Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I Work As A Security Guard. These Are The Rules To Defend The Tartarus Mall | Scary Stories

Episode Date: August 18, 2023

Never break them.  Merch is now live at ⁠⁠lighthousehorror.com⁠⁠ Story from Darkly_Gathers Make sure to check out more of their work at u/Darkly_Gathers            Original Post: Instructions for the successful defense of the Tartarus Mall : r/nosleep                 Original YouTube link: I Work As A Security Guard. These Are The Rules To Defend The Tartarus Mall For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Sound Effects: Freesound Zapsplat  Music: Lucas King - YouTube Myuu - YouTube  Incompetech Thank you for listening to this scary story! If you enjoyed this new creepypasta story, please check out some of my other horror stories. We'll be uploading new scary stories, new true stories, and new creepypasta stories twice a week!

I won't beat around the bush. Might as well get right to it. The instructions for the successful defense of the Tartarus Mall are sure and simple. First things first, Tartarus ain't actually the mall's name. That's just what I call the place on account of the store I have to guard. I won't tell you the mall's proper name for security reasons. But yeah, so one of the stores in the mall is called Tartarus, and this store is perpetually closed. I've never seen it open.

A metal sheet lives across its door and its window displays are always empty, boarded up even. The instructions, to put them simply, are as follows. Number one, watch Tartarus. Number two, don't let anyone in. And number three, don't let anyone out. I work the shift from 8 p.m. to 4 a.m., Monday to Friday. It's pretty damn boring. Mall closes at nine, last staff are out by 920, and then it's

just me. Just myself. A gruff and relatively miserable middle-aged man, all alone in this mall. There's five other men like me. Or hell, some could be women, I guess. Two of them do the weekend, I hear. The other two do weekdays. One works 4 a.m. to 12 noon, and the other from noon to 8 p.m. We're not supposed to meet each other. That being said, I'm pretty sure I bumped into the guy who works the noon to 8 p.m. shift once. He just had this look about him. Twenty or years younger than myself, I should think, hard to tell since he was wearing a mask, but he'd seen some shit. You can see it in their eyes. He nodded at me as I passed him by, seemed to realize he was running late. Could have just been a stranger, I guess, ex-military or something. But I don't know.

Just had a feeling. I'm working right now, in fact. It's a typical dead and quiet night. The moon is out, and its light shines through the purple-tinted glass of the roof, washing the vast open plan of the mall in a pleasant, dreamlike violet. I glance over to Tartarus. The metal sheet door sits resolutely in place. The windows are dark and dead.

You can hear stuff coming through sometimes. whispers and mutterings on some nights the metal rattles. Those nights ain't fun. I take a sip of my coffee and lean back in my chair. I say my chair. It's one of the mall's massage chairs. It isn't turned on, but it's still comfy. As I try to relax, the music in one of my headphones starts cutting in and out.

I grumble in frustration and plucking. and pluck the bud from my ear to fiddle with it. Damn things. I need new ones, really. But I wouldn't have the faintest idea what to look for. My daughter got me these eight years ago, I think it was. That might have been good then, but they ain't much good now. They've held out pretty well this whole time, though.

So that's something, I guess. Still, frustrating. I'm listening to Jolene tonight, or, well, trying to. My employers are secretive people. I was scouted for this position, and you know what? It actually pays pretty well. I've been doing this stint for five years now and only felt the need to ask for a pay raise once and all that time.

And they gave it to me. No question. I suppose I could ask for another, but hey, I don't want to push my luck. The money is decent. And for what? Watching a damn closed-up store in an empty mall. some secrets, and occasionally, do what needs to be done. Don't let anyone in, don't let anyone out. I take a sip of my coffee. I think back to my early days, back to when my daughter was

still just a young kid. I was far more curious about it all back then. Hell, who wouldn't be? I glance over to the metal door of Tartarus. Towards the end of my very first week, I'd already dislodge that thing. It ain't hard if you'd got a bit of strength to you. Raise it up and then unlock the bar door behind, easy enough if you have the key, and then you just stroll right in. I don't know what kind of a store Tartarus might once have been. I remember looking around. The walls were painted red and black and gray and were peeling. Scruffs and scratch marks streak the carpets. The place was pretty empty, although not entirely so. There's a dusty old right-angled counter in the middle, and I remember seeing a clear plastic

spray bottle, half-filled atop this counter, no cash register, no items or racks or shelves, just this one bottle, a small rag, and a marker pen right beside it. The bottle was labeled bleach. In the far corners of the store, which, by the way, appeared ever so slightly further and wider than one would expect. In these far corners were a collection of eerie mannequins. All faceless leaned and stacked against each other in various sizes. All faceless, all stripped of clothing. Some of the mannequins had stuff written across their faces. I remember walking up to them, walking past and taking a closer look. Upon the closest was written.

Jaden dash R. Curious. On the next was written, Charlotte, dash R. And then on the third, a little further along. Zach, dash S. I couldn't make sense of it back then. I remember puzzling over the names. I counted five different initials in total. R, S, N, T, and S. L. There were seven mannequins with names attached to R, four attached to S, two marked with an N, two marked with a T, and only a single mannequin labeled with an SL. One of these mannequins. A male figure labeled with a T had been crossed through with a large black X, and five of them were entirely blank.

I found a storeroom near the back filled with dozens more. What the hell is this place? And you know, these mannequins weren't even the weirdest thing about the abandoned store. The weirdest thing, by far, was hidden behind the counter, right in the center of the room. A singular deep, dark hole right there in the middle of the floor. Damn, I'd murmured aloud, peering cautiously down. The hole in the ground reminded me of one of those kid slides, the types you see in McDonald's fun houses and ball pit playpans, old and dusty and grimy, hard plastic.

It went down about six or seven feet into the darkness, and then rounded a gentle corner. And there was something else, too. Around the hole, around the tunnel's entrance, there's this general creeping sense of unease, It's tough to explain. There's this sense that the floor upon which you walk is fragile, far more fragile than you give it credit for. That everything is more fragile than you give it credit for, in fact. It's a cold and clammy sensation, and it gets right under your skin. You can hear the whispering more clearly when around the hole, too, if you stay there long enough. In the early days, I'd stick around that creepy tunnel for ages, despite the unease.

The allure of that mystery was too great. Almost an hour at a time. I even went down into the tunnel, too, despite my caution, poked around, had a good look to see where it led. I quickly stopped doing that. I don't go into Tartarus anymore. Not unless I have to. Not unless I really do.

I really, really have to go down into that tunnel, but thankfully such an occasion is rare. I shiver. Don't much feel like talking about that right now. I take another sip of coffee, sighing with frustration as my right earbuds cut out yet again. Damn thing. I take it out to fiddle with it some more, and in doing so, my ear picks up the sound of a pattering in the distance. My senses are pretty, rhymed at once. I reach into my pocket and pause the music. I stand from the chair, set down my coffee, and determine from which direction the noise is coming from. The pattering rises into a murmur, and before long I hear the laughter and muffled speech of what sounds like

a group of teenagers. Great. Haven't had to deal with something like this for a while. I check my watch. 1 a.m. I wonder what the cause could be this time. A break-in, perhaps? Or maybe just a group of dumbasses who hid away in some store and waited for the mall to close. Maybe they're making some kind of YouTube video. That's what the last group we're doing. When was that? August?

September? I shake my head with a grumble. Idiots. I mutter, deciding on tonight's approach and folding my arms, waiting for the group to round the corner at the far side of the mall's open plan. Their laughter becomes louder and louder, growing more obnoxious with each step. They round the corner, and my suspicions are confirmed, five teenagers, all washed in that subtle purple light. I'm standing so still that it takes a second for them to spot me.

