The Tower's shelves seemed infinite, each ascending staircase leading to yet another level packed with jars. Tower and Dumdum moved with a haste born of urgency, stretching rolls of plastic wrap taut around collections of jars. Each strip of duct tape applied a silent vow of safety.

In some areas, they used pillows and ropes, cushioning the delicate glassware against the ancient wood, binding them securely against any conceivable tremors.

Bram had an equally vital role: quality control. His small hands delicately nudged each shelf, applying just enough force to challenge the jars' stability. A successful test yielded no sound, verifying that the shelf was secure enough for Tower to proceed. A failed test, distinguished by the unnerving clink of glass against wood, would send Tower and Dumdum back to reinforce their work.

The number of jars seemed to mock their progress, stretching endlessly up into the shadowy reaches of the Tower. Thousands of them, each filled with an unknown substance, each a mystery in its own right, and every single one demanding their attention.

Knees ached from the constant bending, and their arms felt like lead weights, but none of them yielded to fatigue. Sweat glistened on Tower's brow, and his hands were stiff from the tension of pulling and sealing.

Dumdum's eyes, though strained, maintained their focus while Bram's youthful energy seemed to wane, his face growing flushed with the strain. Yet, they worked with a quiet, dogged determination.

"You good, kid?" Dumdum finally broke the silence, looking down at Bram, who was massaging his wrist.

Bram nodded, a tired but determined smile breaking through. "Yeah, I'm good. How about you guys?"

Tower paused, setting down his roll of duct tape. He stretched his back, a series of pops echoing up his spine. "Tired but committed. We can't afford to slip up now. Not when we're so close."

Dumdum nodded in agreement, his hands working a knot into a length of rope. "Aye, close but still far. One mistake could compromise everything, right?"

"Right."

With that sombre reminder, they returned to their respective tasks. Tower felt his body cry out in fatigue, each ache punctuating the passing time and the height they had reached. But then he'd look at Bram's youthful determination, hear the steady rasp of Dumdum's ropes, and find a reservoir of strength he didn't know he possessed.

And so, layer by layer, they enveloped the Tower's vast collection in a cocoon of plastic, tape, ropes, and pillows. They ascended, their resolve unyielding, each step a triumph, each sealed jar a monument to their shared endeavour.

Finally, reaching the topmost shelf, Tower applied the last strip of duct tape with a sense of finality, cutting it with a swift tear. They all paused, taking in the magnitude of their accomplishment, the sheer scale of what they had protected.

"We did it," Bram whispered, his voice tinged with awe.

"We did," Tower affirmed, his eyes meeting Dumdum's. "Now, I can put this bad boy to walk to Ravendrift!"

Lying on the expansive bed, their bodies slick with sweat and muscles pulsing with fatigue, all three stared at the ceiling. The atmosphere was thick with an exhausted silence, each one lost in his own thoughts as they tried to muster the strength to move again. It was Bram who broke the quietness.

"Oh, look, a cute bat! What's its name?"

"What?"

"Look, the cute bat, what's his name?"

"I don't have any bats," Tower responded, puzzled.

"You sure? There's one flying around the ceiling," Bram pointed upwards, "There!"

Tower's eyes shot open, scanning the ceiling. He saw not an ordinary bat but a vampire creature one with crimson eyes and fangs, dive-bombing in their direction. "That's no bat! Get down!"

Dumdum and Bram scrambled off the bed in a flurry of sheets and limbs and took cover beneath it. Tower sprang into action, charging out of the room and reappearing seconds later, wielding a tube-like device.

With calculated precision, he aimed the tube at the menacing creature, unleashing a roar of wind that yanked it from its flight path and sucked it into the tube. It ended up imprisoned in a box with wheels at the base of the device.

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Just as Tower was about to deactivate the contraption by stepping on a button, another so-called 'bat' materialized, zooming angrily in their direction.

With a swiftness born of necessity, he aimed the tube again, trapping the second creature just as efficiently as the first. But then another appeared, and another. Tower’s eyes widened; he was in a battle of attrition, and he wasn’t sure how many more of these flying monstrosities the house—or he—could take.

From under the bed, Dumdum yelled, "Are we clear yet?"

"No, we're far from clear!" Tower shouted back, his gaze fixed on another incoming creature, the tube at the ready. "I don't know where they are coming from!"

As he caught another and another, the weight of the moment fell upon him. These weren’t just simple vermin; they were omens, a creeping darkness threatening to consume all they had worked for.

The tension in the room was palpable as Tower continued to battle the relentless swarm of flying monstrosities. His arms ached with fatigue, but he couldn't afford to lose focus for even a second.

"Dumdum, next to the bed, there's a drawer. You'll find a notebook with a black cover in it. You hear me?" Tower's voice was tinged with desperation.

Crawling out from his hiding place, Dumdum hastily opened the first drawer he saw. "I've got underwear and boxes that say 'latex mint flavour'," he shouted back, his eyes scanning the drawer's contents for the elusive notebook.

