Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

August 15th, 1997, was the last day that Stuart worked at Uncle Norm’s Organ Emporium, a shop he’d worked at since he was 16. On that day, a Vauxhall Astra was driven through the front window and many of the keyboards were stolen. Stuart lost one of his teeth when the ceiling fell on him, and then he was kidnapped by the robber. To Norm, it made sense to put blame on Stuart for the break-in and theft, as Stuart had been manning the shop by himself when it happened and hadn't been present to defend himself afterwards. Stuart was subsequently fired. August 15th, 1997, was a strong contender for the worst day in Stuart’s life.

When the car drove into the store and part of the building collapsed, Stuart was mostly just confused. He found himself suddenly underneath a ceiling panel with the taste of blood in his mouth. His head hurt, he was dizzy, and he felt vaguely nauseous.

He pushed himself out of the rubble to find he was not alone inside the store: a man with sallow skin and a dark, shaggy head of hair was rummaging around, gathering keyboards in his arms.

“Huh? Who’s there?” he said, whipping his head around to Stuart’s direction. “Oh. You work here, mate?”

“Uh…” Stuart replied, closing his eyes against a wave of dizziness.

The man continued, “If you work here, you can play these keys, right?”

“What?” Stuart said. His mouth felt funny.

The man squinted at him. Then, he walked over and shoved a miniature keyboard in front of Stuart’s face. “Hey, dullard. This thing. Can you play this?”

Stuart blinked at it. He was fond of this particular keyboard. It had been sitting unsold on a shelf for almost two months and Stuart was secretly hoping it would stay that way until he had saved enough to buy it himself. It was a salmon pink color, a shade Stuart liked very much, and it was small enough to be easily portable.

He reached for the keyboard and the man let him take it. He tapped out a melody from ‘Better Things’ by The Kinks, one he fell back on when he was testing the keys in the store. Sometimes, he would hum it to himself, and it would help his nerves.

“Right,” the man said, “you’re coming with me.”

“I’m what?” Stuart asked, and then he was hauled upwards by a hand gripping the material of his shirt. Distantly, he registered the sound of cloth ripping.

He was shoved, along with a pile of keyboards, stands, and other stolen items, into the backseat of the same Astra that had been driven into the storefront. The sallow-skinned man reversed the car back out onto the street and then drove away, casual as anything.

About 10 minutes out, Stuart finally realized that something was wrong.

“Uhm,” Stuart said.

“Yeah?” the man grunted, eyeing Stuart in the rearview mirror.

“Where’re you taking me?”

“Just to my place.”

“Oh,” Stuart said in a wobbly voice. He wondered if he should say anything more.

“Relax, dullard,” the man said. “I’m not gonna kill ya.” He promptly ruined any soothing effect of his words by barking out a distinctly evil laugh.

Stuart shivered, curling into himself. He realized he was still holding the salmon-colored keyboard and clutched it tighter to his chest.

The man’s ‘place’ turned out to be a Winnebago shoved into a dark corner in an underground parking garage. The flickering and broken lights above the beaten-down RV gave it an eerie vibe, and Stuart swore he felt a chill when he approached the door.

“Home sweet home,” the man said, shoving Stuart through the entrance.

As he stumbled forward, Stuart blurted out, “What’re you gonna do to me?”

“Nothing,” the man said, stretching the word out ostentatiously. “I told you to relax, dullard. Look, just sit down, alright?”

Stuart did, and the man’s moldy couch creaked loudly under his weight. Absently, he reached a hand up to his mouth, then pulled it away to find blood on his fingers. He’d been smoking earlier, but that cigarette must be buried under rubble at this point.

“What happened to my—?” Stuart started, looking up for the man, but he had gone back outside.

Stuart blinked sluggishly at his surroundings. It was dark and strange and smelled very strongly of— something: a musky, overpowering scent, like a large animal had staked its claim all over the place. In the dim lighting, it was hard to actually make out the furniture and whatnot that populated the interior.

The man came back inside with a large, black-and-white keyboard and a stand. He looked at Stuart excitedly, a long, pointed tongue peeking out from behind oddly sharp teeth, and Stuart felt like a bug inside a jar.

“Okay, dullard,” the man said, setting the keyboard onto the stand. A large, inverted cross pendant swung from his neck, glinting sharply in the limited lighting. “Try playing this.”

Stuart tried to focus on the keyboard, but his vision was blurry and his head felt like it was filled with cobwebs. “My name isn't dullard.”

“Oh. Pardon me, I believe we’ve skipped introductions,” the man smirked. “What’s your name, pretty boy?”

“I’m Stu.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Stu,” the man purred. “I’m Murdoc.”

Stuart shivered. He looked at the keyboard again and tried to raise his arms to play, but they wouldn't cooperate. “Uhm… what happened to my— my mouth?”

“Your mouth?” Murdoc repeated. “Well, let's see.” He suddenly reached over, causing Stuart to flinch. “Oi, relax.” He grabbed Stuart’s face with both hands, holding Stuart in place, and then peeled back Stuart’s top lip with sharp, dirty nails. “Hmm. Poor you.”

“Wha—?” Stuart said as best he could. He winced at the feeling of jagged nails digging into his skin.

Murdoc tsked, finally letting go of Stuart. “You’ve lost a tooth, mate. But you’ll be alright.”

“Lost a tooth?” Stuart said incredulously. “Which— which one?”

“Top one, right in the middle,” Murdoc replied, examining his nails. There was blood on them, either from Stu’s original injury or from creating new ones. “You didn't need it anyway. Don't worry, Stu.” He grinned, then his tongue flicked out to lick the blood off his nails.

Stuart was certain, at this point, that he was dealing with a psychotic person. “What d’you mean, ‘don’t worry’? I don't think teeth grow back! What am I gonna do without it?”

