Pepper begins to cackle. “See? Adam knows what’s what!”
With a look of defeat, Wensleydale lets his shoulders fall. “Fine. You win.”
Adam lets the others bicker and laugh just a bit longer before raising his hand for them to be quiet. They all turn to him expectantly.
“Alright… Just one more part left to go. Now I don’t want any of you interrupting me during this bit, yeah? No questions. No comments. Nothing until we get to the end, alright?”
One by one the Them nod their heads in assent, before Adam begins to speak again.
…
Crowley quietly walks through the house, listening for anything that could have been lurking in the shadows clinging to every room and hallway. Though mostly he was listening for the sound of Aziraphale screaming for help from the basement. Even though he was wandering the dark house acting as bait for the spider to try and ambush, he was still concerned that he’d be ignored in favor of the angel. The creature was from hell after all, and who knows… It might hold a grudge.
At first Aziraphale had been opposed to the idea of them splitting up and Crowley acting as bait, but he eventually gave in as he couldn’t argue with the fact that Crowley could actually see fairly clearly in the dark. He therefore reluctantly trudged his way down to the furnace room to begin prepping the trap.
A sudden whiff of sulfur causes him to pause.
Slowly, he looks at his surroundings. He was in the middle of an unassuming hallway, with doorways framing either side of him. The door to his left was closed, but the other one was open revealing the ballroom he had practically overlooked before. Now he gave the space his near full attention. There’s a series of soft tapping sounds followed by a hiss and breath of sulfur that nearly causes him to gag.
He waits two heart beats before whirling around and bolting. Behind him is a sound that could only be described as something very big, and very angry crashing headlong into the wall. He throws a quick glance behind him to make sure it was still following him and nearly stumbles at the sight of the spider only several paces behind him.
He makes a mad dash for the coal chute, knocking over various pieces of furniture as he went in an attempt to slow down the spider that followed too close for comfort. This however barely seems to do anything other than anger the spider, and he hears it give an angry, chittering noise.
In what felt like an eternity, but was in actuality barely even a minute, he finds himself at the coal chute. Though he has to dash through the large fire which has spread from the library to nearly cover the whole front section of the house.
He hopes the spider will follow him through the flames.
“Aziraphale!” he quickly shouts, “get ready!”
With barely a thought, he swings open the grate and dives feet first into a chute just as the spider reaches him. The cute is steep, and rough, and he has to thrash his arms around to break through the sticky web that was strung haphazardly across the small space. However, he finds himself dumped roughly out and onto a cold, hard floor before he can really process any of these unpleasant stimuli.
“Ugh…” he groans out, face plastered to the floor and body aching from landing on a large pile of coal.
Somewhere nearby, someone hisses, “Crowley! Crowley! Get up! The spi—”
Crowley jerks up as something crashes to the ground behind him. The spider surges over him and Crowley finds himself having to roll back and forth to dodge its remaining fang. Just as he thinks the spider was going to get lucky, a single fist sized lump of coal strikes it in one of its massive eyes. It rears back in pain allowing him to scramble for the door.
Aziraphale slams the iron door behind him, but not before miracling the coal chute’s door tightly closed and the large quantities of coal to start glowing with a near white hot heat.
He glances down at Crowley as the spider screeches and slams against the metal door. “Are you alright, my dear?”
“Yeah…” Crowley wheezes, “I’m fine just… just give me a minute.”
A wooden beam above them groans ominously “Yes well perhaps you should catch your breath a bit more quickly. I’m not sure how much time we have before the whole building becomes an inferno…”
“Right. Yeah. The whole front of the house is currently up in flames… it might be a bit intense up there.”
Aziraphale blinks. “Or perhaps we could just…” He gestures and the world around them shift in the blink of an eye.
Crowley feels the damp cool press of grass against the heels of his hands, and dew sinking into the fabric of his trousers. Blinking open his eyes, he confirms that they are indeed outside in the front garden.
“I thought you disliked doing that?” He growls as he pushes himself up off the ground.
“Yes… though I suppose exceptions sometimes have to be made.” He dusts himself off scowling at several smudges of soot on his coat. “Besides, it’s already going to be a nightmare getting the soot and the smell out of my coat. No need to make it worse.”
With barely a thought, Crowley miracles the grime from both their forms.
