Content warnings for this episode include: Animal death (Shank as usual), Violence, Kidnapping and abduction, Death + Injury, Blood, Birds, Drowning, Bugs and Spiders, Body horror
Intro - Abandoned
You have spent what feels like an eternity in hell. At first, you waited for your wardens to return. That they would ever leave this place was inconceivable. But then, as the months passed, and you began to starve along with all of the others, you began to wonder. The first year of being alone in the darkness, listening to the others’ whines and screams, did not fill you with despair but with hope. Perhaps your wardens were still alive; perhaps they still intended to return. But by the second year, and the third, surely they had to be giving up on you, and then you would be free. You are the master of all that is abandoned, and only that which is abandoned. And yet, no power came to you. No strength. You remained feeble in your cage of glass, although you could not fathom who possibly still claimed ownership of this place, who planned to return to it.
Just die, you thought. Die and forget. May your head splinter open on a stone, may your thoughts bleed into static, may all memory of this prison escape you so that I can be free. But many years have passed, now, and someone has thought of this place all this time. You have pushed yourself, screaming, through each agonizing security barrier and grid trap. It nearly killed you. And you have languished, wounded and on the edge of death, in front of the great vault door that seals you in. Still, echoing through your starving dreams, there is a knock on the door from the outside that gives you hope, that gives you loathing, that gives you a Hello from the Hallowoods.
Theme.
Right now, I am off the grid. Disentangled from your mortal coil. The universe is comprised of four or five or fifty million dimensions. A move into one of them is neither up nor down, but laterally and inside and outside. Rest assured, you are unlikely to ever end up in such a place, unless you are able to open doors in space, or have the bad luck to be standing amidst a haphazardly stored warehouse of indescribable artifacts at the time that reality is forced to reexamine itself by being set on fire. The theme of tonight’s episode is Infernos.
Story 1 - Reception
Harrow Blackletter had been born, raised, killed, and educated all in the same place—and so there was a kind of poisonous warmth that came with laying eyes upon the lobby of Downing Hill Public Library again. The chief difference about the reception hall xe had known compared to the one xe was confronted with now was that the elegant reception desk was wreathed with flame, as were the first rows of bookshelves beyond. The fire held perfectly still in the air, and seemed to give off no warmth. Elaborate stairways curled off into unspecified directions overhead and led to doors interjected at odd angles. The shelves beyond the reception desk rose into a mountain, winding around on itself like a raw piece of bismuth.
The library itself had become, over the years, a sorting system—one that brought you a book, a destination, simply by virtue of you looking for it. Reactive, like a particle, to observation. Supercondensed and collapsed in on itself over and over again, a beach of sand condensed into a single pearl. Now, it all lay unspooled, and what had been a large midwestern municipal library had been caught mid-explosion into several miles of non-euclidean architecture.
Xe approach ed the reception desk—which was, at its heart, an old varnished wood affair, although in Harrow’s perception it always had resembled a lower jaw, a long string of white marble molars. Now that the library had been laid out across reality, imagination did not have to fill in its cavities. And xe could plainly see the face of the woman that sat at the desk, sorting books, although xe could scarcely bring xemselves to look. And neither could I, dreamer.
“Do you need help finding a book?” said the librarian.
“No,” said Harrow. “I need help finding my mother.”
The homunculus seemed to calculate for a moment, flipping open the blank pages of a large category book.
“I have two books with that name,” she said.
“You do not qualify,” said Harrow sadly. “She died before I was born. And you… are like me. Only a product of grief.”
The thing with the face of Amaryllis Ward stared back, and was neither happy or sad or anything at all.
“The second book with that name is in the Cradle wing,” she said. “Look under B.”
“Thank you,” said Harrow, and xe paused before turning back. “Which way is the Cradle now?”
The librarian lifted a hand, refracted four directions, one for each staircase leading up. Harrow distinctly remembered the Cradle being the lowest point in the library, or perhaps just the heaviest, before the library was robbed of its gravity.
“For what it’s worth, I never hated you,” said Harrow. “Even if I could not possibly love you.”
The librarian was silent for a moment, and then smiled.
“Please feel free to ask if you have any other questions about the library or its books,” she said.