Murdoc shrugged. “Same as whatever you did before?”

Stuart stood up indignantly, only to be overcome by an intense wave of nausea and dizziness. His vision went dark like a door had abruptly been shut in his face. When he opened his eyes again, he was lying on his back across the same moldy couch and Murdoc was looking down at him with an unreadable expression.

“Oh, you're back,” Murdoc said. “Thought for a second that you might be dead.”

“What happened?” Stuart mumbled.

“You fainted, mate,” Murdoc said, then laughed.

“I think I— I think I should go now,” Stuart managed.

Murdoc narrowed his eyes. The whites of his eyes were jaundice-yellow, like a manifestation of his unpleasant personality. “Play this first,” he insisted, gesturing at the keyboard.

Stuart looked again at the keyboard. Playing keys was something that normally came naturally to him, but it seemed more impossible at that moment than his dream of getting out of Crawley. “Why?”

“Just do it,” Murdoc hissed. “Don’t ask questions.”

Shakily, Stuart managed to tap out the same Kinks melody he had played earlier. He closed his eyes as he played, letting the familiar notes wash over him as a small source of comfort. When he finished, he opened his eyes again and let his arms drop back down.

Murdo looked at Stuart intently. “That’s good. Now play something different.”

“I really think I need to go now,” Stuart said. “I don't— I don't feel very good.”

“Play,” Murdoc snapped.

“I can't.”

“Just play one more thing!”

Stuart was close to a breaking point. “No,” he said, desperately wishing he was curled up in his bed, back safely at home with his parents.

Murdoc’s lip curled back in a vicious sneer. “Fine. Fine. Have it your way, you little… but you better not report me to the police.”

“I… I won't,” Stuart replied. It honestly hadn't crossed his mind before, but now he was thinking maybe he should.

Murdoc considered Stuart with disgust in his expression. His earlier putrid sweetness, like fruit that had gone bad, was no longer anywhere to be found. “Well, dullard, I’m not letting you go that easy. It’s not as though I can trust your word, can I?”

From somewhere that Stuart couldn’t see, Murdoc pulled out a thick, ancient-looking grimoire with black pages. He quickly flipped through it, muttering to himself as he searched for a specific page.

“Ah… here we are,” he said, setting the book down between him and Stuart. “Obsignatio Secretorum.”

“Uhm,” Stuart said. “What’re you doing?”

Murdoc shushed him, then started chanting.

Stuart didn't understand the language Murdoc was speaking, but the words still managed to give him goosebumps. Out of fear, he held himself as still as possible, his gaze flicking back and forth between Murdoc and the grimoire. The space just around the book seemed to get darker, like it was repelling the nearby light. The darkness expanded slowly until it encased both Murdoc and Stuart, who continued holding himself deathly still. It was silent inside the darkness except for the gravelly sound of Murdoc’s voice and the short, panicked breaths Stuart was taking. When Murdoc finished the chant, every light inside the RV and all the visible lights outside briefly went out, plunging everything into complete darkness for just a moment before the lights blinked back into existence.

There was a brief silence as Murdoc and Stuart readjusted their eyesight.

“Well, that oughta do it,” Murdoc said, slamming the grimoire shut. He turned back to Stuart with a nasty grin, but his expression suddenly faltered when he saw Stuart’s face. “Oh. Shit.”

“What?” Stuart asked. “What’s ‘shit’?”

“Nothing!” Murdoc said, eyeing Stuart’s face.

“What did you do?” Stuart persisted.

“You’ll see,” Murdoc said ominously. “Nothing to do about it now.” He looked hard at Stuart’s face one more time, then pointed a sharp nail at the RV door. “Okay, dullard. Now, it’s time for you to get the hell out.”

Stuart was both scared enough by Murdoc and relieved that he could finally leave that he almost tripped over himself in his haste to escape. When he got outside the garage, he realized he didn't know where he was and didn't have any means of transportation. To make things worse, he had also lost his wallet somewhere.

Not knowing what else to do, Stuart picked a random direction and began walking. He tried asking some people for coins so he could call his parents from a payphone, but, for whatever reason, people seemed nervous of him and determined to avoid him. Hours passed in this way and the sun began setting while Stuart was still lost. The morning when he’d been quietly working the shop seemed months ago instead of earlier that same day. He was completely miserable: hungry, tired, dizzy, and in pain. His hands itched for his painkillers or at least a cigarette, but those were all long gone.

Eventually, he gave up and collapsed on a random street corner. As uncomfortable as the cement was to lay on, he still found himself dozing off.

It wasn't until nearly morning of the next day that his parents found him.

“Stuart!” Rachel cried, rushing over to him.

“Jesus Christ, honey. Look at him,” David said. “He looks like he’s been mauled by a bear.”

Apparently, Stuart’s mother had been driving around frantically since she heard that Norm’s had been broken into. Stuart’s father had joined her search after he’d come home from work.

“Stu, sweetie, can you hear me?” Rachel asked wetly.

“Hello, Mum,” Stuart mumbled. “You wouldn't believe the day I’ve had…”

His mom cried softly. “David, we have to get him to a hospital.”

“I know,” David replied. “Come on, let's get him in the car.”

Stuart’s parents each grabbed one his arms and lifted him together. Stuart’s legs were shaky, but he was able to walk with them to the car before collapsing into the backseat and dozing off again.

He was at the hospital the next time he woke up. His memories of the hospital were hazy in general, especially after he was put on pain medication. He was asked a lot of questions and then had his mouth examined and poked about. He thought he should be more concerned for himself, but the familiar numbness of painkillers had his mind floating peacefully amidst the current around him.

