Chapter Text
Arthur Lester awoke to a horrified voice in his head yelling that he was burying himself alive.
He gasped as lashing rain chased bitter mud down his throat. He flailed, hands and elbows striking against too-close walls all around him. Slick and sodden, they slurped with every panicked strike.
[Arthur! ARTHUR!] the voice in his head bellowed over the roaring storm around him. [Fucking wake up, Arthur! Jesus Christ, what are you—]
“J-John? What…Fucking hell, what is…?”
Arthur continued to thrash in his shallow grave, torrents of liquid mud pouring in either side of him and transforming the simple task into an impossible goal. His hands squelched great grooves into the dirt, his bare feet splashing through brown rainwater pooling all around him.
[Arthur! Calm down! You’re…You’re awake now,] John said, his level voice betrayed by an underlying quiver he failed to hide. [You’ve stopped. It’s…You’re safe. Just…take a minute and let me get our bearings.]
Though his ever-present companion may very well have had the right of it, panic continued to usher Arthur to a point beyond reason. He scrambled onto his front, pushing himself to his hands and knees, all the while spluttering curses and half-formed questions until, at last, he hauled himself out of the hole in the ground and crawled across rain-soaked grass.
“What…the fuck…” he spluttered. “What…how did we…? What did you—?”
[I didn’t do this!] John snarled. [What—! Why would you even think I would do this to you, to us?]
A spike of guilt pierced the dizzying fog of Arthur’s blind panic, dredging him up from the thick slurry that coated the senses in the precious seconds after waking.
He wiped a muddied hand down over his face. “God, no, I-I know, I…I’m sorry, John. I didn’t mean to—But…What the fuck happened?”
Peculiar events circled the two of them like vultures to a carcass, so regaining some semblance of composure in the wake of such a horror had almost become second nature to Arthur. But on the flip side of that lay the dreadful knowledge of the malevolent beings that might be to blame for such a nightmare. He’d been the target of such machinations more often that Arthur cared to admit, but this one felt far more personal.
Worse, of course, would be if it wasn’t the wicked work of an Outer God or other cosmic force. If it was his own doing all along.
[I don’t know,] John admitted. [One minute, you were asleep, the next—]
“Well, what about you?” Arthur snapped. He twisted and sat down on the grass, chest heaving, and faced the crudely-dug grave that had almost claimed him. “If I was asleep, where were you? You’re supposed to be in charge!”
[I was in time-out! By the time I came back, you were already lying in that pit and scooping armfuls of dirt over yourself!] John snapped back.
The rain continued to hammer down, rinsing the mud from Arthur. It streamed from his hair, leaving gritty trails down his face and sticking his nightshirt to his skin. The cold began to creep in too, adding insult to confused injury.
Grunting, Arthur got to his feet.
“Sleepwalking? I-I’ve never…Jesus. Let’s…let’s just get somewhere warm a-a-and dry so that I can think.” Arthur turned his head this way and that, giving John a full scope of the area. “Where are we? Describe it?”
[I don’t recognise it. We’re in a small clearing of grass, with trees lining the edge at one side and a gravel path winding through a short distance away. There’s an old wooden sign, but I can’t read it from here…Silver-something, maybe? There isn’t much light, and the rain is blurring my vision. But…there’s a chapel within walking distance. It's a tiny building, barely more than a stone shed really, with one steeple at the front. At the top is a carved symbol – likely a cross, but it blends too well against the storm-blackened sky to be sure. A few of the windows glow with a warm orange light, so someone must be inside. We can at least take shelter from the storm in there.]
Deciding to focus on what he could do rather than what he could not explain, Arthur nodded once and set off at a plodding pace. “To the chapel, then. Maybe someone in there saw us arrive and can tell us how we got here, at least.”
[Maybe we drove here?] John offered. [I mean, that doesn’t bear thinking about; you driving with neither of us present, but—]
Arthur shook his head, spraying droplets of water around him. His arms ached with all the toil of having done a full day’s labour without a break. “And you swear this has never happened before?” he asked, cutting John off.
[I think I’d remember you trying to bury yourself alive on the regular, Arthur!]
Arthur rolled his eyes. “I mean the sleepwalking!” he said, folding his arms across his chest in a vain attempt to block out the cold. Gravel bit underfoot, alerting him to the path John had mentioned before.