Once they do, however, their laughter cuts out at once, and the pattering ceases as they come to an awkward and sudden stop. I let the moment hang in the air. Then I break it with a simple, You kids shouldn't be in here. Get the hell out before I call the police. The one in the front of the procession opens his mouth to say something and glances from me to tartarus and then back. I narrow my eyes. Interesting. Interesting and troubling. I'm really, really hoping these dumb kids aren't here to see Tartarus, though none of them have their phones out, doesn't look like they're filming any kind of video.

What are you doing here? The kid at the front asks. He's got some stubble around his chin and an oversized white sweater. I can sense the general anxiety of the group, but this guy seems bolder than the others. What the hell kind of question is that? I work here. Get out. Don't make me ask you again.

You're not wearing any kind of. uniform. And what kind of security guard hangs out right in the middle of the mall? A sweater takes a step forward and again glances from me to Tartarus, less subtly this time. Dude, no way. Was Rex telling the truth? One of the girls of the group mutters to the boy beside her. She looks between me and the accursed store. You're trespassing. I reiterate, Rates, Rayser. My voice. Just go for God's sake, leave by whatever way you came in and leave me to listen to my

crappy music. The group's other girl, one to sweaters left, looks up at me. Why would you want to listen to crappy music? She asks. I push some air out through my nose. Well, it's not the music so much as the headphones. Look, that's really not important. I falter.

Squinting. Hey, wait a second. Don't I know you? You're one of Abby's friends, right? Abby is my daughter. The girl's eyes widened and she takes a step back. Uh, um, yeah, I know you. God's sake, I'm Abby's father.

You're Maddie, Riley, something like that. Avery. She squeaks. Yeah, yeah. Yeah, that's it. Look, I remember you. You're a good kid. I'm sure you all are. So just get out of here. This is your final warning. What about Tartarus? Sweeter asks me. I take another step towards the group. What about it? Well, what's in there? Nothing's in there. That's a lie, chimes in one of the others. A boy to Sweathe. right, long blonde hair over his fringe.

There, there's stuff in there. We know there is. I take another step towards them. Kids these days. So reckless. Back when I was young, if I'd seen someone like me in a place like this, at a time like this, I would have ran for my damn life, not engaged in chit-chat. I don't know who you've been talking to.

I reply through gritted teeth, but I can assure you that there is nothing of interest to you or to anyone in that empty-ass old clothes-down store. So you won't mind if we take a look around it then? Sweeter replies, and he draws from his pocket, My key. I am actually taken by surprise. It glints violet in the light. But it's my key, all right. No doubt about that.

The long, sharp and serrated silver key to Tartarus. I can see the store's logo or symbol or whatever emblazoned across the handle in black. How the... You dropped it back there in the hallway. Sweeter replies. Careless, really? There's a tense pause. Now, Sweeter says, and the group disperses.

Avery goes with fringe and a pair, but the others all split up and run their separate ways. Oh, for God's sake, I say, taking off after him. How could I be so careless? Dropped my key. But that's impossible. I'm always so careful. Never in all my years have I once lost that key. I watch a sweater tosses something shiny and silver to the group's other girl before

where she sprints down in adjacent hallway, past a Clare's and a Starbucks. I am taken by the coordination and pre-planning of this group. Not because Sweeter actually passed her the key, but because he pretended to. It was a quick motion, but I caught it. It was just a coin. The actual key was hurriedly and subtly passed to fringe before they parted ways. I saw the hands connect. guys or something else. I mutter as I change directions and head off after the duo.

God's sake, even if I get rid of them tonight, they'll probably be back. I might have to bring out the big guns to scare these ones away. I raced past the mall fountain, a white and marble thing with a life-sized horse carved as its central feature. It doesn't take me long to catch up to them. I may be a little old, but I'm sprintier than I look. Not so fast. I call out, reaching out and grabbing the scruff of Fringe's jacket. He lets out a yelp and skids. Avery carries on a little farther before stopping herself to look back at us. She puts her hands to her mouth. Wait! Liam! Liam! I snarl, looking down into the kid's face as I catch my breath.

You've made a mistake here today, kid. Hand over that damn key and I'll think carefully about what it is that I'll tell your parents. If he's friends with Avery, then he probably goes to my daughter's school, I thought. And if that's the case, shouldn't be too hard to work out who he is. I can't give you it. He stutters, not so confident now. Please. Jesus, have a little backbone.

Have some self-respect, kid. Now give it over before you make me take it from you. I've given you guys enough chances already, and I am really starting to lose my patience. I can't give it to you, because, because it's not mine to give. It's mine. No, sir, it isn't. It's Rex's. I pause.

Rex. Who the hell's Rex? What are you talking about? It's Bryce's brothers. Bryce? You know. The guy in the white sweater. Don't lie to me, kid.

I know a tartarist key when I see one. And then it hits me. A cold feeling spreads out from my stomach, and I actually think to check my own pocket. The pocket I keep the key in. And I realize that I've been duped. My key is right there in my pocket. It was always there. I draw it out and it sparkles in the light.

Silver, with a black logo of Tartarus emblazoned upon it. Of course I didn't drop my key. I would never do such a thing. Which means you have your own key to Tartarus. My voice has dropped, and the entire atmosphere has changed. I think perhaps that Liam and Avery can sense this. I release Liam from my grip, and he stumbles away. Avery goes to him, and they look up at May as I try not to panic, starting to get quite scared

now. Where did you get the key? I asked them. Then louder. Where did you get it? I told you, Bryce's brother. I'm sorry. We thought there might be someone guard in the store.

Rex was drunk the other night. He's always drunk, and he told us... What? What did he tell you? He told us about Tartarus. Shit. Is Rex one of the guards? Could he even be the guy I saw that one time in the mall?

Sweat begins to bud on the back of my neck. Very slowly, very calmly, I say to them, just give me the key. Liam glances to Avery and she checks her watch with a glance. Bryce never gave me the key. Liam says in a quiet voice. He kept it the whole time. He turns out his jacket pockets and they are empty. I'd be able to see its outline if it were in his jeans.

I put my hands on my head. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. I hear the sound of the metal sheet door of Tartarus being raised in the mall down the corridor behind me. And I shoot a look back into the purple gloom. He'll have joined up with the others by now. Liam says. Others?

There's a whole group of them going down, like seven or so, I think. I said I'd be part of the distraction. I turned to stare at Avery. She must see something in my eyes because she recoils. Avery. Is Abby with you? My daughter, Abby Jones. Come on, I know you know her.

You guys are friends. I. She pauses. No, she isn't with us. I'm not convinced. I can hear the running of quick footsteps in the distance. Avery. I grab her by the shoulders and she goes deftly pale.

You won't get in trouble. Neither will she. I get it if you're trying to cover for your face. friend, but you have to tell me, is Abby a part of this group? No. I said no. She stumbles over her words. We, we asked her if she wanted to come and she said it was stupid. Well, at least one of you has some damn sense, I retort, releasing her. I'm not convinced, however. I'm really not convinced. I take off back down the corridor, leaving the two quaking kids behind. Go home! I shouted them, racing through the midnight mall. I stumbled to a stop

by my massage chair, staring in horror at the entrance to Tartarus. The metal sheet that covers the door is not currently covering the entire door. It's clearly been lifted and dropped back down and has not settled properly into place. I can hear from here that the door behind the door behind, behind it is open. Shit, I swear, and curse my way to the door and haul the metal sheet up with a grunt, pushing into the store itself. I am instantly struck with a wave of unease. Hand prints and shoe prints are marked all over the dusty countertop in front of me.