He slept in the hospital bed restfully until mid-afternoon, when his bladder finally woke him up. Forcing his body out of bed, he swung his legs over the side. He ached all over and there was something inside his mouth where his tooth used to be.

After asking for directions to the bathroom, Stuart found himself in front of a mirror for the first time since the morning prior. For a moment, he didn't recognize the person he saw in the reflection. Of course, he was missing a tooth from the top row and he had cuts and bruises peppered all over his pale skin from the building collapse. What caught his attention the most, however, were the blackened surfaces of his eyes. He pulled up and down at his eyelids and, as far as he could tell, the entirety of his eyeballs were now an ivory black color. If he leaned in really, really close, he could vaguely see the outline of his iris. He had no idea what it meant, having never heard of or seen a condition like this in another person. He could still see the same as before, which he supposed was the more important thing— even if he looked utterly ghastly now.

He leaned in again, looking for his iris and pupil, and noticed small, crescent-shaped cuts around his mouth. He realized they were nail marks left behind by Murdoc when he manhandled Stuart. That strange, psychotic man had come into Stuart’s life like a literal wrecking ball on a random Friday, destroying Stuart’s workplace and wellbeing in one fell swoop.

Stuart leaned back again from the mirror.

He was discharged soon after that. His mum had been waiting for him the entire time, so Stuart went to meet her in the lobby. She was mid-conversation with a police officer.

“Stu,” Rachel said tightly as she turned towards him, her fingers clutching hard at her purse. She visibly relaxed at the sight of him walking towards her. “Stuart, sweetie, how’re you feeling?”

“I’m alright, Mum,” Stuart replied.

She reached for his face once he was close enough. Concerned, she looked at each of his eyes, and then at his mouth. He opened it for her so she could look at his teeth, or rather the gap where his top tooth used to be.

“They said you’d lost a tooth,” she said. “You didn't have it with you when we found you, so they can’t put it back in.”

“Yeah,” he said. The doctors had already told him directly.

“And your eyes…” she trailed off.

“I know,” Stuart replied. “They dunno what's wrong with them. But I can see just fine, Mum.”

She just kept looking at him worriedly. “Stu, this man is here to ask some questions about the break-in at Norm’s.” She gestured to the cop beside her.

“How do you do, Mr. Pot?” the man said, extending a hand. “I’m Officer Callahan with the Crawley police department.”

“Uh… nice to meet you,” Stuart said, abruptly remembering his conversation with Murdoc about police involvement. “Just call me Stuart.”

They shook hands.

“Stuart, I understand you’ve just been through a terrible ordeal. I don't want to add to your stress, but I’d like to ask you a few questions about the person who broke into the store where you were working yesterday,” Callahan explained. “Can you do that for me?”

Stuart nodded rigidly. Oddly, he felt a bit bad that he was going to tell the police about Murdoc, even after everything Murdoc had done to him. He tried to mentally shake the feeling off.

“Alright, Stuart. Could you tell me how it happened from your perspective?”

“Uhm… I was just, y’know, going ‘bout my usual business. Standing behind the register, I think. Um, then I was just… knocked down. The ceiling collapsed a bit and I got caught under that.”

“Was there anyone else in the store? Or was anyone else supposed to be there?”

“There weren’t any customers at that time,” Stuart answered, “and I was the only person scheduled to work that shift.”

“Did you see the vehicle before it came inside?”

“No, I didn't notice at all.” He fidgeted as he prepared to tell the officer about Murdoc. “Uhm, the bloke that drove the car… he was stealing the keys when I first saw him.”

“Can you give me a description of this man?”

“He—” Stuart started, then suddenly choked. It felt like a hand had a grip around his throat and was squeezing hard, constricting his windpipes. He took a thin, painful, rattling breath, and his hands flew up to his throat to find nothing there.

His mum and the cop looked at him in concern, their eyes wide.

“Stu, what’s wrong?” Rachel asked fearfully. “Stuart? Oh, Jesus, we need a doctor.”

Suddenly, the ‘hand’ let him go, and Stuart took a deep, gasping breath. He coughed, then managed, “I’m— I’m— I’m… okay, Mum. I— I think.” Another cough.

His mum still looked ready to run and fetch a doctor.

“I…” Stuart said, but didn't know how to finish the sentence. Hesitantly, he tried, “The man…” and immediately felt a warning pressure at his throat again.

It had to be because of that grimoire and whatever spell Murdoc had chanted. Stuart had been scared for his life during the incantation. He’d never had any real reason to believe in ghosts or anything spiritual, but now he was convinced there existed a true evil in the world— or possibly a secondary world. Murdoc must have cursed Stuart to not be able to talk about him, a cautionary measure to prevent Stuart from spilling the beans to the cops. It turned out to be the smart thing to do, at least from Murdoc's perspective.

“I can't… I can't talk ‘bout him,” Stuart finished lamely.

“Did this man threaten you?” Callahan asked.

Stuart was worried even a nod would kill him. “I can't talk ‘bout him,” he repeated.

Callahan just nodded and wrote more notes. “A witness reported a Vauxhall Astra being driven through the front of the store yesterday afternoon, like you said. Then, it apparently drove away two minutes later. There was nobody inside the store after this. What happened after you saw the car, Stuart?”

Stuart hesitated for a long time. He reasoned that he was able to mention Murdoc earlier, but likely couldn't go into any identifying details. “Well… the bloke saw me. He came over to me and…” The hand pressed at his throat when he tried to tell the cop about playing a tune on a keyboard for Murdoc. “Never mind. Um, he… kidnapped me. Put me in his car and drove me back to his place.”

“And did you see where he took you? Were you able to look at your surroundings as he drove you?”

Even with his mouth shut, Stuart could feel a slight pressure at his throat. He shook his head.