[Well…yeah. It happens most nights, if you think about it,] John pointed out.
Arthur ground to a halt, pieces of gravel slipping between his toes. “What?!”
[Yeah,] John chirped, and Arthur pictured him nodding, his great yellow-hooded head bobbing with self-assurance. [Usually, you go to sleep, I get to take over and—]
“That’s not what I meant!” Arthur started walking again, shoulders hunched against the unforgiving storm tearing around them. “I mean actual, honest-to-God sleepwalking. Like tonight!”
[Oh.] John wilted somewhere in the back of Arthur’s head. The sense of gold that danced in Arthur’s mind when John spoke dulled. [In which case, no. I’ve never known you to sleepwalk, even if I haven’t taken over your body for the night.]
“And why didn’t you take over, hm?” Arthur pulled one hand loose and gestured in vain towards the sky. “You were shouting when I woke up – you could have taken over my body and stopped me, pulled us both to safety!”
[That’s just it, Arthur. I tried.] John paused, tripping over his next words. [I…I couldn’t. Not even your left hand. You just…kept going.]
Arthur’s heart pulsed cold at the notion.
He had got them here, dug long enough into the ground to create his own grave, climbed in, and pulled the dirt over him, all while John had been helpless to stop him?
It was only now that the stinging pain of his fingertips pushed to the forefront, demanding Arthur’s attention.
He turned his fingernails towards his face. “Am I bleeding? My fingers hurt…”
[Your fingers are caked in mud, including under your nails. The edges of your nails are cracked and frayed, and it looks like some of them might be bleeding, yes. I didn’t see a shovel when you climbed out; I think you must have dug with your hands.]
“It would have taken me hours…” Arthur muttered. “Christ…H-how long were you watching this happen for? I mean, when did you come back from time-out?”
A long pause stretched between them, broken only by the careful footsteps of Arthur navigating over the uncomfortable gravel path towards the chapel.
[I came back just after you started digging. You were…at it for hours, Arthur. Nothing I said got through to you, and…]
“And what?”
[I…I don’t know. It didn’t feel like you. This body. Your…your vision. Everything felt…wrong. I can’t explain it. But when you climbed in and started pulling the dirt back over yourself, that’s when it started raining. It seemed to snap you out of it.]
“The rain did?” Arthur tucked that evidence away for later.
Evidence. Well. Maybe it was to be expected that he would fall back into his role as a detective in the wake of this nightmare. Easier to hold it at arm’s length. To detach. To keep calm.
[You woke up shortly after it started pouring. Stop. Stop – you’re almost at the steps leading up to the chapel. There aren’t many, but the stones they are carved from are shining slick with rain, and small rivulets rush down them. At the top, there are two oak doors, arched and framed with stained glass depicting a strange flower. It has five huge red petals, and its centre is a gaping hole. A warm, yellow light from within the chapel illuminates the design, making it clear even in the downpour.]
“Hopefully you’re right that someone’s home, then,” Arthur said, attempting to be cheerful, before picking his way carefully up the slippery steps. Once he reached the top, he pushed his hand flat against the wooden door and pushed.
Warmth rushed to greet him, though his rain-soaked clothes swatted it away from offering any real comfort. His wet feet slapped against the stone floor, and he pushed the door shut behind him to close the worst of the storm away.
[It’s a small chapel; humble. A few pews stand in rows left and right of you, and at the other end of the room, there’s an altar,] John reported dutifully. [That same stained glass window is repeated on the wall behind the altar, only much bigger. A red flower with five petals and a deep, dark hole at its core. Around it, there are depictions of a forest sporting all sorts of flora – crimson flowers, ruby-capped mushrooms, and berries dot the scene. There are lights on in here, but no one’s around.]
“Maybe they keep the doors open for those seeking salvation,” Arthur muttered as he shuffled up the centre aisle, the edge of one set of pews bumping into his thigh and setting him straight again.
[Is that what we’re seeking? Or just the warmth?]
“Just the warmth, my friend.” Arthur smiled. “For now. And once we are clean and dry, perhaps…perhaps some answers.”
[Right. But maybe before looking for answers, we should come up with a plan.]
Arthur, frozen to the bone by now and weary from a night’s work he never intended to partake in, flopped down on a pew and sighed. “A plan?”
[For tonight. For when you next fall asleep, Arthur. I can’t stop you if you do this again.]
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