Chapter Text
Arthur Kingsman hated his name. It was a name that belonged to a courageous, legendary hero-king, not a cowardly turn-tail weakling. A weakling who was presently standing on the shoulder of a deserted highway in the middle of the night, miles from anywhere, in his pajamas.
“Dammit, you need to start handcuffing yourself to the bed,” he muttered, staring down at his dirty, bare feet. He'd been sleepwalking again. He never used to sleepwalk before. Of course, before, his dreams were only ordinary nightmares about what kind of terrifying experience he'd be dragged to next by the supernatural-loving weirdos he'd somehow been roped into a friendship with.
Now he mostly tended to dream about fury beyond the grave from the supernatural-loving weirdo he'd murdered.
Extenuating circumstances or not, it was the sort of thing that tended to gnaw at a person's soul. A guilt that couldn't be dampened by phrases like “you were possessed at the time,” or “he's the one who ignored the warning signs and dragged you to that cavern.” No, it was Arthur's inability to stand up for himself, whether against his friends or against creeping evil spirits, that was to blame. And it was his weak will that led to his current predicament, stranded in the thorny wilderness barely held back by a river of pavement.
Lewis had been calling to him.
He could sense it all the time now; a low, rhythmic pulse like a distant bass beat, or a throbbing heart. When he was awake his fear of the vengeful spirit kept him immobile and safe. While he was asleep, though, it was so much easier to influence his mind and lure him out. Once again, Arthur's body was betraying him, and his only consolation was that this time he was alone. No one to be hurt but himself. Lucky him.
The moon was full and high, but even that wasn't enough to tell him where he was. Both ways looked identical in the darkness. He could be only a few steps away from that accursed cavern, or that ephemeral mansion, and he wouldn't know until he walked right into either one's maw. With a sigh, he tried to run his hands through his spiky hair and realized that he was down an arm, too. Crap, he had removed his home-brewed replacement when he went to bed, so now he was handicapped as well as lost and in deep trouble. He shivered in the cool night breeze, his bedclothes too flimsy to offer any protection. Yep, he was just about as helpless as he could be. Swell.
With a sigh, he picked a direction and started walking. Maybe he'd get lucky and come across civilization before something came along and ate him, assuming he was even going the right way. Or maybe someone was out driving despite the late hour and would let him hitch a ride, hopefully without the intent of murdering him. Quite frankly he couldn't think of anyone else that would be out cruising for hitchhikers at this time of night besides serial killers.
“Or maybe I'll find a nice cemetery to spend the night in,” he mumbled sarcastically to himself, just to break the silence. “Or a flying saucer will beam me aboard for a prostate exam. Or, hey! Maybe Lewis will pop up and offer me a cozy room in his ghost mansion since we're such best buds. You know, since it's the least he can do after luring me out here to KILL ME!”
Me! Me! Me! echoed through the darkness. Arthur flinched and immediately regretted shouting. The last thing he wanted was for anyone or... thing to mistake that for a request. He held still for a moment, listening intently for the slightest sound of approaching danger. The wind blew softly in the branches of spindly trees, and the grass rustled with small creatures, but otherwise the night was silent. A car engine would have been welcome, but utter quiet was better than wolves howling or spirits moaning, at least.
Arthur trudged on, wishing he could rub his arms for warmth. He was chilly and tired from walking, not to mention just plain sleepy. He closed his eyes, picturing his soft bed and imagining warm blankets wrapped around him. It wasn't like he could see anything in the darkness with his eyes open, anyway. At home his room would be lit by the faint glow of his alarm clock, and sometimes his desk lamp when he forgot to turn it off after finally dragging himself, half-conscious, away from his repair books or latest mechanical project. Galahad would probably be cruising around in his network of hamster tubes, which pretty much encircled the room several times over. Arthur's sheets would soon be tangled all around his legs or kicked to the floor, a consequence of tossing and turning so much. Vivi told him once that she barely moved at all when she slept, so that she wouldn't dislodge Mystery when he lay in the crook of her knees or draped his head over her ankles. He wondered how she did it. He would probably self-combust if his legs weren't free to move.
Arthur tripped over a stone and woke with a start, then slapped his forehead into his palm with a sigh. He'd actually fallen back asleep as he walked. As if sleepwalking wasn't exactly how he got into this predicament in the first place! He looked around nervously but the scenery hadn't changed, hadn't transformed into any familiar zones of supernatural habitation. It was still just him and the road and the moon shining down on a few thin wisps of fog. And the occasional rustle of critters in the grass.
One of those critters sounded rather close, actually. Arthur decided to pick up the pace, just in case.
He trudged on through the darkness, his pajama pants slowly growing clammy around his calves as they passed through cloud after cloud of shimmering vapor. His feet were completely numb from stepping on miles of pebbles and gritty asphalt; it was probably miraculous that he hadn't run across any broken glass. He tried to keep an eye on the ground in front of him for any glints of reflected moonlight, just in case. After a while, though, even that was pointless, because the fog grew thick enough to hide even his feet from view. Which meant he couldn't see the road.