“Okay,” Callahan said. “Then what happened?”

“Uh… well, eventually, he just let me go. Wanted me to leave, actually. He, um, wanted me to… do something. But I wouldn't do it. So he let me go.”

“What is it he wanted you to do, Stuart?”

Stuart just shook his head again.

His mum had a horrified expression on her face, and he suddenly realized how it must have sounded to her.

“Um, it wasn't like, err… he wasn't trying to… molest me, or anything like that.”

Callahan nodded. “So after you refused, he let you walk out? Is that why your parents found you outside on a street corner?”

“Yeah,” Stuart said. “I left. Didn't know where I was. Eventually, Mum and Dad found me and took me to the hospital. Now I’m here.”

“Okay, thank you very much, Stuart,” Callahand said, putting his notes away. He pulled out two cards and gave one to Stuart and his mum. “If you recall any details later, please call this number. In particular, Stuart, if you can provide us with any kind of description of the man, it would be extremely helpful in our efforts to apprehend him. Please be assured that you are safe now and the police department is committed to your continued wellbeing. If this man has threatened you to silence, we can protect you.”

Stuart nodded shakily, knowing it wasn't true.

“Alright. Both of you, please take care,” Callahand said, then left.

In the car, his mum asked, her voice barely louder than a whisper, “Kidnapped, Stu?”

“I… yeah, Mum,” Stuart said. “But I’m alright now.”

He saw the tremors in her hand as she gripped the steering wheel like it was her lifeline. Before they reached their house, Stuart made sure to tell his mum that he loved her, both because of how enormously she worried for him and because Stuart felt like he was closer to understanding what it was like to meet the Grim Reaper. His chances to tell her again at a later point seemed limited somehow.

According to the hospital, Stuart had a mild concussion from a head injury when Norm’s collapsed. He was also referred to a dentist for his mouth. The concussion meant that he needed a lot of rest, but the doctors told him he could likely return to work by the end of the week. Until he was better, he would be prone to lightheadedness, fatigue, fogginess, and potential sensitivity to lights and sound. Head pain wasn't new for him, but he was given some extra-dosage acetaminophen anyway, which he would simply add to his usual rotation of daily painkillers. He also wasn't supposed to drink until he recovered, which was a bummer, but he could deal with it. His parents wouldn't make him go back to working for at least a week, so that was a definite boon.

The hospital had given him his old clothes back when he asked, but warned him that they were a bit torn up. At home, he held up his shirt in front of the mirror and disappointedly noted all the holes in it. It was essentially unwearable, unless he was going for a ripped-on-purpose look that exposed large areas of his back and chest, not to mention the additional rip Murdoc had made at the neckline.

Stuart shudders at the memory of Murdoc. His sinister eyes, his nails like claws, the sickly shade of his skin. The black expression that overtook his face when he realized Stuart wasn't going to listen to him. Stuart had to remind himself that Murdoc was gone and would never come back into Stuart’s life.

Probably.

Chapter Text

Unfortunately for Stuart, bumming around his parents’ place got old after the first few days. A couple weeks passed and his parents deemed him fit for work again, so he started a job at his dad’s fair, Tusspot’s Fairground. It was easy to fall back into a monotonous routine of work and sleep, occasionally interrupted by something marginally more interesting like a drink at a local pub with his old mates from school.

His cuts and bruises from that day had healed fairly quickly, as did the ill feelings that accompanied a concussion. He went to a dentist, who told him his gums would heal okay and asked him if he was interested in an implant or prosthetic tooth. He told her he’d think about it, but the cost of any potential replacement was a very solid deterrent.

He then took a vision exam with his eye doctor, who confirmed that his actual vision was the same as before, but couldn't give him a satisfactory answer on the color change of his eyeballs. Although he’d kept this to himself, Stuart was fairly certain it was because of the curse Murdoc put on him. It definitely had something to do with Murdoc.

His parents were still worried about him, especially his mother. His apparent unwillingness to share any details about Murdoc had caused her to jump to the worst conclusions and no amount of denial from Stuart could change her mind. Work was a menial distraction from the fretful environment at home, and his mates were inviting Stuart out to the pub less as time went on.

These days, once Stuart had ingested enough alcohol, he couldn't help but talk about the break-in at Norm’s. Unfortunately, the curse Murdoc put on him meant most of what he tried to say was nonsensical to his mates, but he still couldn't help himself. The unfortunate fact was that August 15th, 1997, was simultaneously one of the worst days of Stuart’s life and also possibly the most interesting day of his very same life.

However, now that this major life event had passed, Stuart simply went to work, and went home, and went to work, and went home, and on and on. His parents worried about him, his friends got tired of him retelling the same story, and Stuart grew more and more restless.

Even when days turned into weeks turned into months, Stuart never went more than a day without thinking about Murdoc. At first, just looking in the mirror and seeing his eyes or tooth gap would remind him of how he had earned these battle scars. But even after he had gotten used to his new face, he would still find himself wondering over the enigma that was Murdoc. Meeting Murdoc raised so many more questions than had been answered in the short time Stuart had spent in his company.

This was why, when Stuart was running an errand in an unfamiliar part of town and abruptly recognized where he was, he found himself intentionally heading toward Murdoc.

He didn't remember his surroundings from the initial drive with crystal clarity, but after circling around for long enough, he eventually found the same parking garage Murdoc had taken him to. He drove carefully inside, descending each floor at a crawling pace. Each floor Stuart passed was darker and colder than the last. The very bottom of the garage, where Murdoc lived, was as dimly lit as Stuart remembered, full of suspicious shadows in every direction. There was no one else around, but Stuart still felt like he was being watched.