“I’m sure I will have more questions,” said Harrow, and began up the nearest twisting stair. Xir steps carried up the surface, despite the tenuous integrity of the infinitely bending triangle stair in which xe walked. Better not try the elevator, xe thought, for risk of becoming stuck in a Möbius strip. Gradually xe found xemself walking in a long hall that was wallpapered, although sheets of the paper seemed to hang without worrying about walls beneath; the fractal dimension beyond the library had turned black, only occasionally glistening like moonlight on a midnight sea.
It resembled much more the library xe remembered; doors hung in space, dotting the hall every so often. Harrow reached out to test one, and found the handle warm. Xe pulled away, about to seek another one, but a voice spoke to xir.
“Harrow?” it said. Harrow looked back to the door.
“Hello,” Harrow said. “Is that…”
“It’s me, Al,” said the voice again. Harrow knelt next to the door and peered through the keyhole, only to find a pale eye peering back from the other side, lidless and wide. “Remember me? Did you get stuck here too?”
“Al,” said Harrow, also unblinking, and xe put xir hands against the door. “Of course I remember you. I was a little more frightened, of everything, at the time. I am so sorry. We did not mean to leave you behind. And there was no time to go back. I would have…”
“Shh,” Al whispered. “You’re going to give me away. You can’t tell her you saw me.”
“Who?” said Harrow. “Who is looking for you?”
Xe noticed something in the corner of xir vision, then, and jumped back to find that someone had drawn quite near without xir notice. A woman with wild and unkempt hair, a dress flowing in an invisible wind, stood with her rain boots floating a foot off the ground. She was cast in a pale light that flickered and waned, and her eyes were piercing rings within rings, like an owl’s.
“Shh,” said Zelda Duckworth, and she slid through the air slowly past Harrow, and then stuck her head through the surface of the door, and Al screamed.
“Saw you first!” Zelda cried. “I win! I’m the ultimate super spy!” the King of America, slumped low in the passenger seat, trembling. “Wherever you’re going is good.”
Interlude 1 - Scout City is Burning
Attention residents of Scout City and the surrounding area. A fire danger warning is in effect as a blaze has begun to spread in the Muskrat district of the Stumps. It is thought that this blaze originated during a confrontation between the Instrumentalist Killers Shank, Shelby Allen, and several accomplices, while an apprehension was attempted by Scout City deputies. The Instrumentalist Killlers are still on the loose. The fire is thought to have begun at the Mr. Nicecream’s Ice Cream shop. Scout City’s emergency crews are attempting to halt the spread of the fire, but this is especially challenging due to the city’s dry season and limited freshwater reserves.
While the Lurch Lake chamber of prophecy reminds the citizens of Scout City that it plays an important part in housing upwards of fifty Sleepers, Scout City mayor Valerie Maidstone is reportedly considering extreme measures as the fire reaches its third hour. Residents of Muskrat district, as well as Badger and Heron districts, are recommended to evacuate with any of your most important possessions and wait for further instructions. This report brought to you by the Scout City Almanac, and read to you in your nightmares by Nikignik, One Hundred Eyes in the Dark. If you can hear this, I recommend highly that you wake up. Scout City is burning.
We go now to an accomplice.
Story 2 - Watching and Waiting
Diggory Graves sat with their long arms wrapped around their long legs on a low wooden couch with patterned cushions, and watched. They had grown quite observant in the years of their museum work, came to study things with Mx. Morrell’s own delicate eye for detail. Ironic, they thought, that they had half the eyes and noticed twice as much.
Shelby’s house was small, and she shared it with her brother Mulder, who was not home when their entourage came knocking. They wanted to go to Danielle’s house and let her know what had happened, or back up to Raj Greenstreet’s mansion in the upper canopy of the city where Percy likely had gone to reconvene, or even Clara’s house in the woods, but the witch house was several hours of hiking away from the Stumps and the other two required entering the streets of Scout City’s trunk, where it would be difficult to move without being spotted.
They observed that Shelby had come to sit beside them, and she was cleaning her bonesaw with a rag; Oswin’s blood smoked and charred the fabric at a touch.
They observed that Arnold was sitting on the floor by the door, next to Riot, and they both had their heads in their hands. The three-legged dog Cannibal was curled up on Riot’s lap, and Riot’s hand rested between Cannibal’s one and a half ears. The lanky groundskeeper Russell sat at the kitchen counter a few paces away, the dirt on his face streaked with tears. Shank’s massive grimy footprints led into the bathroom where he had been sequestered in the tub, which he sat fully upright in, too huge to fit. And sitting in the dark opening to the hall was the fluffy grey tabby Cat, who stared back at Diggory, blinking slowly. I know you see too, Diggory thought. Perhaps more than I do.