It startled him the first time his foot came down on grass, but he quickly corrected his course. The next several times were frustrating, because he thought for sure he had moved to the center of the highway. Was it the road that was turning, or was he? There was no slant to the ground like a banked corner would have had, so why did it feel like the road was weaving away from him? Oh. Of course. His missing arm meant he was unbalanced, and the faster he walked, the harder it was to stay in a straight line. Without a visual cue, he couldn't tell if he was over or under-compensating.
He decided to walk with one foot in the grass and one on the road, so he could tell which way he was going. After a while, though, the constant rustle of vegetation unnerved him. His footsteps could be masking approaching danger and he'd never know. Was all that noise really coming from him? He stood still for a moment just to make sure.
The rustling grass continued for a full second after he stopped.
Arthur's blood ran cold. Please let that be my imagination, he pleaded to whatever powers might be listening. He resumed walking for another minute before pausing mid-step, holding his breath.
Rustle rustle-- Then silence.
He took a single step, his foot hitting grass. Nothing but his own noise. Another step, his foot hitting pavement. A rustle of grass that shouldn't have been there.
Something was stalking him. He turned his head ever so slightly, peeking back the way he had come. Moonlit fog spread out like a river, swirling with eddies created by his own passage. There was nothing else there. Nothing visible, anyway.
Arthur faced forward, took a deep breath, then burst into a sprint. Grass and pavement changed constantly under his feet, as if the road was undulating underneath him like a snake. He ran for several minutes before coming to a stop, breathing hard and staring back the way he had come. The low-laying fog slowly settled back in to fill the wake he had left, smoothing itself out and leaving a pristine surface behind. He strained his eyes to catch anything out of place. Nothing. No sound either, or at least none that he could hear from this distance. Whatever it had been, Arthur realized it probably wasn't very fast. As long as he kept moving at more than a walk, he would probably be fine.
Yay, a night spent jogging when he was already exhausted. This just kept getting better and better.
“At least I probably can't fall asleep this way,” he huffed as he bobbed down the road. “Though I'd kill for a little entertainment all the same. A radio to crank up. Or at least some caffeine.” He dredged his tired brain for some lyrics to sing. “You've got me hangin' by a thread, yeah. Must've been somethin' that I said, yeah. I just want yoooooouuu-uuuu! Wish I could turn back time, wish I could rewind life...”
He trailed off. Maybe... maybe not that song. Something else.
“You got me hypnotized, I'm feeling so obsessed with you. You've left me paralyzed, and now I'm stuck, you've got me stuck...”
No. Definitely not that one either. Come on, something fast and bouncy to run to, that wouldn't make him think about his own messed up situation!
“It's like magic! I got you feeling like you're fallin' in love. I got you feeling like you'll never give up, oh! Got you feeling like you'll never give up on: magic, magic! Magic, magic! Magic, magic, magic magic!” He struggled for a few steps to fit his jogging feet to the rhythm, then switched to a sort of skipping-walk instead. Okay, maybe it was just dancing. Whatever. It was fun and it kept him moving forward.
“Magic, magic, oo-oo-oh, magic, magic, oo-oo-oh, magic magic magic magic, oo-oo-oh!”
The moon shifted ever so slowly across the sky, scratched every now and then by silhouetted tree branches.
“It's like magic... Got me feeling like I'm fallin' in love. Got me feeling like I'll never give up, no! Got me feeling like I'll never give up on you!”
The bounce left his steps as he grew tired, but he kept on walking.
Never give up on... never give up on you! Never give up on... never give up o-on!
Arthur didn't even realize that he had stopped singing aloud by the twentieth mindless repeat.
Magic, magic!
Magic, magic!
Magic magic magic magic!
It was just his bobbing head, his walking feet, and the music that played over and over in his mind. A throbbing rhythm like a distant bass, or a beating heart.
The rhythm slowed down imperceptibly. Words started to change here and there.
How could you give up on... how could you give up on me! How dare you give up on... how dare you give up o-on!
Arthur's brows furrowed. That wasn't how the song went. It didn't even sound like his own voice anymore, though it did sound familiar.
Every note of every chord of every song reminds me...
No, no, no, this was a different song entirely! What was his brain doing?
Every note
of every chord
of every song
reminds me that you gave up!
“You sold me out.”
Arthur woke up, yet again, with a flash of pure panic, certain that he heard those words whispered right in front of him. A terrified glance in all directions revealed no one, but did reveal that he was standing in front of a familiar mansion, lit from within by an eerie magenta light that pulsed like a living thing. It looked completely unchanged, despite the ghostly fire that had raged through it when he dragged his friends away before.
No, he took that back. There was a difference. This time the wall that encircled the haunted grounds was taller, and had an imposing wrought-iron gate so overgrown with vines that it looked like it hadn't been opened in years.
Impossible, of course. It hadn't been nearly that long since he'd last been here, when the gate didn't exist at all.
Also, Arthur was already past it, locked inside the mansion's grounds.
Lewis had sprung his trap.