Murdoc’s Winnebago was parked in the same corner as it had been before. The windows were dark, leading Stuart to believe no one was home, or that maybe Murdoc was sleeping inside.

When Stuart parked his car and reached for the keys, he found that his hands were shaking.

He decided to write Murdoc a note. He flattened a crumpled receipt from the floor and scrawled out a message:

To Murdoc,

This is Stu. I used to work at Norm’s. You kidnapped me after driving your car through the window.

Stuart paused, then made a decision.

But I don't work there anymore. I work at Tusspot’s Fairground now.

Why did you take the keys? Why did you make me play?

Can you take this curse off me?

Stuart had more questions, but he’d run out of writing space. Clutching the receipt tightly, he shakily stepped outside. The driver’s side door shut with an ominous thud, and Stuart felt sharply vulnerable now that he wasn't inside his car. As he crept toward the Winnebago, the darkness of the garage seemed to close in on him like a predator to its prey. The windows on the Winnebago stayed impassively dark, but it didn't seem improbable for Murdoc to suddenly leap out and kidnap Stuart again.

By the time Stuart actually reached the entrance, his hands had tremors violent enough that he almost dropped the note. He stuffed it under the door and then sprinted back to his car like the Bogeyman was after him. The darkness circled closer, preparing to strike. Once in his car, Stuart slammed on the gas pedal so forcefully he almost lurched the vehicle right into a structural column. He swerved just in time and sped up the ramp at a dangerous speed. The reverse effect of light increasing as he ascended allowed him to breathe a little easier with every floor he passed.

At home, he blew past his mum in the kitchen and holed up inside his room. He clumsily swallowed some pain meds and then buried himself beneath his duvet. It suddenly seemed like a very, very bad decision to tell Murdoc where he worked now. He considered going back to remove the note, but he was shaking too much to even get out of bed.

In this position, Stuart fell asleep and vividly dreamed of Murdoc.

~

For the next few days, Stuart was unable to relax at work. Usually, his shifts dawdled by like they would never end, but now he was also tense the whole time. His gaze darted around as if he could spot Murdoc hiding in the crowds at any moment.

In the back of his mind, ever since he’d first escaped Murdoc, Stuart felt a deep sense of surety that Murdoc would eventually find him again. Even if Stuart hadn't gone out of his way to point Murdoc toward himself, it just seemed the more likely outcome that Murdoc would somehow sniff him out again the same way he’d found Stuart in the first place. Maybe it was a black sort of fate tying Stuart to Murdoc, but it was inevitable either way.

It's on another Friday when Murdoc finds Stuart for the second time.

Stuart was operating the carousel alone when he froze completely at the sight of a dark head of hair, facing away. The man wore a black, worn-out leather jacket and plain jeans. Stuart knew without seeing the face attached to that head that this man was Murdoc, here to collect his due.

Sure enough, Murdoc turned to Stuart and spotted him immediately, his mouth stretching into a wide, sharp-toothed grin. He made a beeline for Stuart, who couldn't do anything but wait for Murdoc to reach him. Murdoc got in the back of the line for the carousel ride, watching Stuart gleefully as he moved closer and closer.

Stuart had already begun sweating the minute he first noticed Murdoc, but it got worse as Murdoc moved up through the line. Stuart’s motions became robotic and he couldn't muster any of his usual faux-enthusiasm for the children in line. He kept making eye contact with Murdoc whenever he glanced over. Murdoc never seemed to be looking anywhere else.

When Murdoc reached the front of the line, he simply slipped through the gates and maneuvered himself directly into the unlocked operating booth where Stuart stood.

Stuart couldn't tell if his lungs were working. “You can't— you can't come in here.”

“You're not gonna kick me out,” was all Murdoc said. “Start the carousel.”

The rough sound of his voice brought memories back to the day of Stuart’s concussion, and curse, and everything else. Stuart started the carousel, and no one outside seemed to notice that anything was wrong.

“I like the look,” Murdoc said, peering up at Stuart’s face. “It gives you a certain… je ne sais quoi.”

Murdoc was a good deal shorter than Stuart, which was so different from how Stuart remembered him that he felt discombobulated to be looking down at Murdoc. Despite Murdoc’s shorter height, as well as the fringe of his hair resting so close to his eyes that it almost obscured them, his gaze on Stuart was completely clear.

“Je… what?” Stuart stuttered. “You mean my eyes? My eyes are— terrible. Just… totally black. It's scary. Can you… undo it?”

Murdoc sighed, as if disappointed. “Undo what, exactly?”

“Y’know… when you did the— the— curse. That's why my eyes are like this, yeah?”

“Right,” Murdoc answered, “but you know I can't undo it. I don't want you gabbing to the police about me.”

“I can't tell anyone ‘bout you,” Stuart said. “My mum is worried sick, thinking you’ve blackmailed me and that's why I won't talk. I…” Stuart tried to shift away from Murdoc, but the space inside the booth was limited. It wasn't meant for two people. “Why are you here, Murdoc?”

Murdoc grinned that same shark-smile from before. “I keep telling ya, mate, you really need to relax. You keep acting like I’m Jack the Ripper or something.”

Stuart didn't deny it, which only made Murdoc’s grin wider. His teeth were so unnaturally sharp.

“Stu, if I was gonna kill you, I’d have done it the first chance I got,” Murdoc said. “You invited me here, didn't you?”

It was true, more or less. Stuart said, “I just… wanted to understand.”

“Why I took the keys? And why I made you play?” Murdoc repeated the questions Stuart had written out.

Stuart nodded.

“I’ll tell you…” Murdoc said, reaching into his jacket and pulling out the pink mini keyboard he’d stolen from Norm’s, “if you play.”