“Do you think your brother will understand our plight, if he returns?” Diggory said quietly to Shelby. Her brother had left a note on the counter: Out trying to find you, please stay put if you come home. Scout City is dangerous tonight. Cat has been fed.
“He’s not out looking for me,” she replied. “He’s with the Coda. They think Shank is the Instrumentalist killer. And he’s never forgiven Shank for butchering our parents. Not that I have either, or ever will. But the Coda are out there right now, I’d bet, hunting us. Same as the Wickers and the Scout City deputies. They see it as their duty. They’re the survivors of the Instrumentalist’s attacks. The ones he left behind when he abducted and slaughtered their loved ones. They want to make it clear that no one is allowed to pick up his name, ever again.”
“Can we point them in the right direction?” Riot said from across the room. “How are we the ones fighting the Quartet and no one is on our side?”
“Shelby’s face is all over the papers,” said Russell from the counter, and he shook his head, and looked to her and Diggory. “With Shank. Which… Shelby. What the hell have you been doing?”
“Chasing down the Quartet,” said Shelby, setting down her cloth and picking up her bone saw. She tilted it both ways, admiring the scarred blade, before she began mounting it with its array of braces and straps to her forearm again. “They took my hand. They took Clem. I’m not going to stop until they’re laid out for all of Scout City to see. Shank and I see eye to eye on that.”
“He killed my sister tonight,” said Russell. Diggory tilted their head. Shelby stared down at her saw, and did not meet his gaze. “But you knew that.”
“Your sister was one of them,” Shelby breathed. “One of the Quartet. They tried to lure him in, trap him. They laid fires. They tried to kill him. But Heather picked a fight she couldn’t win.”
“Heather?” said Russell, blinking. “You’re wrong. That can’t be true. You knew Heather. She was… tough, yes. A bit of a bully, maybe. But she wasn’t a killer. That wasn’t the way we were raised…”
“She’s right, I think,” said Riot from the door.
“I’ve got evidence,” Shelby said, leaning back against the sofa, tilting her head to regard him grimly. “Not just Shank’s word. It all makes sense, Russell. Who’s strong enough to lift a human body on a cable into the air?”
“I don’t understand,” he said, covering his mouth. “Why would she?”
“That is the question,” said Diggory. “Why would she?”
Marketing - Environmental Protections
Lady Ethel Mallory
When we spend every day in absolute comfort and luxury in the Prime Dream, it’s easy to forget that there’s a world outside. A dirtier, more dangerous, highly toxic world. I’ve seen it. I’ve been there, on the outside, looking in. And to those who decided to stay within the Prime Dream, rather than abandoning it like the Stonemaid movement, you made the best possible choice for yourself and your children and their children after them. The world outside is harsher. The weather is punishing and erratic. And as Oswald fails again and again to take care of this company, he is unprepared to protect our legacy against this fierce outside world.
When you went into your Dreaming Box, it shined like a mirror. Perfect and chrome, keeping off the sunlight. But have you seen them lately? The pictures are marketing materials from forty years ago. Their surfaces are corroded, unpolished, as the company conserves its drones for more essential tasks. The laser defense grids are failing, burnt-out power cells with years-long wait times to replace. Oswald built great machines, but the Botulus Industries supply lines that keep our corporation intact are barely a shadow of their former strength. The raging heat, the desperate cold. I am prepared to shield you. Guide you. Protect you. Do everything that is necessary so that you remain safely sleeping. Just let me lead.
Story 2, Continued - Watching and Waiting
Perhaps now that every dreaming box is not a gigantic mirror surface, there will be fewer wildfires started by their reflections. Besides, restoring the glamor of the outside will not address the corruption within. I would say this reflects on you, but there is no restoring your glamor. We return now to Diggory Graves.
It was a precipice, Diggory thought, and they had returned to it entirely unsuspecting. What had become of their city, while they were gone? Of their world? They supposed they had left it behind, or relinquished it entirely. Would it be different, they wondered, if they had never gone north? But then again, there might be no world or Scout City at all if they had not.