"The other drawer, damn it! Come on!" Tower's voice was frayed at the edges as he continued to suck one bat after another into the tube's yawning maw.

Frantic, Dumdum pulled open the other drawer, shuffling aside socks and undergarments until his fingers closed around a black notebook. He pulled it out and flipped it open. His eyes widened at the intricate black-and-white drawings that filled the pages. Cryptic, filled with symbols and designs, they looked like arcane works of art. How on earth could these help them now?

"Got it!" Dumdum yelled, waving the notebook in the air.

"Listen!" Tower ordered, his voice almost drowned out by the roar of his wind-hollowing device. 'Search for a drawing with a man in a hat with ram horns!"

Frantically flipping through the notebook, Dumdum's eyes darted from sketch to sketch, trying to decipher which one could be the right one. And then he found it—a drawing of a man smirking mischievously, wearing a hat adorned with ram horns and a skull. "I think... I think I found it!"

Tower's voice rang out over the cacophony of the still-humming device and the shrieking bats. "Listen, you need something borrowed, something new, and something bloody! Quick!"

"Where the heck am I supposed to find that stuff?" Dumdum yelled back, his eyes widening in disbelief.

Almost as if scripted, Bram extended his hand toward Dumdum, presenting a four-leaf clover. "Something borrowed," he said with a sense of urgency. "You give it back, right?"

"Great, now where do I get something new?" Dumdum looked around, his eyes landing once more on the open drawer. He lunged toward it, his hand diving into the assortment of underwear and socks. Finally, he grabbed one of the small boxes labelled 'latex mint flavour' and tore off the wrapping. Inside was a metallic wrapping that, once torn apart, he got a slimy, transparent sock of some kind. "Now I just need something bloody!"

As if on cue, Tower's hand moved in a swift, calculated arc, clipping a bat with a swift strike that sent it tumbling through the air, landing at Dumdum's feet. "And now we have something bloody! What do I do now?" Dumdum's voice was tinged with both panic and hope.

Dumdum looked up, "And now we have something bloody! What the hell do I do with it?"

"Use it to draw a circle around yourself! Hurry!" Tower yelled, his eyes never leaving the flurry of bats he was battling. The noise from his tube roared, drowning out his voice.

Dumdum, with shaking hands, grabbed the bat, semi-conscious and twitching. He clenched the bat's head until it gave way, spilling its blood onto the floor. With grim determination, he used it to paint a crude circle around himself. "Alright, it's done. What now?"

Tower was still engrossed in his own fight, swinging his machine to intercept another wave of bats that seemed to materialize out of thin air.

"Now put your hand on the drawing and say the words!"

Dumdum's blood-stained hand hovered over the circle, his eyes wide. "What words? Tell me the words!"

"I summon you, master of memories, master of dreams, aid me now before my blood writes my tears. And so I call you. Come to my aid, so it is decreed, for my words are carved into my being—Baal Berith!" Tower's voice rose above the din, a mixture of urgency and incantation.

As the last syllable left Tower's lips, the air within Dumdum's circle seemed to thicken, shimmering like heat waves over the cold stone floor.

The goblin was exhausted and didn't seem to have the strength to say a word anymore. Bram placed his tiny hand over his green skin and chanted, "I summon you, master of memories, master of dreams, aid me now before my blood writes my tears. And so I call you. Come to my aid, so it is decreed, for my words are carved into my being—Baal Berith!"

Everyone held their breath, waiting. Then, just as quickly as it had all started, they felt it—a subtle shift in the atmosphere, a lightening of the oppressive weight that had filled the room. Tower looked down at Dumdum, his eyes meeting a mirror of his own relief and disbelief.

The goblin's hand lifted from the bloodied circle, looking like he'd just touched something both sacred and dreadful.

The incantation, it seemed, had failed. No ethereal force arrived, no dramatic shift in the balance of power—just the three of them in a room still swarming with bats, as if laughing at their feeble attempts to change their fate.

The bats, sensing an unravelling of resolve, tightened their formation in the air. Their once chaotic flight now appeared calculated, as though led by an unseen commander. The sound of their flapping wings seemed to crescendo, filling the room with an eerie symphony of impending doom.

Dumdum's eyes were wide with disbelief as he stared at his blood-streaked hand and then at the useless circle around him. "This didn't work!" he hissed, the despair in his voice turning each word into an accusation.

"Clearly," Tower barked, his fingers clenching around his improvised weapon. It roared, its sound cutting through the room, fighting against the cacophony of bat wings. "Back to Plan A."

"Plan A? Did we even have such a plan?" Dumdum yelled above the noise, his voice tinged with incredulity.

"No," Tower admitted. And in a swift, fluid movement that seemed almost resigned, he ducked and slid under the bed, joining Dumdum and Bram in their cramped sanctuary. "I don't have a plan."