I glance to my right as I stride over. The nearest mannequin rests awkwardly against the wall. A faceless man, with his arm raised in a sad, silent wave. Crossed out, it says D-E-R-R, and then Darren. Dash R. Is written across the mannequin's face in black marker. I swallow with a dry throat. Could that be your writing, Rex?

I try not to think about it. I'm not supposed to know. I jump the counter and look down into the dark, hard plastic of the tunnel in the floor. I run my hands through my gray-flecked hair and look around. The mannequins watch silently, judging. I swear some more. I slam a fist down onto the counter. I think over the instructions.

Number one, watch Tartarus. Number two, don't let anyone in. And number three, don't let anyone out. I also think about whether or not my daughter might be amongst this group of young idiots, how close she was to the people who have just leapt so foolishly down into the dark. I consider what I would want if another parent saw my Abbey head down into such a dangerous place. and after a moment I sigh and return to the front door of the store, locking it closed behind me,

and then heading back to the hole behind the counter. I don't get paid enough for this shit. I mutter as I prepare to follow on down. The tunnel in the ground seemed to know I intended to enter. The whispering coming from the depths increases. becoming a fog-like shivering and rattling around the back of my head. I sip myself down on the tunnel's edge, and with one last deep breath, I push myself off the side and drop down into the dark.

The hard plastic of the tunnel carries me down and around the corner like a slide. Down it goes, turning this way and that, before steadily leveling out. I grunt and readjust myself as I slow to a stop. The tunnel is rather claustrophobic, but it's fine. I've been down here before. I have to turn onto my front on my hands and knees. I do so and crawl forwards for about two minutes or so, before rounding one last corner. Ahead of me at the end of the tunnel is a narrow pinprick of pale purple light, same shade

to the light in the mall upstairs. I mutter to myself, pushing down the fear and continue my crawling, knees. aching as I do so. You gotta be more careful, Matthew. I think to myself, chiding myself for being so careless. Can't let this sort of thing happen again. This was too many, too many kids by far. The purple light at the end of the tunnel grows a little brighter.

The view into the world beyond becomes clear. I can't hear any of the teenagers I realize, which is not a good sign. a good sign at all. My heart is pounding. I'm not supposed to be down here. No one is supposed to be down here. And yet, here we are. Pull yourself together, I think. Let's get this over with. Abby might be down here. Despite what Avery said, she might still be down here with her friends. And I clamber out from the tunnel's exit and into the place that lies beyond. Beyond and Beneath. I stand in a room with blue-green peeling walls, scuffed floors.

It's kind of like the tartarist store only with a different color scheme, and there are no mannequins, no creepy-ass mannequins with names and initials written all over their faces. The windows ahead are not boarded up, and there's no metal sheet over the door that leads out. I glance behind me. The tunnel does not go down into the floor, of course. It instead carries on in a straight line and disappears through the back wall. I return my gaze to the room's front door and stride towards it, heading out, out and into the plane beyond.

Goose bumps shiver up my skin as I step through the door and look around, reminding myself of the layout. I stand in a mirror reflection of the mall upstairs. It changes and warps the further from the tunnel's exit you go, but here for now, I stand more or less in the center of a copy of the mall, a copy with a few key differences, of course. As always, there's that faint, almost imperceptible music. Orchestra. Sad, but beautiful.

You have to strain to hear it, but it's there. It's always there. Sounds like it's always on the verge of a crescendo, a crescendo that never comes. My surroundings and I are bathed in that same purplish light, but there's no moon on this side. No stars are visible through the glass above. There's only pitch black. It isn't clear where the light comes from exactly. It just seems to hang in the air.

I turn around. The Tartarus store stands behind me, though it isn't clear. called Tartarus on this side. It's called, Gaia. And whilst the windows are empty and free from displays of any kind, they're not boarded up. There was no metal sheet I had to lift to get out. The door is unlocked and easily accessible. Whilst at first glance the surrounding stores seem familiar and plain, close inspection of each,

reveals that they are anything but. There's no English used down here. The letters might appear to be recognizable if you skim your eyes past them, but the storefronts are covered in no native language of mine. It's nothing but strange symbols and unusual lines and shapes. My footsteps echo as I walk the length of the mall's central hall, closer to the fountain and the statue upon it. It's not a horse on this side.

It's an enormous coiled snake, white marble, Lidless, staring eyes, and sitting atop it. I jump in shock and swear to myself under my breath. He's often lurking around down here, but he's never in the same place. And he's a frightful son of a bitch, too, to put it lightly. Comes the voice of the figure sat upon the snake's head, like a hiss almost. The voice is smooth, yet unsettling. Good evening, Typhon.

I reply steadily, composing myself and looking up at him. You're looking handsome tonight? Typhon has tonight chosen the form of myself. Sitting up on the top of the snake is a copy of me, though as with the mall, the copy is twisted. Typhon's copy of me is pure white, and when I say that, I mean everything. The hair, the skin, the clothes, all a mist-like, ghostly white, all except for the eyes. There's no color in the eyes, just void black. Typhon grins and flickers out his tongue, like a snake's.

He cocks his head at me. You've made a tragic mistake tonight, haven't you, Minus? doesn't know my name. It's safer that way, and I intend to keep it as such. He knows that it begins with an M, however, and he chooses to refer to me as minus. A mistake, sure. I don't intend for it to be tragic, though. We all make mistakes, I say. Some more than others. Typhon replies, licking his teeth. He does not blink. There is a pause. Well, I'd best be looking for them then, I say, doing my best to sound casual.

I imagine you saw where they all went. And I don't suppose you're going to tell me, are you? So, Typhon replies, with a stretched white grin. All right. Well, I'll be seeing you then, Typhon. I start walking around the same. walking around the statue of the snake on its fountain. I watch in my peripheral vision as Typhon creeps like a lizard across the statue's head.

Have you thought some more? Typhon asks, his voice dropping and the hiss in his throat, becoming more prominent. It will save you. I doubt that. I reply, looking directly ahead and leaving the statue of the snake behind me. And as before, my answer is no. I hear the sound of Typhon scuttling down the marble of the statue. I shoot a quick glance over my shoulder, but he's already vanished. And when I'm sure he's gone, I breathe just a little easier. It may not seem like it, but Typhon scares me more than most down here. He was in a good mood tonight. I continue on along my way, aware that the clock is ticking, ears straining for any hint of the group, listening intently for any clattering,

speaking, or screaming to accompany that faint orchestral music. I think hard. The kid in the oversized white sweater, the ringleader of this little group. What was it that the duo upstairs had said his name was? Bryce. And Bryce's older brother as a guy named Rex, a nighttime alcoholic by the their accounts, and the owner of the key Bryce used to get them all down here. This troubles me greatly. Ignorance is bliss. I know more now than I'd wanted to. So Rex is likely

one of my mysterious colleagues, another of the shift workers, the tragic guardians of Tartarus. It fits, given the existence of the R initial scrawled across many of the mannequins upstairs, This colleague of mine has supposedly been careless with his key. Stupid bastard, I mutter, though my heart goes out to him. And now his brother is down here in the depths, maybe with Abbey. I increased my pace. If I'd heard stories about this place from an older brother through drunk ramblings, I guess, where would I want to go first if I was some stupid kid?