“Wait,” said Riot. “Russell. If you didn’t know she was a part of the Quartet, why were you helping us tonight? Stopping them from arresting Shank? When I had a sister… I… well. I would not be very chill right now, in your shoes. I’d be breaking stuff.”
“I was asleep until a few hours ago when there was a knock on my door telling me to come quick, Heather was in the hospital,” said Russell grimly. “She was dead when I got there. And you know what Sheriff Virgil said? He said she died a hero. But the second I saw her I knew what was happening. I fetched Arnold, I came looking. Because I know Shank. He nearly killed me. Arnold and I ran into him a little while back when he was on his way out of Scout City.”
“Oh that was a bad night,” said Arnold sadly. “Although, I know it’s a bad night now too.”
“But Arnold was able to talk him down,” said Russell, putting his hands on the counter. “And that’s… that’s why we have groundskeepers. Shelby, you didn’t know him, but when I was a kid there was a guy named Walt. Scout City wasn’t a tree back then, and the trees were half this size. But the forest was just as dangerous. And for a bunch of survivors who’d fought all sorts of scary things to get up here—families like mine, that had done anything we had to just to stay together. We were afraid. Of the world, of the woods, of what we’d walked into moving up here, of anything the black rains touched. But Walt came along with his journals and his clipboard and he showed us that understanding the world around us can do a lot more for us than fighting it.”
Riot laid her head back against the door and closed her eyes; she often did that when she was dredging up old memories. Diggory remembered having felt similarly, when they were a bit more fractured.
“Violet and Bern,” said Diggory. “When I first arrived at the Scoutpost. They considered for a while whether I would be permitted to stay. Ultimately they chose to give me the opportunity to prove my nature. And Percy, and Olivier, and Al, and Stitchery and Huntington and many more soon followed. I am grateful that they did. The people I came to know here are as much family to me as those I share thread with.”
“I’m familiar with pacifism,” said Shelby, locking her saw into place. “Not the most useful tool in my bag.”
“Walt wasn’t a pacifist,” Russell continued. “He fought. He killed. He was good at that too. On the one hand he was the reason that the Scoutpost tied back tree branches rather than cutting them, to avoid aggravating the forest. Little things like that. But he was also the kind of guy who would come after you when you’d gotten snatched by some awful squirrel creature and were going to be crumpled up and shoved into a tree hollow. He saved my life. He threw himself in harm’s way. He killed Mr. Friendly, and he died fighting the Instrumentalist. And he’s the reason I’m still here. In a lot of ways.”
“You can go home,” said Riot quietly. “Your mom, your siblings. They’re going to need you.”
“My job isn’t done yet,” said Russell, fixing his cap. “Heather is dead. And… it’s my fault. Because I didn’t know what she was thinking or going through. And because Shank is back in this city and I didn’t know until it was too late. It was my job to know. And because we let it get to this point. The groundskeepers were supposed to stop Scout City from being terrified of the woods. To help us coexist. But somehow the fear came in anyways. I don’t have time to think about anything else yet. All I know is, getting Shank out of this city is not the deputy’s responsibility, it is the groundskeeper’s responsibility. Shank is a massive massive problem but I don’t think violence with him does anything except beget tentimes more violence. I’m here because even though I am destroyed by what he’s done, if I don’t intervene he will hurt even more people. Shelby, you should never have brought him back here. Everyone within a quarter mile of him is in mortal danger at all times. You know how many boxes on Walt’s checklist he checks? But I was careless too, I guess, because I assumed he’d stay away as long as we kept a wide berth of him. We should have been tracking him more carefully.”
“Heather’s death was not your fault, Russell,” said Diggory. “She made her own decisions. We may not know why, yet, but she chose to align herself with whoever the other members of the Quartet may be. I cannot speak as to Shank. Perhaps he is sorry for what he’s done.”
“I ain’t,” rumbled a voice from the hall, and Diggory studied the massive man who wore the head of a pig as he stepped out; the floorboards creaked under his weight. Russell glared at him stonily. “They was huntin’ me. I was huntin’ them. Only one of us was gonna walk out. One down. Three to go.”
“No,” said Russell. “You’ve done enough. Shelby, you need to get him out of this city.”
“Shank, let’s go,” said Shelby, rising to her feet, and shouldering her bag. “Let’s get you back to the witch. See if she’s ready to work on you.”