Despite himself, Stuart reached for the keyboard, and Murdoc let it go easily. Stuart held it carefully in his hands, admiring the pleasing shade of pink and sleekness of its surface. “What should I play?”

“Whatever,” Murdoc said. “Just not rubbish.”

“Okay…” Stuart wasn't sure what Murdoc thought was rubbish or not. He settled on ‘Tiny Dancer’ by Elton John.

Murdoc immediately wrinkled his nose, but let Stuart play. “Okay, yeah,” he said after half a minute or so. “So you can play.”

“Uhm,” Stuart said, “I guess, yeah. I like to just… mess around on them if no one’s in the store. Uh, I meant at Norm’s… before…” He trails off. “Um, anyway, it's something I like. Keys. Music.”

Murdoc grinned again. “Bet you’ve never had the chance to do it for real. What would you think of that?”

“What d’you mean ‘for real’?”

“I mean I’m starting a band and I’m extending a formal invitation to you, Stu.”

Stuart blinked. “You want me in your band?”

“Correct,” Murdoc answered.

Stuart had never been in a band before and it sounded cool, but it would also be Murdoc’s band. He really wasn't sure what to think of Murdoc yet. Just because he wasn't a serial killer, it didn't make him any good. Plus, could he play any instruments himself? Or was he supposed to be the singer?

Surreptitiously, he glanced at Murdoc, who immediately noticed.

“What?” Murdoc said, his smile slipping. “What’s the problem? You don't want in?”

“Um,” Stuart said.

Murdoc’s expression visibly darkened. Stuart felt cold sweat roll down his back.

“The song is done,” Murdoc said shortly.

Stuart was confused until he realized Murdoc meant the carousel. He stopped the ride and glanced nervously again at Murdoc before stepping past him and out of the booth. As Stuart ushered the previous riders out and opened the gate to let more people in, he could feel Murdoc watching him like a hawk. When he got done, Stuart hesitantly toed his way back into the operating booth where Murdoc stood waiting. He stayed silent as Stuart started up the carousel for another round.

“I’ll show you what I can do on bass and then you’ll change your mind,” Murdoc stated.

“Um,” Stuart said again.

“We can meet again later today. You already know where my Winnebago is.”

Stuart stuttered some more. “I’m— No. I won’t— I won't go back to your RV.”

Murdoc frowned.

Stuart continued, “I don't trust you. I mean, you kidnapped me. And then you cursed me. You might curse me again, for all I know!”

“Case in point,” Murdoc muttered. “Alright, you can choose where we meet.”

“Um…” Stuart didn't think he’d agreed to anything, but here they were. “Um… what kind of place?”

Murdoc sighed. “I’m asking you, dullard. Satan, I sure know how to pick ‘em.”

“...What?”

“Never mind!” Murdoc said, exasperated. “How about the ol’ Head?”

“Oh,” Stuart said, “King’s Head? I’ve been there.” It wasn’t the pub he and his mates favored every week, but King’s Head was also close to Stuart’s house. It was just a bit seedier than Stuart liked when it came to bars, but not the worst sort of place.

“Okay, then we’ll do Head tonight,” Murdoc smirked. “Ten o’clock.”

“Ten? But that’s a bit late… I’ve got work tomorrow morning,” Stuart complained.

“It's a Friday,” Murdoc said.

“Yeah, and I’ve got work on Saturday!”

“Then nine,” Murdoc said, jabbing a finger into Stuart’s chest. “And you better be there. Since I know where you work and all that.”

“Cut it out,” Stuart whined, batting at Murdoc’s hand. “Those nails of yours are sharp as knives. Left marks on me already from last time. I don't need any more.”

“Did I?” Murdoc asked. “Oh, when I…” He reached for Stuart’s face, but Stuart dodged him this time.

“Yes, but you can't see ‘em anymore, okay?” Stuart said. “And you ruined my shirt too.”

“Oh, boohoo,” Murdoc snapped. “Will you be there tonight or not?”

Stuart looked away. The carousel was happily spinning around and around, carrying laughing children and their amused parents.

“Yeah,” Stuart answered quietly.

“Good,” Murdoc purred. “I’ll bring this again.” He pried the mini keyboard from Stuart’s hands. “See you there.”

Then he was gone again.

~

Stuart supposed that Murdoc had stolen the keys from Norm’s for the band he wanted to start and that he had kidnapped Stuart because he wanted to see if Stuart could play for his band. It wasn't normal, exactly, but it was just enough that Murdoc was starting to seem like he could maybe be an actual person— albeit a demented one— instead of a dark and mysterious entity akin to Death, like Stuart originally thought.

Murdoc still scared the shit out of him, but as Stuart watched Romero’s Night of the Living Dead for the trillionth time that evening, it occurred to him that maybe he liked, in moderation, the feeling of being scared. Night of the Living Dead wasn't scary anymore to Stuart, but its creepiness had been the draw for him in the first place. Of course, it was one thing to watch a spectacle behind a screen and another to experience horror in your actual life. Stuart wondered, though, which was the worse feeling: fear or boredom?

The TV screen turned a vivid blue when the tape ran out. Stuart blinked slowly at it for a minute, marinating in the calming feeling of finishing a familiar movie, then peeled himself off the couch like one of Romero’s zombies.

It was time to meet Murdoc again. Stuart’s hands only shook a little as he put his shoes on.

By the doorway hung a wooden plaque that read, “You will be blessed when you come in and blessed when you go out,” upon which Stuart’s gaze lingered. He thought idly about the glint of Murdoc’s inverted cross pendant, a symbol that hadn’t left his mind since he first saw it around Murdoc’s neck. Stuart didn't consider himself a Christian, but his parents still thought he was. He imagined their reactions if he were to ever wear an inverted cross like Murdoc did.