A couple of potential answers come to mind, and I settle on one, adjusting my course and heading to the right. I passed beneath the silent, watchful gaze of the eerie storefronts on either side. The color schemes, all washed and violet, of course, seem vaguely familiar in one's peripheral vision. But when you turn to look directly at them, well, as I said, they ain't anything recognizable, like and nonsensical. I can hear voices ahead. Male and female, kid voices. It's them all right. I start jogging. I round the next corner. In the mall upstairs, the actual mall, I guess.

This right here would be one of the mall's exits. The corridor leads to a large bookstore, and if you walk right through the center, then you leave into one of the parking lots. You can see the exit from the store's entrance. Down here, however, beneath Tartarus, the bookstore does not lead to an exit. It only leads into more corridors of the mall. There are no windows. There are glass panes in the wall, sure, but they only give you a view back into the mall, not to the outside.

The layout starts getting weirder from here, more labyrinth-like. In the center of the bookstore is another feature that is missing in the one upstairs. A giant carved titan. It coweres with one hand above its monstrous face, snarled in rage and fear. As with the snake, and I suppose with the horse, it appears to be made of white marble and is so huge that it takes up the bulk of the room's center. Even the escalators do not rise above the top of it. its head. The teenagers are in here. There are seven of them, as Liam and Avery had suggested

there would be. There's Bryce, the oversized white sweater guy, there's the two from the initial group, a boy and a girl, and four new ones. I am relieved to see that Abby is not with them, though, and it appears that Avery may have told me the truth. It does concern me, though, what Bryce may have told Abby about this place, about Tartarus, and whether she would have believed any of it. And if she did, whether she connected any of it to myself. Upon my arrival, they all turned to me at once, high off of the energy of doing something you're not supposed to do. The feverish excitement of being in some place secretive and strange. None of them have any idea what sort of danger they're in. I can see it in their face.

None except for Bryce, maybe. I come to a stop and we regard each other, them and I. Do they know, kid? I ask him after a beat, careful not to use his name. Do they know the danger that you've put them all in tonight? I look them over, and don't use each other's names, I add. If you call each other by your real names down here, then you might not get back up. There are creatures down here that are always listening.

What's he talking about, Bryce? One of the girls asked him, the excitement faltering in her demeanor. For God's sake, I bellow, striding forwards. They back up against the base of the statue of the Titan. What did I just say? What the hell is wrong with teenagers? Why are you all so damn thoughtless? I jab a finger into the girl's face.

I appreciate that she's just a girl and I'm a grown man, and the gesture might come across as quite frightening. But, frankly, I don't particularly care. My priority is getting them all out of here. I said no names. No names. Do not use my name. If you happen to know it, do not use your friend's names, or else you might just get stuck

down here forever. I grab Bryce's collar and swing him around, throwing him a little ways towards the bookstore's entrance, back towards the mall corridor, the way we came. You have put your friends in danger tonight. I tell him, now you can think of a way to apologize to them as we head back to the entrance. Go to hell, old man. Bryce replies, snarling at me. Bryce, murmurs the girl behind me in shock.

I spin around. If I have to tell you one more time. Leave her alone. Bryce shouts. We're not going with you. We all knew the risk coming down here and we're not leaving until we've completed our mission. What the hell are you talking about? kid.

I reply, exasperated. Why are you so intent on being down here? Just let me do my job. For God's sake, I'm getting real tired of this shit. Why are you so stubborn? This isn't the place for some dumb teenage urban exploring. We're not urban exploring, you miserable old son of a bitch. Bryce replies, folding his arms and fuming.

My brother gets sicker every day," he says. I won't say his name, but you know who I mean. He's worked at the mall for so long, so long. I don't know why he doesn't just quit already. The contract is three years, I murmur. He can quit at the end of every three-year period if he wanted to. Then why doesn't he? Bryce replies.

Why does he put himself through it again and again? What the hell even is this place? He puts his head in his arms and then throws them out wide. It's all real. It's all real. I thought it was drugs. I thought that my brother might be wasting away in some crack den, but the more I researched, the more I stalked and watched. It's all real. Tartarus, he pauses, gathers himself. My friends came down here with me voluntarily. They trust me because I trust them. There is a murmur of determined agreement from behind me, from the little gathering.

Bryce's eyes flash. And if it's all real, then that means typhon is real. And it's his fault. It's all his fault. The air in the corners of my vision begin to shimmer slightly. A book on a nearby table stand starts. to shake. Kid, I say, carefully and quietly.

I walk forwards and try to usher him onwards. It's time to go. He shoves me away, and his friends go to stand by his side, staring back at me, some anxiously, some defiantly. It's Typhon's fault that my brother's stuck in this job. I'm not sure how exactly, but I know it must be his fault and I know he's evil. So we're going to find him and we're going to kill him. I cannot help a panicked laugh escaping my throat, which seems to rile Bryce up even further.

Kid. What are you saying? You think you'd be able to kill Typhon. You think you'd be able to, even if it were possible. This is insane. Unless you want to put your disappearances on your brother's already burdened conscience. Then go. Go back to the entrance all of you. A voice from above cuts through our clamor like ice. It is a disconnected fragment of sentence, chilling in its lack of context. The voice is neither male nor female, raspy and cold. He sing and bouts of fiery spouts. The big one shouts. I know what I'll see before even looking up.

It's one of Typhon's playthings. We're steadily running out of time here. The eyes of the kids before me go wide with terror as they look up to the ceiling. I crane my neck unenthusiastically. Above us is the plightly. is the plaything in question. It has the rough form of a human, like Typhon entirely white. Unlike Typhon, however, the thing has no eyes.

No features on its head at all, actually. No face, no hair, no ears. Just a blank canvas. It has one large mouth in the center of its chest. The mouth puckers and salivates as it creeps across the sea. It moves tentatively, but surely, like a spider. It has no legs, but instead has six arms, two from where you would expect, two from the joints where its leg should be, and two from its hips.

It is an abomination, and abominations are a plenty down here. What the hell is that? The boy to Bryce's right says. The boy from upstairs adorned in a blue hoodie. That is our cue to leave. I reply, pushing them towards the entrance. Is this all of you? There's no one else, just you seven?

Most of them are stricken by the monster overhead, but two of them nodded me in response. Games, hissed the creature. I would love a game. Love, love, a lone flower in the cold field. Its ramblings are lost to a general murmur as I quickly draw the door to the bookstore closed behind us. Bryce gathers himself.

He glares at me, with a purpose and a determination well beyond his years. I came here for a reason. There are worse things than Typhon down here. My brother talks in his sleep. He mumbles when he's wasted. I know what needs to be done. I'm not afraid. And the kid pushes right past me.

He slams open the bookstore door and races right through to the doors on the opposite side. Blue hoodie goes with him. One of the new girls goes as well. I've got your back, man. The boy shouts as he joins his comrade. We're with you. The girl cries. You idiots.

You'll never see the daylight again. I roar after them, painfully conscious of Typhon's plaything, scuttling across the shelves above and after them. I swivel back to the rest of the group. My chest tightens. Fine. They want to disappear so badly, then so be it. Screw them. Anyone else want to die down here in the dark?

I am met with stricken silence. Good. Then let's go. I grabbed two of them and start to run back through the mall, but I let them go after a few seconds. They're all running with me this time. Back through the corridors, back past the statue of the snake. I glance up, but Typhon himself has vanished. He could be anywhere now.

We stumbled towards the entrance to Gaia. All right, in you go. I pant, grimacing as I catch my breath and stretch out one of my legs. Back through the tunnel. One of the girls turns to me. She's from the original group that I saw upstairs. Curly black hair. What about br- She stops herself.