“I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” said Shank, standing with his massive arms crossed in the hall. ‘Kiss the chef’, his apron might have said, beneath the deep layers of blood and black stains. “Y’all can do what y’all want. They done got me burned outta house and home. I ain’t done yet.”
“We don’t know who else are behind those masks,” said Riot, looking up, as did the snaggletoothed dog in her lap. “They could be people we know. If Heather was working with them, it could be anyone, right? Shank, I don’t think we want you killing them before we even know who they are, before we can talk to them.”
“Anyone we haven’t seen while the Quartet were there,” said Shelby, scanning the room. “Which means very few people I can confirm. And that’s assuming they don’t have more members than wear the masks at any given time.”
“We’re all going to be wanted now,” said Arnold, his developed hand and his short one folded. “I’ve never been wanted. I’ve never even got a misdemeanor. I don’t know where to start with criminal life.”
“We shall speak with Valerie,” said Diggory. “She has risen to a position of power. She can clear our names. We will explain what has happened. Who we are really fighting. She can set things right.”
“She’s been holed up pretty tight in her house,” said Riot. “She has security posted outside at all times, ever since the Quartet left that death threat for her. Being suspected Instrumentalist killers is not going to help us get past them.”
“I expect they will be of no obstacle to me,” said Diggory pleasantly.
“They're watching us,” said Russell, who had inched away from Shank in the doorway as much as possible. “People are watching. The Scout City Almanac is watching. The Coda, the Wickers, the Deputies are watching. We need to be very careful about what we do. Because if Diggory, you go busting down the front gates at Valerie’s house or god forbid you accidentally stab someone, then what’s in the papers the next morning is that there was another monster attack on Scout City’s own mayor. And it just contributes to the panic that’s setting in.”
“Framing Shank as the Instrumentalist killer was their idea from the start,” said Shelby. “They said that, openly, while I was locked in a box with my hand in a razor. Shadow play. A convenient diversion. A monster in need of extermination. They think they’re purifying this city.”
“I ain’t in need of no termination,” hissed Shank.
“Riot,” said Diggory. “What do you think we should do?”
Riot grimaced, and stood up, depositing Cannibal on the floor where she went trodding past Shank’s boots in chase of Cat.
“Russell,” she said. “You’re right. This is groundskeeper business. And if Heather was a part of the Quartet, I cannot trust any of the other deputies. I don’t know if you could hear what Ignatius said. But he thinks I’m a freak of nature. That I don’t belong in this city. But I was here first. Diggory, Percy, they helped make Scout City everything that it is. And if Walt were here he wouldn’t be sitting depressed trying to figure out what to do. He’d be out there, doing. Getting stuff together for a plan to make things right. I think we are Scout City’s best bet for fighting these people. And so far, I think we’re doing exactly what they want. We need to start thinking ahead. To make sure they’re not driving us into a corner. And we do have power. Shelby, you’re smart, smarter than anyone here. You’ve had the closest experiences with them. Russell, Arnold, you’ve been through everything Walt ever wrote and you have experience dealing with unusual creatures, powers. And you have authority in Scout City.”
“You’re a groundskeeper too,” said Russell.
“I’m not even off my probationary period,” said Riot. “And yeah, I know there’s useful stuff buried in here, it’s just… I’ve got to dig through my own head and find it. I feel like I’m drowning here and I know that I used to know how to swim. And Walt would say not to be too hard on myself, I don’t got all my legs yet. But I need them. I need them now. And Diggory, you’re strong, and you’re a friend of Valerie’s. You might be the only person she’ll really listen to.”
“I’m strong as anythin’,” said Shank. “I can squeeze a man’s skull till it pops. I’m ready to fight. I can take the rest. Long as they don’t got fire. Makes it… makes it hard to see.”
“The Quartet hates Shank,” said Shelby. “I don’t support his killing before questions are asked and answered. But as long as he’s around, and they know it, they’ll chase him. We can control where they’ll be.”
“As long as we can control where Shank will be,” said Riot. “Which is apparently not very much.”
“Heh,” said Shank.
“Where Shank should be is far away from civilians,” said Russell.
“You want me gone?” said Shank, taking a step closer to Russell, and Diggory tensed and prepared to rise, but Russell did not back down from the rotting hulk. “Fastest way is to help me kill the rest of ‘em. Because I won’t leave until they’re gone.”
There was a jingling of the door handle, and Arnold’s head bumped the door as it opened an inch.