He walked out into the biting air outside with his hands stuffed into his coat pockets. King’s Head was about 10 minutes away on foot, and Stuart relished these kinds of serene walks alone in the dark, which he didn’t often have a reason to do. It was perfect for a quiet smoke.

Soon enough, the Head came into view. Stuart slowed his pace as he walked closer to the pub, which suddenly seemed much more intimidating than any of the other times he’d been inside. Before he could work up the nerve to actually go inside, a low voice cut through his thoughts.

“Oi. Stu.” That was Murdoc’s voice.

Stuart jumped, then hoped his reaction hadn’t been obvious, though that was probably asking too much. “Murdoc? Is that you?”

“Over here, dullard,” said Murdoc from the shadowy alley beside the pub.

Stuart approached carefully. “What you doing over there, Murdoc?”

“Can’t hear too well inside the Head, y’know,” Murdoc said. “And the whole point of this is to be able to hear, so I thought outside would be better, right?”

“Oh,” Stuart said, wobbly. “Right.”

“Don't worry, we’ll go inside for a drink later.”

That hadn't been Stuart’s concern. There wasn't any lighting off the side of the building except a distant one over an exit door, so it was too dark to really see Murdoc at all. It felt like Stuart was speaking to a shadow, which wasn't helping him feel less scared of Murdoc.

“Come closer, man,” Murdoc said, sighing. “I’m not gonna bite ya.”

That was a little better. Stuart stepped closer and abruptly felt sleek plastic being pushed into his hands. He felt the object and realized it was the pink mini keyboard.

“Are we playing in the dark then?” Stuart asked.

Murdoc grunted a yes. “What, can't you play without seeing?”

“No, I can,” Stuart argued.

“Good,” Murdoc said. “You know ‘Dream On,’ right?”

“Oh, Aerosmith? Yeah.”

“Okay, then ‘Dream On,’ on my count.”

It was easier than Stuart expected to play with Murdoc, their notes falling into sync almost naturally. When they got to the first ‘dream on,’ Stuart started humming along, forgetting where he was and who he was with.

“Shush,” Murdoc snapped, startling Stuart.

“Sorry,” Stuart mumbled back.

They played the rest of the song without speaking.

After they had finished, Murdoc asked, “Well?”

“Huh?”

“Well, what do you think of my offer now?”

Honestly, Stuart hadn't given it much thought because he didn't really understand what it meant to be in a band anyway. “Um,” he said.

“Satan,” Murdoc sighed. “Okay, let's go inside.”

Stuart felt a clawed hand grab his arm and the sharp points of Murdoc’s nails poked him even through the fabric of his coat sleeve. He was tugged out of the alley, towards the pub entrance. He clutched the mini keys tightly as he was hauled forward.

In the tinted light through the pub windows, Murdoc’s face came into view at last. The harsh lighting meant only parts of his face were illuminated, but Stuart thought it suited his edginess. The inky blackness of his hair and eyes could only be distinguished in the dark via shiny light reflections.

It was only after Murdoc’s gaze flicked over to him that he realized he was staring.

Stuart was led to a booth and then Murdoc pushed him by the shoulders with enough force that his knees instantly buckled. He fell onto the bench rather than him actually sitting down, and he winced at the resulting pain in his ass.

“Stay here,” Murdoc ordered, putting his bass down on the bench opposite Stuart. “I’ll get us some beers.”

Stuart watched Murdoc as he walked up to the bar to order and continued watching him as he stood waiting for the beer. Murdoc was wearing the same outfit as earlier that day, including the leather jacket and his signature inverted cross pendant. Privately, Stuart couldn’t deny that Murdoc was very cool.

Murdoc came back with two pints of beer and set one down in front of Stuart. The golden liquid inside sloshed dangerously, spilling slightly onto the table.

“Drink up, dullard,” Murdoc said. “This one’s on me, but don’t get used to that.”

Stuart set the mini keyboard down beside him and reached for his pint with both hands. He cradled it like it was something precious— a gift to him from Murdoc. Once he drank it, it would be gone.

“Don’t just stare at it,” Murdoc scoffed.

Stuart took a small sip.

Murdoc eyed him like he wanted to comment, but refrained. “So,” he said, “Tusspot’s Fairground? Seems a switch from the organ shop you were working at before.”

“Uh, yeah,” Stuart said. “It’s ‘cause my dad owns Tusspot’s Fairground. It was easy for me to get a new job there after the… y’know.”

“Your dad is the owner of Tusspot’s Fairground?” Murdoc asked. “Does that make your last name ‘Tusspot’?”

“Um, no, it’s just ‘Pot.’”

“I don’t think so, mate. Sounds like ‘Tusspot’ to me, tosspot.”

"I'm not a tosspot."

"Yeah, yeah." He then gestured impatiently at Stuart’s pint, so Stuart took another sip.

“You live around here?” Murdoc asked.

“Yeah, with me mum and dad,” Stuart said.

“Hm.”

“What ‘bout you, Murdoc? I mean, are you from around here?”

“Stoke-on-Trent,” Murdoc corrected.

“Oh,” Stuart said. “Bit of a ways away, innit?”

“Not that far,” Murdoc muttered.

Stuart wondered, “Did you drive your RV here? Or the car? How’d you get both?”

Murdoc was quiet, electing to take a long drink of beer instead of answering right away. “Look,” he said, “enough about me. No more questions.”

“Oh. Okay”

“Catch up, mate,” Murdoc said, meaning his beer. “Look, I’m almost empty.” He lifted his pint and shook it to emphasize his point.

Stuart drank some more of his beer, then looked at Murdoc awkwardly.

“What?” Murdoc asked.