What about the others? We can't just leave them. I clench my jaw. They made their choice. I ain't their babysitter. She grabs me by the sleeve. Please, sir, please. I'm sorry, okay?

I'm sorry we made you come down here and I'm sorry we all thought this was a good idea, but you can't just leave them. I look at the faces of the kids before me, hesitating. He'll never give up, says one of the boys. Never. If you don't go after him, then he's going to do. I'll die. Please.

We're sorry." I blow some air through my nose. I ain't giving you my key. I tell him. And if I go to unlock the tartarist door for you, then by the time I get back down here, it'll be too late. If I go after them, then who knows what'll happen. There's no telling when I'll be back.

You might have to wait for the next person on shift to come and let you out. That's not so bad. of the boys replies, bravely, bravely or foolishly, how long would that be? I glance at my watch, two and a half hours or so. Well, that's not so bad. Perhaps not, but. I pause. But what?

The girl with curly hair replies, but whoever comes to let you out will be bound to the rules. I think. Just like myself. Watch Tartarus. Don't let anyone in. Don't let anyone out. But there's no telling whether or not they'd actually let you out. I finish simply. We're not supposed to let anyone out. And the longer you stay in Tartarus in the realm below, well, the worse it gets. There is a long silence and the kids look at each other and unspoken, agreement passes between them. Guys, Curley asks, and the other's nod. She turns back to me. Please, we can wait. Just go after them. I consider their request, and then swear quietly. God's sake. I point to the tunnel. Head up anyway. I don't want you creeping around down here.

Head up to Tartarus and wait for me there. I start jogging away again, back through the mall. I turned to look over my shoulder, and I jab a finger at them. Hurry! And don't touch those damn mannequins! And as they scurry back to the tunnel, I let out a heavy sigh and carry onwards, onwards through the purplish light of the world below. For better or for worse,

God help me. Racing through the mall, I again reached the bookstore, the store that marks the edge of this branch of the complex. I put a hand on the glass pane of the window and look through, peering this way and that for any sign of typhon's abomination. Where are you, you bastard? I mutter as I cautiously push through, taking the key from my pocket and brandishing it like a weapon. The door squeaks as I step inside and it closes behind me. Step by step, I walk the length of the room, round the statue of the agonized Titan, and between the still and silent escalators, nothing.

Though this is not necessarily a good sign, it likely followed on after the trio. Already across the room, I pushed through the next set of doors and out into the corridor beyond. To my left and right are more stores, endless, bleary, and unidentifiable stores. I look down to my watch and a sharp chord is played in the distant orchestra. Hmm. I wonder if perhaps I'm wasting my time. These kids have brought this fate upon themselves, after all. I noticed a trash can knocked to the ground.

There's no trash inside of it, of course, but a decent indicator of where they might have gone nonetheless. I take the corridor beyond it, to the left. The pattern on the floor is covered in subtle false shadows. It gives the impression that it rises and falls in unusual places, making it difficult to move in a straight line. I think about Rex. About the young man I saw that one time while starting my shift, about the look in his eyes. My fellow guardian. Bryce is his brother. He might be a little shit, but Rex is a watcher of Tartarus, damn it. A gatekeeper, like myself. And I'm just not one to leave people behind, if I can help it. The stores here stand at weird angles. A bench beside me is longer and thinner at one end

than it is on the other. It looks normal when viewed from a certain angle, but from any other it is strange and disturbing. The way ahead branches into three paths, and I come to a stop, catching my breath. Which way did they go? As I consider the options, a clear drop of liquid falls in front of my face, splatting quietly against the ground by my feet. I look up, and above me is an abomination, perched against the ceiling, and staring, right at me. I mean, it has no eyes, so it's technically not staring at me, but it might as well be. It certainly feels like it is. Its body is angled towards mine, and a low hiss reverberates out from its enormous mouth. Quietly, slowly, I edge away. You know where they went,

Don't you? I murmur. Don't get distracted by me now. You just keep going. I'll follow. Follow the yellow brick road. Bricks and stones may shake my bones. I don't want to go to the theater tomorrow.

It rambles in a low, wet voice. It licks its teeth and creeps just a little bit closer to me. No. I warn, heart pounding, reaching into my pocket to grasp the key to Tartarus. Keep going on your way. Which way to the train station? He tells me we're running out of time. It creeps closer.

This one is interested, it would seem. These things can be trick, though. There's a formula which has varied results. The nunsense they spout, they react to the things around them. But sometimes they provide glimpses into their former lives. You can use this against them. The theater. I begin standing my ground.

There's no room on the upper deck. We have to go to the lower floor. Lower? Lower the flag. The parade will end soon. The abomination says. As the sweat down my back starts to chill, still it creeps closer, saliva drips to the ground with another wet splat.

Lower. I repeat. Lower levels, the end. There are lower levels than this. Lower levels. Lower. The lower levels are worse, I say. There are worse levels below.

The lower levels are worse. There are worse levels below. I brandish the key before me, and it glints violet in the light. The abomination pauses. There are worse levels below. It repeats. We regard each other for a moment more. The lower levels are worse.

are worse levels below, and I could send you there. I finish, and the abomination is done. With a little hiss it turns from me, continuing on along its way, crawling across the ceiling. I check around to see if there are more, and once I am happy. I follow along after it. It'll have Bryce's scent now, if none of the others. I'm careful to keep a comfortable distance, but I feel sure enough to return my key to my pocket, glancing around warily as the abomination leads me deeper into the labyrinth.

Through corridor after corridor, the sound of hissing grows louder, through passage after passage, and at last, there they are. Around this final corner stood in the middle of a wide intersection of varyingly sized corridors, are my trio, Bryce, blue hoodie, and the girl. They stand in the shadow of another marble titan statue. The ceiling is higher in this section of mall, and the Titan towers up towards it. Its upper chest head and shoulders are above the mall's next level. It looks like there are more stores above us, but there's no way to reach them.

The titan's fists are bald in rage and emotion frozen in time. The abominations are creeping their way around almost every visible surface. There must be at least 50 or more. Bryce is hurriedly reading through the pages of a small notebook. Blue hoodie and girl are standing on either side of him, sweating and anxious, watching the encroaching abominations. Blue hoodie spots me first, and he nudges Bryce. The three of them look over to me, and Bryce grimaces.

stowing the notebook away in his pocket. Why are you still following us? He asks, his voice echoing around the space. I cringe and glance from abomination to abomination. They aren't going to hurt us. Bryce says, though he doesn't sound too convinced. I know what they are, what they used to be. You don't know jack shit.

I reply. Now what do I have to say to convince you to come? Come back. There are people who care about you, you know. Not me, but people. Bryce half smiles and raises his voice. Typhon! He shouts to a sudden shiver of hissing around the room. I want to make you an offer. I shake my head with gritted teeth as a cool draft blows down the nearest corridor. Hello? No? Typhon replies.

All eyes look up to see him leaning over the rail of the floor above us, peering down with that grin stretched wide across his face. He's taken the form of Bryce, and altered Bryce, of course, pure white with those black, unblinking eyes. The three kids draw a little closer together. What do we have here? Typhon asks, as he drifts down the rail like smoke, settling on one of the titan's knees and resting there. Gentlemen and a young lady?

He looks over to me. His gaze is, as always, cold. Typhon, I mutter raising a hand. Just let these ones go. Typhon laughs, and the abominations all perched in weight around us echo the sound with a series of hisses. Typhon's attention drifts back to Bryce, and he leans forwards, resting his chin in his hands. His snake-like tongue flickers out from his mouth.