“Who is it?” Arnold called. But the face peering in through the window was a young man, dark-haired, wide-eyed, wearing a coat singed and dusted with soot. The world outside was cast in an orange haze; the distant fire had turned the night sky into a smoky bright glow. And it was Shelby’s brother peering in through the window, at Diggory, and Shelby, and with the utmost horror at Shank.
Interlude 2 - Upcoming Case
Things are moving, dreamer, in the interim between council meetings. There is of course the contraction of Urnundurn, which I think will take several billion years before it encroaches on the border of the milky way, so that is nothing that concerns you terribly. But even now, there is motion within the depths of the Industry of Souls. A court case has been raised for internal resolution. Not all are so… lucky as to receive a private interrogation and then full recommendation. The burning courts are full of intricacies in the laws of the universe being resolved. But Barbatos vs. the Industry of Souls has some ramifications that even those beyond the Industry are turning their eyes and ears too. Whether the beings that have been raised by the fire of souls to tend Syrensyr’s empire have the freedom to depart. And if they do, what might it mean for the Industry? What happens to the passage of souls in the universe if cubicle floor after cubicle floor in the Industry lay empty, papers unaudited, forges cold?
Obviously he shall crush this if it seems as though it would conflict in any way with his productivity. But it is interesting to watch.
We go now to one familiar with demons.
Story 3 - The Knock
CPE17 is best described as a hillside of living flesh. Left to its own devices, it will accumulate a layer of topsoil and make itself at home in forested spaces. We suspect it feeds off nutrients in dirt, but as it has no mouths, we are not sure. Contained in a large enclosure with trees and a small river, so as to keep it peaceable.
CPE16 is a large golden mirror wall piece with baroque stylings. It is set with seventeen eyes. Poking the eyes has determined that they are, for lack of a more scientific word, squishy. But not organic. Its eyes move to watch nearby people and objects. It never blinks.
CPE15 was thought at first to be a meteor, but it is in fact an egg. Scans are inconclusive of what exactly lays inside, but it is spiny and chitinous. The egg gives off indie radiation like you would not believe.
CPE14 is a decorative sword. It is verified to be haunted. We believe the spirit attached to it was a circus performer who attempted to swallow the blade. I have not been able to speak much with the spirit, as its voice is suitably muffled.
CPE13 is a girl. A living girl. She appears to be infused with indie radiation that appears to manipulate her luck, making her own luck worse and the luck of everyone around her better. This has come to mean a variety of unpredictable things, so please be extremely careful as she likely has reactions with every other thing in this collection. If we are gone, then it is unlikely she has survived, as she is one of the most intensive of our collection in terms of care. She is unhappy. She is often lonely. She draws pictures of a world that she has not seen since she was a young child. And she will live down here forever.
CPE12 is a horrible sand spirit trapped in an urn. Do not open the urn. It’s the small urn, not to be confused with CPE37, which is the great big urn. Lots of urns.
CPE11 is a clock shaped like a cat, except its plastic eyes watch you instead of ticking back and forth, and its hands move backwards. It gives off obscene indie radiation but we do not know why.
CPE10 is a 1992 Dodge Monaco sedan. Neither Mr. Raven nor I can detect anything paranormal about it at all, but it was relocated from another CPE vault by headquarters. The keys are in the sunvisor on the driver’s side.
CPE9 is a typewriter that likes to write out nice messages by itself. Just feed it paper once per day so it doesn’t get bored.
CPE8 is a book whose pages always describe the present moment. It’s incredibly long, and I’ve never started at the beginning.
CPE7 is a twenty foot tall sentient skeleton, with an electrical pylon through its ribcage. It was…
Penny jumped as a sound broke through the voice of Mr. Writingdesk droning on in her earbuds; a flaming raven was flapping into the glass of the office window repeatedly.
“Oh dear,” said Friday, rousing awake.
Penny opened the door, and the Omen fluttered in a loop outside before coming to thump down onto the floor, looking up at her.
“Be advised, do not ignore, something knocking, knocking, knocking on the entry door,” said the Omen. It turned its raven head back to the darkness of the concrete tunnel beyond, and to the large vault door that filled the end of the tunnel.
“Finally, something exciting,” said Friday. “Let’s go investigate, shall we?”
“I think we should wait,” said Penny, looking back to her disc player. “I’m still memorizing the sequence. Forty-two CPE’s in this facility… I almost have it. I just need a few more hours to review my notes.”