“Er, just— I don't know what to say if I can't ask you nothing,” Stuart said.

Murdoc huffed, and it almost sounded like a laugh, which Stuart didn't know how to interpret.

“You wanna know about me that bad?” Murdoc asked.

“Um,” Stuart said, because that hadn't really been what he’d meant, but it wouldn't be honest if he denied it. He was so curious to know more about Murdoc. “Um, I guess so, Murdoc.” He also liked the way Murdoc’s name rolled off his tongue.

Murdoc smirked, so that must have been the right answer. “Naturally. Well, I just can't promise to answer everything.”

“Okay,” Stuart said easily. He supposed that was permission to ask Murdoc more questions. “Your, uh, Winnebago. Why d’you live in it?”

“‘Cause I like it,” Murdoc frowned. “I wanted to.”

“Okay,” Stuart said.

“Whaddaya mean by that, anyway?”

“Didn't mean nothing,” Stuart placated hurriedly. “Was just wondering. I’ve never lived in one, so.”

“‘Course you haven't,” was all Murdoc said in response, then commanded, “Drink.”

Stuart did as he was told, but quickly set the pint down again. “Why d’you wanna start a band?”

“Why not?” Murdoc said seriously. “I mean, who wouldn't want it— the fame, the glory of good ol’ rock and roll. Picture it, Stu. Really, picture this: me on the stage and an endless sea of adoring fans. That’s the ultimate goal. That’s where I belong. There's nothing else that comes close to the feeling of flawless, rhythmic harmony and a proper audience: people that can't get enough of it. People that take all that you give them and still come back for more because they're starving for it. Music, as all real people know, is at the very top of the hierarchy of needs.”

Stuart absorbed this all with rapt attention. It was obvious that Murdoc liked this question better than the other ones. Clearly, music was something he was quite passionate about.

Abruptly, Murdoc grabbed Stuart’s pint and pushed it up against Stuart’s mouth. Stuart made a noise of protest as he grappled for control of his own beer, but Murdoc wouldn't let up until he started drinking it, so he just gave up. He closed his eyes as he gulped down large quantities of the alcohol, accepting at last that it simply couldn't last forever.

“Everything else is a stepping stone to reach that absolute truth,” Murdoc continued, letting go of Stuart's pint, “and that's something Christians get dead wrong. The Absolute Truth isn't God’s word at all, it’s the perfect song. The perfect album. The perfect band. And I would do just about anything to get there, if we're being honest.”

When Stuart had finally finished his beer, he set the pint down on the table with a gasping breath.

“What we did out there,” Murdoc gestured vaguely in the direction of the alley they’d been in earlier, “it was good, yeah?”

Stuart nodded absently, because it was true. He gazed forlornly at his empty pint, which no longer held any of his gift from Murdoc.

“I mean, you felt it, right?” Murdoc continued.

Stuart didn't know exactly what Murdoc meant, but he nodded again anyway. It was making him feel lightheaded.

“You might not know it, tosspot,” Murdoc said, “but that sort of thing isn't common. To pass up on it… well, it would be stupid.”

He looks imploringly at Stuart, who only cocks his head in return. Was there a question in that statement?

“Stu,” Murdoc added, staring hard at Stuart, “you’ve got to join my band. You have to.”

Murdoc’s heavy gaze was making Stuart feel stripped down to his soul. “Yeah, alright, Murdoc.”

“Yeah?” Murdoc repeated.

“Yeah,” Stuart replied, if it meant more of this.

The smile Murdoc gave Stuart was so brilliant that it made him dizzy, but it could’ve been the alcohol as well.

“I think you need a nickname,” Murdoc stated.

“What? Why?” Stuart asked. “Stu is already a nickname. For Stuart.”

“Something better than Stu,” Murdoc continued. “For the band, you know. Image is important.”

Stuart was at a loss. “I dunno. I’ve just always gone by Stu. Or, uh, Stu-pot… sometimes.”

“‘Stu-pot,’” Murdoc repeated with a smirk. “Sounds like ‘stupid.’ Or ‘stew pot,’ like for making stew. Good one, but not what I’m looking for.”

Stuart frowned. He hadn’t realized how similar ‘Stu-pot’ sounded to ‘stupid.’ “What about you? Are you gonna have a nickname too?”

“Nah, already tried that. Didn’t work so well,” Murdoc said. “I think ‘Murdoc Niccals’ is fine as it is. But ‘Stuart Pot’ is more, eh, I dunno… like an accountant’s name. Our band needs something more.”

Murdoc tapped a finger against his chin, looking intently at Stuart like he could find the answer he was looking for in Stuart’s face.

The full force of Murdoc’s attention was near-unbearable for Stuart, who shifted restlessly in his seat. He liked the sound of ‘our band,’ like it was both his and Murdoc’s to share. A nickname would also be another gift to him from Murdoc, one he could keep forever as long as other people kept using it.

“2D,” Murdoc said at last. “Stands for ‘Two Dents.’”

“What?”

“Your eyes,” Murdoc explained. “It’s like you’ve got two dents in your face.”

Stuart frowned. He didn’t mind ‘2D,’ but ‘Two Dents’ didn’t feel complimentary. “I dunno about ‘Two Dents.’ My eyes aren’t really…”

“Mate, your eyes are wicked cool,” Murdoc said.

“Really?” Stuart asked. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Murdoc replied. “I’m proud to be the one that gave ‘em to you.”

Stuart reached up to touch the bottom lids of his eyes. “‘2D’ isn’t bad,” he conceded.

Murdoc grinned again, baring his too-sharp teeth. Stuart wanted to feel the edges of them with his fingers and see if he could cut himself on the points.

“Alright, you’re ‘2D’ now,” Murdoc said.

“Okay,” said 2D.