You think... I... I know you like to make deals and bargains. Bryce begins reaching into his pocket, but Typhon interrupts. His grin stretches wider still, cracking. the corners of his mouth. Echo the abominations, hissing, Or leaf. My blood chills. Typhon asks, staring down into Bryce's face. Bryce swallows and draws from his pocket the key to Tartarus, his brother's key, glinting purple in the light.

What the hell are you doing? I hiss to him, but he ignores me. I'll give you this key, Typhon. Bryce begins. He's doing his best, but he does not sound as confident as he did before. I'll give you the key to Tartarus in exchange for something of equal value. And what would that be? Typhon asks, the purple silver shine of the key, reflecting in those black pools of his eyes. Re-release all the abominations.

The nations attributed to R. Just let them go. Now, Typhon replies after a pause, slithering around the Titan's knee and standing instead on its foot, a little closer to us, but still a meter or so above ground level. Attributed to you're a liar. Bryce replies, though still trying to keep his composure. Typhon grins, flickering his tongue. tongue. Bryce falters. Typhon chuckles and speaks on. I watch this back and forth with white knuckles and a clenched jaw. I do not know if Typhon is truly interested in the key.

He's never expressed any particular interest in mine, though it's possible Bryce knows something I don't. Bryce grips the key a little tighter, holds it a little tighter. Let the abominations go. That's why my brother keeps doing his job. Year after year, it's because he can't forgive himself. He can't forgive himself for all the people he's leapt through, and he'll never stop coming here until they're all free. Typhon starts making his way towards Bryce. His steps are slow and lazy, but his eyes remain fixed resolutely on the boy. To you such a loss. He grins.

If they. Bryce lowers his hand a little. He stutters. His. His employers? Typhon says his eyes flashing. So you don't know him. He's standing right in front of Bryce now, looking directly into his eyes.

Is this Bryce's plan, I wonder? A bargain and a dangerous one at that? I rack my brain as to how to get them out of us. But the next phase kicks in, even as I moll it over. Typhon's attention flickers back to the key. That same violet light shines in the void and his tongue darts out past his teeth. And in this moment, Bryce suddenly raises his voice. The lower levels are worse, he says.

There are worse levels below. There is a rumbling of hissing from around the room, but my stomach drops. That's not going to work on Typhon, kid. I shouted him. You have no idea what you're doing. Enough. But Bryce carries on. He holds the key in the manner that one would hold a cross in the face of a vampire.

The lower levels are worse. There are worse levels below. So Typhon is entranced, fixed on the key. He does not move, and I do not believe what I'm seeing. No, no, surely not. This simple trick, it wouldn't work on Typhon. It couldn't. It barely works on the abominations. The lower levels are worse. There are worse levels below, and I will send you there. Bryce finishes. And in this exact moment, the kids to either side of him, the boy and the girl with their eyes downcast and barely moving, extras even, not worth a second look, completely devoid of

Typhon's attention, jump suddenly into action, and two sharp blades, long knives drawn from inside their clothes, are stabbed into Typhon's chest. There's a sudden scream and a blast of icy Arctic wind. The abominations and the kids and myself are all knocked backwards as the screech echoes round and round the hall, the elbow of the great marble titan creaks and the dust rains down from its joints. Typhon twitches in agony, and he collapses like a stone to the ground with a thud. And for a moment, we are stuck in stunned silence.

The abominations are likewise frozen. No one dares move. And then a dark grin spreads out across Bryce's face. He looks to me. You see? He begins quietly. Then louder. You see what I told you, old man?

It worked. He looks down to Typhon's corpse. The tension now eased. He releases a laugh. You couldn't help yourself, could you? He taunts. That's when you're at your weakest, when being offered something you want. Bryce laughs and hugs his friends, drawing them close. He's giddy with excitement. That was for Rex. He shouts with glee. He turns to the abominations. You're free. But the abominations do not rejoice. The mood cracks.

Typhon whispers with delight. Bryce spins around an alarm. To find Typhon standing behind him, hands clasped behind his back. The corpse vanishes in a burst of mist. Bryce panics and stumbles, shoving the key into Typhon's face. Typhon pushes it aside. with a sigh, his tongue running quickly over his teeth, as if it had a mind of its own. I don't want your key. Typhon hisses. He twitches. I don't need it. Comes down all the time.

And Rex. His name is Rex. Stay back. Bryce splutters. His courage completely shot. The lower levels are worse. There are worse. Typhon laughs in Bryce's face and increases his height. He's still using the boy's form, but it grows now, stretching upwards like a snake. Typhon laughs feverishly, drunkenly almost. He looks up to the sky and laughs all the louder. What's in a name?

He stares suddenly. down into the face of the boy, his black eyes shining and terrible. I've begun my retreat, careful and slow. I beckoned to the others, two blue hoodie and the girl, and they've begun to creep towards me. But Bryce is trapped, transfixed. This, Typhon says airily, tapping Bryce on the head. But I think we're done.

Typhon has begun to salivate grotesquely. Saliva spills from his lips and splashes against the cold floor below. I can't wait to meet him. We have so much. Typhon's neck slithers around and his eyes meet mine. I made him the same off. He whispers. I wonder if he'll be more.

I take a step back as the abominations close in. What if you're going? done, kid. What have you done? Typhon giggles with glee, frothing at the mouth, and his twisted form, his pale copy of Bryce, stretches further up above our heads like a monstrous cobra. He repeats over and over, and he points carelessly down at the quivering Bryce below. I'm done with this one. He says to the waiting-watching crowd with a wait.

the wave of his hand, hissing and salivating, the abominations scurry towards him. I leap from my position and close the gap in seconds, grabbing the boy by the collar of his sweater and hauling him out of there, roughly pushing aside the abominations as they cluster around us. They are more cautious of me than they are of Bryce. I knew that much already. But still, there's just too many? I struggle under the growing weight of the creatures. They're cold, clammy hands all over my face and body.

I feel their hot, wet breath against my skin. They're hissing in my ears. I can feel the sting of their teeth as they bite my arms and legs to keep me in place. To keep me in place so as to undergo the process. I can feel one of my hands starting to become numb as they're paralyzing selection. saliva begins taking effect, and I can feel them tugging at Bryce, pulling at his joints as he cries out. There's too many of them.

There's just too many. They're wild, unfocused, frenzied and riled up by their master. In fact, I realize a truth about the chaos. They're getting in each other's way. I can probably get myself out of here, but to do so, I'll have to let go. Go the lad. He screams louder. Just let him go, I think. And you can escape, Matthew. Shit. And you know what? I prepare to do just that. I make my decision to abandon him. It's brutal, but tough decisions have to be made down here. I curse and release my grip,

bitterly ready to leave behind the boy for whom I've already risked so much. My name is Emma Ray, calls out the girl just ahead. Jackson, calls out blue hoodie, just off to the right. My name is Jackson. And confusion bubbles amidst the ranks of the abominations. The clustered crowd around me fins as their attention is diverted and displaced. Jackson. Typhon repeats from up high.

Emma Ray, he grins and dismisses them with a wave of his hand. The mass of abomination split. The ones further back go for their new targets, for the boy or for the girl. I swallow a great breath of air as the pressure against me is reduced. I shove away the gaping, gnawing mouth of an abomination on my arm, drawing blood as I do so, and I briefly turn around, reaching back for bruce, and I briefly turn around. Reaching back for Bryce, grabbing him and hauling him out of there as fast as I physically can. Jackson swings round his blade.