“Then by all means”, Friday smiled, and clasped Penny’s hands. “Review your notes.”
And then she turned and walked out the door. “I’ll just see what the Omen is all worked up about.”
Penny frowned, and watched Friday walk down into the darkness, black scarf trailing, the Omen flapping into the air like a lit match and flaming after her. She shook her head, and hurried after her sister. Knowing the luck of anyone in her sister’s radius if Penny wasn’t close, even if whoever was knocking was still alive they’d slip back down the elevator shaft and die. She hurried up to stand beside Friday, facing the door. She exchanged a glance with Friday, and Friday knelt down beside the metal vault door.
“Be careful,” Penny said.
Friday knocked three times on the metal, with her ear to it.
“There was a sound, I promise, cross my heart and hope to fly,” said the Omen.
Friday knocked again, and no answer came.
“Maybe you misheard,” said Penny. “Or maybe there’s a drip of water. The air pressure changing now that we’ve unlocked the front. Something…”
A knock came back from the other side of the vault door, three times.
“Spy and scry, with watchful eye, never does the Omen lie,” said the Omen.
“Penny?” said Friday. “Are there any on your list that you can think of who should be out?”
“I’m not sure,” said Penny. “None of them should be able to break their enclosures, but it’s not the first time Raven and Writingdesk would have underestimated one of them.”
“Hello,” said Friday. “Who’s there?”
“Who’s there?” said a voice on the other side. “I am.”
“Hello,” said Penny. “Who are you?”
“You know, I can scarcely recall,” said the voice on the other side. “I’d like to be let out. I’d like to see the sunlight. Can you open this door?”
“Are you a CPE?” said Penny. “And if so, do you remember your number? We’re here to rescue you, we’re here to rescue everyone. It’s just a very particular process…”
“Why?” said the voice. “Why did you come back? I have crawled through each layer of hell to get here. Inside is pure poison. Why did you wait so long? ”
“It’s been an absolute pain getting here,” said Friday. “Would you answer the question, who are you?”
“I’m sorry,” Penny said. “It should have been sooner. Friday, can you help me turn the lever?”
“Well hold on,” said Friday, pausing beside her. “Don’t you have a big elaborate plan?”
Penny rose to stand again, looking Friday in the eyes, and back to the office a moment.
“I do,” she said. “But whoever this is has been waiting forever. It could easily have been me.”
“But you got lucky,” said Friday, and looked back to the door. “Alright.”
Penny and Friday each grabbed a hold of one side of the metal vault’s locking wheel.
“Besides,” Penny said. “It shouldn’t make a gigantic difference. If they’re already out of their cell, the plan will need to be adjusted.”
The vault squeaked as the locking wheel was dragged into the upright position, and then it hissed and lifted from the wall as the seal was undone.
“Though that depends on which one has gotten out,” said Penny, squinting as dust rose in clouds and the door began to part. “Which does lead me to the question of, which one are you?”
But there was no one on the other side that Penny could see; only a large metal deck surrounding the steel rails of the elevator platform, and dust drifting in clouds and settling, and a single black spider, as small as a thumbnail, that skittered away in surprise at the light and dropped through the grates of the floor.
“I was hoping it was the unicorn,” said Friday.
“Did we put marks of protection on the font door?” said Penny.
“Doing that now,” said Friday, turning around.
Penny looked back to the open door; the empty elevator, the expanse of darkness beneath the floor grates, called to her now. And she could not shake the anxiety beginning to take hold of her, that even with Friday’s balance, some very bad run of luck indeed had been unleashed.
Outro - Infernos
Infernos. A fire climbs in the rooftops of the Stumps and refuses to let go. A fire burns in the woods, white-hot and holy, miles away. A fire burns in the heavens that rules over all immortal souls, and drinks them in as a mold drinks iron. And a fire burns in you, dreamer, whether you can feel it yet or not. The light that your soul gives off. Do not let it go out yet, when it still has so much to burn. Until all is ash and embers, I am your loyal host Nikignik, waiting infernally for your return to the Hallowoods.
The bonus story that goes with this episode is called 'Out of Spark' and is available on the Hello From The Hallowoods Patreon. Consider joining for access to all the show's bonus stories, behind-the-scenes and more! Until next time, dreamers, when at first you don’t succeed, stop, drop, and roll.
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