“Thank—”
“No, don’t thank me. That was purely selfish,” the demon scoffs, adjusting his sunglasses back into place, “there was no way in hell we were getting into the car like that .”
Aziraphale just gives him a knowing smile. “I see… Well, thank you anyways.” He turns back to the house. “What a shame…”
“Hmm…”
“Are you certain this will kill the thing?”
Crowley gives a half-hearted shrug. “I mean… Probably? I don’t see how even a creature from hell could survive being lit on fire and having a building collapse on it. At least… one without miracles that is.”
“I suppose you’re right…”
They watch the flames lap hungrily at the side of the building for a while. Eventually, one side of the building collapses, sending up an impressive shower of sparks. In the distance they hear the telltale whine of sirens.
“So..” Crowley says, “What are you going to say to the emergency response humans when they show up?”
“Hm? Oh… nothing much I would think.”
“Really?”
“I think they’ll come to the conclusion that the fire was caused by a freak electrical problem. It is an old house after all,” the angel explains conspiratorially, “And as for the owner… Well, I was scheduled to be here tomorrow.”
Crowley gives him a surprised look, before his face splits in a wide smile. “How cunning of you, Aziraphale.”
The angel gives him a small smile in return. “I have my moments… Shall we be off then?”
“Back to the bookshop then?” Crowley starts back to the car, Aziraphale following a few steps behind him.
“I do think so…” he practically sighs in response, “I’m afraid this evening has been more than enough excitement for me. You can stay if you’d like. I recently picked up a new bottle of scotch I’ve been meaning to try… and I’d like some help with all the books.”
Crowley gives him a baffled look, “Books? But I thought…” he catches a glimpse of the large stacks of books sitting in the back seat. “Aziraphale!”
“What?”
“I thought you were only going to take a few!”
“And I did. This is only a tiny fraction of what was there.”
He groans as he opens the door for Aziraphale before heading around to the other side, and slipping inside himself. With a flick of a finger he turns the ignition key, starting the engine with a roar, before pulling out onto the long dark driveway that led away from the house.
As they pull out of the driveway and onto the lane, Aziraphale says, “You know… I think we were very lucky that spider was what those humans had managed to pull out of hell… Just imagine if it had been a hellhound.”
“Yeah, or if there had been more than one.”
Aziraphale pauses. “…you don’t suppose?”
“Nah… Humans tend to be really bad at these sorts of things and it’s pretty lucky, or unlucky depending on how you want to view it, that they even managed to pull something through at all.”
“So just one?”
“Just one.”
Aziraphale nods and stares out the window at the hedges speeding past them. He trusted Crowley’s judgment, but something in the back of his mind wonders if they actually fixed the problem.
…
Adam finishes and looks around at the others who are still watching him intently, obviously still expecting more of the story. Slowly they realize that Adam is done and look between each other.
He picks up the old, beaten lantern.
“Wait… was that really the ending?” Piper scoffs.
Adam nods. “Yep.”
“But I thought scary stories were supposed to have bad endings. They both made it out.”
“I don’t think that’s quite right,” Adam says crossing his arms, “There are loads of ways stories can be scary. This one is scary because it’s true.”
“I bet it isn’t” Piper counters, though she doesn’t sound sure of herself, “I bet you just went and made all of that up.”
Brian scratches his chin. “I dunno… it’s not any less crazy than what happened this last summer, so it could be real.”
“Yes,” Wensleydale adds, “but was it any scarier than what happened this summer?”
The Them consider this for a moment before Adam adds, “well… I’m pretty sure what happened this summer isn’t going to happen again, but there always could be another spider. Lurking just out of sight and waiting for the right moment to strike!”
The others flinch away as Adam brings his hands above his head in a mock pouncing motion. Though they recover quickly enough and start to bicker and debate amongst themselves, if a bit more wearily than usual.
Adam smiles to himself.
In truth there was no other spider, just the one that those two had dealt with in the house, but the others didn’t need to know that right this minute. He’d tell them eventually, but for now he’d let them stew in the horror of not knowing. That was the fun thing about the genre after all.
He holds up the lantern. “Alright, we probably should be getting home.”
With a round of nods, they get up and follow him out of the quarry. Despite the tired looks, there wouldn’t likely be any restful sleep that night, all of them would be too busy jumping at shadows or the smallest sounds in the darkness.