I catch it flashing in the corner of my eye. Emma Ray does likewise. But there are far too many for me to help them now. There are too many abominations between us. Get back to the corridor! I shout to them. I glance back. Bryce has an expression of terror and bewilderment frozen across.

his face. His eyes are wide. One of his arms is bleeding, and one is fixed in place, hung awkwardly out from his side, paralyzed by the look of it. He limps, and a quick look down makes it clear that he is struggling to flex the muscles in one of his legs. I stop and stumble and hoist him up into a fireman's carry. No easy feet when one of your hands has basically fallen asleep, begin barreling my way back to the corridor. All right, on me, kids. I shout, already exhausted, and now facing the prospect of running all the way back to the main hall with this teenager on my back.

But the kids are in no position to join up with me. I shoulder away one of the screeching abominations, cursing as I feel the teeth from one of their massive mouths crunch into my leg. I stamp right into its throat and it chokes. struggling beneath my boots as it scuttles away. Kins! Hiss one of the nearest creatures. Kins today. Gone tomorrow.

Tomorrow never comes. I mutter quickly in response, backing up and into the corridor. Looking to my right and to my left, I watch as the knives of the two brave children go flashing and slashing. I watch as they are gradually lost. beneath a sea of the creatures. Tomorrow never comes. I continue.

So lower your expectations. Expecting. Lower your expectations. Lower your levels. There are levels below. The levels below are worse. There are worse levels below. There are worse levels below.

The abomination repeats, slinking back a little. though keeping me within pouncing distance. Guys, Bryce screams, writhing on my back. Guys, come back. But they cannot hear him. The hissing rises. Emma Ray's blade comes up above the tide of abominations for the final time, and she is lost beneath the monsters.

Shit, I swear, still retreating, Looking over now to the boy in the blue hoodie, to Jackson, I catch flashes of blue amidst the pale skin of the abominations. An abomination steps on the dropped blade and it skids across the floor and away. The creatures have sensed these two kids to be the easier targets and have largely left us alone for now, and a quick glimpse through the crowd shows us Jackson's fate. He is the fate of everyone who gets taken by the abominations. The teenager is paralyzed, frozen.

His legs are in the process of being swallowed up whole into one of the abominations mouths. His arm is lost in the golet of another. Jackson! Bryce screams out, struggling, but I do not let him go. The abominations fight each other, pushing and grabbing and throttling with the their many hands, hissing and screeching, until one of them wins the fight, and Jackson is once again lost to view. They will take everything they can. The abominations will absorb all but his most basic core essence. He will be left as warped and distorted as the beings that

surround us. It's time to go. I'm sorry, kids, I mutter, turning to take my leave. I catch Typhon's eye as I do so. The black eye and the white now ringed with orange and rivers of yellow, like a hot burning coal. The stretched and snake-like creature towers over us all. He mouths, licking his teeth, then loudly he speaks. I'm sure you will, Typhon. I reply, Why, shoving to the side one of the bolder abominations as I flee the scene. No, Bryce shouts, doing his best to kick me with his working leg. You have to go back. Please.

I'm sorry, bud. Not this time. I reply as I make my hasty retreat through the distorted mall complex. A couple more corners. A touch further. And yes, there it is. There it is. The bookstore just up ahead. I can see the statue of the Titan through the glass. Bryce has begun to sob. There's no fight left in him now, poor bastard. Nearly there, I grunt,

unable to keep myself from slowing at this stage. A bit further. I push us through the double doors of the bookstore with my good hand, and they swing quietly closed behind us. For a moment there is no sound but that distant orchestra. And then, I nearly jump out of my skin as an abomination creeps around the corner ahead from between the shelves. It could well be the one from earlier. Perhaps it never left the store after all. Shit.

Can you walk, kid? Yeah, he replies, and I set him down. He stumbles and staggers into the nearest shelf and a book goes falling to the ground. The abomination cocks its head, hissing its great wet mouth as it creeps in a wide arc around us. Just get through the door. I'll be right after you. Go on now. I say to Bryce and to his credit.

He does so. He limps and I make sure to keep myself between the abomination and he. It hisses as I draw back up through the store, still trying to catch my breath. I bump into a table and send another couple of books to the floor. I grab the tartarus key in my pocket and hold it out in front of me. It's okay, I mutter, beginning the little trick. It's okay up here, but it's harder, lower.

The abomination pauses. Hard. It'll be hard without you, daring. It whispers. I hesitate, and a slow chill runs up my spine. What did you just say? As I mentioned before, the abomination spout nonsense. They react to the things around them, but sometimes, sometimes they provide glimpses into their former lives.

And this, too, you can use against them. I can hear Bryce behind me, breathing hard as he watches our interaction. The abomination hisses at me. It approaches, and I raise the key. What did you say? Where did you go? Who turns out the lights? Darren, I repeat quietly.

Was that your name before? Are you giving me sentences you said your same? yourself, or are you repeating what someone said to you once before? Perhaps a long time ago. The abomination has stopped mid-creep, body angled towards mine. It does not reply, nor does it repeat or echo my words. Gritting my teeth, I stepped towards it. I'm going to go for it.

The penalty for screwing up is rough, but it would be good. if I could save just one more. The abomination does not scuttle away at my approach, nor does it lurch forward to tear into my hand. It instead sits tensed as I place my palm on the pale, smooth skin of its head. Darren, I mutter, then clearer. Your name is Darren, and I free you now from the clutches of Tartarus. What follows is no pause, no moment to consider.

Reacting instantly, the abomination rears up on its hind legs and dry heaves. It makes a strangled, gurgled screech, and heaves again, this time with a torrent of saliva that splashes across the thready carpet of the bookstore. I watch, wide-eyed, waiting, taking a step back. back as the monster arrives. And at last it convulses violently and heaves up an entire person, naked, soaking wet, a man in his mid-twenties by the looks of it, and all that is left behind is an empty skin, a twitching pale and crumpled pile of skin, like what a shedding snake might leave behind, a little larger and with more teeth.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead and crouched down, nudging the expelled body. Darren, I ask quietly, and the body stirs. What the hell? Bryce mutters from behind me. Great, more carrion. I grumbled to myself as I hoist this disgusting, slippery, naked man up onto my back. Ugh.

Bryce and I walk side by side and back through the mall, back past the statue of the coiled snake and towards the entrance to Gaia. The man on my back has begun to stir. It doesn't usually take him long. Good, I say, as I set him down with a grunt. He slips and staggers to the ground, and I reach out a hand to help him back up. He stares at me. At Bryce, at his surroundings.

Don't worry about it, pal. You've been saved. You're welcome. You'll get your voice back within the hour. Now be a good lad and go through that there tunnel. Darren turns to look through the doorway for Gaia, at the long tunnel that burrows into the peeling green blue wall at the back. Go through first, Bryce.

He'll follow him. I say. And the boy nods. Hey, kid, I say. And he pauses, looks to me. He looks awful, shell-shocked, broken. I'm sorry about your friends. He pauses, then nods again, the reality of the consequences of his action settling in.

As he begins to crawl through the tunnel, Darren looks to me. and I urge him forwards. He goes, and after one final glimpse around the realm below, I follow. Till next time, I say to no one in particular, then head on in behind me others. It's significantly more effort on the way back up. You've got to put out your hands and knees to wedge yourself in place for the steeper parts. And Darren didn't really have any time to acquiesce before this little climb. So on several occasions he crashes back into me, a decidedly unpleasant experience, but it's fine. I help him back up each time. I've dealt with worse. And at last we ascend through the hole in the floor of Tartarus, hauling ourselves up into

the abandoned old store of peeling red and faded black. The other kids are still up here. They stare at us, an alarm. At all three of us. A new strange and naked man amongst them. Curly steps forward, puts her hand on Bryce's shoulder. Bryce, she says quietly, concerned. Where are the others? Where's Jackson and Emery? And Bryce can take it no longer. He breaks. He doubles suddenly over as his body is racked with sobs, he can hardly get the words out as he falls against the nearest wall and collapses to the floor, face in his hands. It's my fault, he says. It's all my fault.

Come on, I urge, gently but firmly, as I step between them to unlock the door. Everyone out. I point to the newcomer. You too, Darren. There's an open-clothes store just across from here. Go grab a shirt and get some pants. I watch as the group help Bryce up and they stumble out into the mall. And I shake my head. Teenagers. Thanks to Bryce. Two of his friends now lie below. But then it isn't Bryce's fault. Not really. It's mine. I am a guardian of Tartarus, and the instructions are clear.

The responsibility belongs to me, even if you might, to an extent, disagree. I take full blame for this. But hell, you know what? I think my estimation of this particular age group might actually have gone up a little this evening. What those two down there did for their friend, what Emma Ray and Jackson did to try and save Bryce. It was noble, admirable if nothing else. I rub a hand across my face. I'm feeling my age tonight. I watch as the teenagers settle onto a nearby bench, doing their

best to console Bryce and to work out what happened. And I watch as Darren stumbles his way towards the clothes store. I turn. When I first stepped first step forward. foot into the Tartarus store five long years ago, I'd counted 21 mannequins in total. Sixteen had been marked with names and initials. The other five were blank. The store room was also full of them. Well, the storeroom these days looks like it houses the same amount. But the number of mannequins all around me stacked and clustered against the walls and the

counter. Have risen considerably since then. There must be at least 60 in here now. It's a wonder that there's any space for him. The world around me is quiet as I consider this. I can hear the distant murmur of the kids beyond the door, but overall the sound is low. There is no faint and distant orchestra here.

It's nice, calming, clear. Refreshing. Like drinking cool water after a long and beverage-free drive in the sun. I lick my lips. That's something else I could do with. Some water. I'll grab some in a minute. But first, I walked to the counter and pick up the marker, uncapping it, on the closest section of red wallpaper, on a part that can be easily peeled away. I write, our... Your name has been compromised. You cannot venture down into Tartarus from here on out. Typhon knows.

I head next to a pair of mannequins leaning against each other in the middle of the floor. A male and a female. On the black canvas of the male's face, I write the following with a sigh. Uh, Jackson. and on the females I write. Emma Ray dash M. I'm sorry, guys. I mutter.

I hope someone will find you again someday. Maybe it'll even be me. And finally, before departing for the night, I head over to the mannequin closest to the door. marked Darren dash R. I cross out the name in initial with two black lines, marking an X shape over the mannequin's face. I cap the pen and return it to the countertop, glancing at the bottle of bleach and the rag as I do so. Once Rex sees that this soul has been saved, he'll use these things to wipe the mannequin's face back to blank.

I hope this goes a little way towards alleviating your burden, man. I mutter, before clenching and unclenching the fingers of my bad hand, encouraging the blood flow to return. I stride out into the mall. The kids are all teary-eyed. Darren stands awkwardly at the side, wearing ill-fitting clothes and unsure what to do. Darren, I say. Do you know where you are? Do you know your way home?

The man nods, mumbles something, incomprehensible. Do you know how long you've been down? He hesitates. Well, I can't say for sure, pal, but your name's been on that mannequin since Easter. I remember the displays the mall had set up. So you've been gone for about ten months or more? He stares at me, and I nod to him. Best of luck, pal.

I'll be seeing you. He nods once more and wanders away. My approach might seem cold, but I've done this before. He'll be all right. Don't worry about him. I turn next to the kids. It's time for you guys to be heading home now too. I say to them, gentler than before.

But, sir, Curley asks me, stepping forwards. What about Jackson and M.A.? Ah, you'll see them again someday. I don't know when, it's rough, I know, and I know that none of you are likely to get much sleep tonight, but you need to be heading home now. I nod to Bryce, and you make sure your brother gets that key back. Don't ever tell him you were down here." Curly nods at me reluctantly, and she returns to the group. The group of five.

And I watched them leave. They catch up to Darren and walk with him, looking after him, perhaps. I wait to see if Bryce is going to say something. He turns back to me on his way out just once, washed with the others in the purple light through the sky windows, but he remains silent. And after they've left my field of vision, I return to Tartarus. I lock up the front door with a click, and I slide the key into my pocket. I hold down the metal sheet with a rattle, and I walk back to my chair, slumping down with a great,

slow sigh. I reach down for my coffee and take a sip. It's cold now, of course. And so that's that. Lots of open threads, unfortunately, here at my little story's end. Sorry about that. But I'm still doing my job here in the mall and trying to do it a little bit better, too. Or am I?

On the whole, yes, I am more vigilant. I'm far more cautious. Nobody's been let in. and nobody's been let out. That being said, however, I have an occasional guest these days, a guest you comes by sometimes during my shifts. It's Bryce, of course. He comes alone, and he sits nearby on another of the massage chairs. I tried to shoe him away the first time, but you know what he's like. He's a stubborn bastard. So I let him sit with me. On the condition that he did.

doesn't bother me. He's suffering, the poor guy. And I don't blame him. He's guilt-wracked, nightmares and the like. He's wanting to go back down, you know, back down into Tartarus. I haven't allowed it. He feels that it's his responsibility. I take the fact that he is actually asking me as a sign that he's truly returned Rex's key. key, that Rex is being more careful with it, or maybe that Bryce has developed some form of begrudging respect for me. Perhaps it's both. But Typhon will be growing impatient by now. I know that Typhon is desperate for Rex to return, to welcome my colleague back to Tartarus, and to throw open his arms, and to make the man an offer. An offer to beat the one.

one made by our mysterious employers all those years ago. I shift in my seat. When Typhon is in a bad mood, he can be very unpleasant, very damn unpleasant indeed. And I don't know what he would do to Bryce, if he thought he could use the boy to lure Rex back down. He was careless before. He was willing, to let the abominations consume him. He was arrogant, thought that Rex would come back down regardless. But Rex has done well. He's held out from his obsession. He's stepped up his game as well, perhaps. I haven't asked Bryce if the guy's still drinking. A part of me doesn't want to know. I suspect that he probably is to some degree, though hopefully he's at least cut back. Typhon won't make the same mistake. And so I cannot allow Bryce back down as badly as he wants to go. Credit to the kid,

he isn't whiny about it. He doesn't powder beg. He just nods and settles back into his seat, staring bleary-eyed at the door to Tartarus. Sometimes he even drifts off. Through the sky window, The clouds roll gently across the moon, and the mall is bathed in shades of gently, but ever-changing purple, indigo, to violet, to lilac, and back. The music comes crisp and clear through my headphones. Jolene again. Bryce had tossed this pair to me one night, still in their box, brand new. They're not for me.

He'd said. Avery brought them for you. They're the latest model of the shit ones you're using now. And damn, they sure are nice. They're more comfortable, too. Maybe kids aren't so bad. Frustrating, sure. Irritating and anxious and stubborn and emotional.

But hell, don't mean they ain't good people at heart. Indigo to Violet, to lilac, and back, the world turns, and Tartarus turns beneath.