First Infernal Contract: The Ashes That Remain, And What Rises

--- Malcolm “Bugsby” Morgan ---

(Every step echoed around him in beat with his pounding heart as he followed the man into the darkness below.

The man’s face smiled, teeth all pointed as he explained what he’d been working on, what he’d been helping the man to do.

His stomach rolled with every word as the edges of his vision slowly blurred, and his insides hollowed themselves out.

They stepped into the room, the graveyard filled with coffins, a blonde girl laying in front of them looking so much like his sister. The reason he hadn’t been able to turn her away when she tried to befriend him…

Not that that bothered the man, in fact it may have even been the point from what little he understood.

The man handed him a knife, assured him that they were on the verge of something great, something that he wanted the boy to be a part of.

His heart echoed throughout his skull as he looked down at the blade, his eyes slowly drifting to the girl he’d thought of as a new friend, before drifting to the metal coffins.

The revelation was slow, something his mind actively refused to comprehend, but it was something that he had to… So eventually he did.

Over the last few years every friend he made disappeared, he’d always thought it was just them getting sick of ‘the freak’, but no…

His eyes fell on the man, the man who meant so much to him, the man who was all he had now that his mom and sister were gone…

The man who was a monster…

If he didn’t do anything the girl would die… There was no arguing that fact.

If he did something the man would…

His hand tightened around the blade, as he thought about his mom and sister, wondering what they’d say if they saw the man now…

Then he thought, (I wish they hadn’t died… this wouldn’t be happening if they didn’t die… If they didn’t dis… appear…)

His eyes shot to the man, feeling so very empty as a thought he really didn’t want to consider flashed through his head.

The thought that, (is he responsible?)

A white hand covered in stitchwork wrapped around his hand, as a voice whispered, “You know he is~”

“No… No… He, he can’t be…” He practically begged.

“But you know he is~” The voice disagreed as a hand gently pushed him forward, until he was standing behind the man fiddling with the magic writings all around the room. “And you know he won’t stop. Not unless…”

“Unless?” He glanced to his side, and looked at the owner of the voice, a rabbit man with glowing red eyes and stitched together white fur.

The rabbit smiled a maw as twisted as the man’s, “Unless you make him~”

He swallowed as the rabbit wrapped both his hands around the blade and aimed it at the man’s back before stepping away. Leaving him free to drive the blade into the back of his fa-)

Malcolm shot awake with a scream, his breath coming out in pants as wild eyes looked around the room, slowly taking in the fact that he wasn’t in that basement anymore. (It was just a dream… Just a nightmare…)

He fell back and stared up at the ceiling, just as he had every other time he’d had that nightmare. The same nightmare that had been haunting him for the last year…

Knowing that he wasn’t going to be able to sleep he went ahead and rolled out of bed before making his way towards the kitchen, figuring he might as well try to get a start on the day.

The halls of his home were covered in photos of his family, duct tape on all of them blocking out everyone other than his mom and sister. A faint layer of dust hung over all of the furniture, bits that somehow always went amiss when he tried to keep everything as clean as his mom used to.

Breakfast was… edible if a half burnt affair of eggs and toast that had him missing the meals prepared by his mom or da-

Dumping what was left on his plate, he checked his phone to see he still had a few hours before school. So with more time to kill than he cared for he went ahead and went to the workshop room that used to belong to his mom. The walls lined in cartoonish characters that he’d taped over and fabrics of all kind.

Some of which -of the appropriate color- he gathered together alongside some cotton, before wrapping it around the cotton and stitching it all together by hand. A process he’d grown extremely familiar with after his therapist had suggested he get a hobby and he went for the one thing both of his par-

He stabbed his hand with the needle.

(Deep breaths. Countdown from ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One…) He exhaled, before grabbing a small patch of cloth and gluinging it on top of the stuffed animal that he’d designed in the shape of Bugsby the bear.

With the doll as finished as it was going to get he picked it up, took it to the fireplace, and doused it in lighter fluid before setting the thing on fire.

He watched the bear burn, wishing he could burn the actual mascot that reminded him of that night and everything else involved in it.

When the doll was more cinder and ash than fabric he went ahead and turned his back on the mascot before going to his computer and getting started on his schoolwork. The home schooling program was fairly easy to knock out given how ‘work at your own pace’ meant no busy work to make sure you memorize the subject.

Enough so that after just three months in the program he was already a year ahead on his course work, far faster than he’d managed in actual school. Especially with how everyone looked at him once it came out that his da-

He turned the computer off and saw that his phone had a message from one of the only two people who called him. Or at least one of the only two he hadn’t blocked for trying to get an exclusive inter-

The voice message started playing, “Hey, kid. Hope you’re doing alright. I know I said I was coming by today, but some things came up with the company and I’ll have to push it back a few days. Sorry. And while I’d prefer to talk to you, I get why you’re not answering the phone. I uh, I talked with your therapist and she says you're making progress and to just give you space as long as you need it. So, uh, I guess just let me know if you need anything. I know you’re pretty self-sufficient but I still feel weird leaving a kid your age alone so much. So just, call me, I guess…”

He took another breath, before deleting the message that was basically the same that he’d gotten every few days from his ‘uncle’. The man being his legal guardian more due to him refusing to leave his home and knowing his family had enough money that his ‘uncle’ could claim guardianship even if the man wasn’t actually related to him.

The fact the man hadn’t just run off with all of his family’s money was enough of a reason for him to put up with the man. Even if it did mean he had to make weekly visits to a therapist. (Thinking of…)

He checked the time before gathering his things and calling a ride service.

If it was up to him he wouldn’t be bothering with any of this but it was one of the conditions for his ‘uncle’ to let him stay in his family’s home.

The trip there was quiet, the driver eyeing him on and off throughout the trip as if trying to place where he’d seen Malcolm before. A downside of not taking his ‘uncle’ up on the offer to move to another town, one where his name wasn’t tied to… things.

As always the therapist he saw had a relatively empty waiting room full of toys of all kinds. The town not really seeing the value of a child psychiatrist, outside of the police occasionally calling them in to help with children, similar to how she’d been called in to help with him back when… things happened.

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The secretary didn’t really say anything to him, the lady he never bothered to learn the name of knowing it was best to just leave him be. Which is why she didn’t say anything even as he walked into Dr. Clearwater’s office without so much as a knock.

He didn’t feel up to sitting in a room full of halloween decorations trying to make the place semi-festive for the few kids that did regularly see the doc.

“You do know it’s polite to knock, yes?” His therapist asked without turning to look at him as he went ahead and flopped on her couch.

“Why bother? We both know I’m your only client today.” That particular service was why he offered to pay her triple her normal rates, not wanting to risk the possibility of her business picking up because she’d taken on the most infamous teen in town as a client.

The good doctor just sighed before getting up from her desk and moving to her actual therapist seat. “So I’m assuming you’re having another one of your ‘episodes’?”

“It’s not an episode.” (If anything it’s an entire season given how long this has lasted…)

“Are you still taking the meds we talked about?” Dr. Clearwater checked, like she did every visit after his ‘uncle’ told her he wasn’t taking them.

“Yeah.” He answered, not elaborating that he was taking them and tossing them given how much worse they made his insomnia which in turn made the night terrors even worse when he did manage to sleep.

The doctor stared at him for a moment, trying to determine whether or not he was lying, before eventually admitting, “It makes sense you’re feeling the way you are, given what’s coming up soon.”

“Yeah…” He scoffed, not wanting to admit that tonight was the night of the anniversary. The anniversary she was thinking of being the anniversary of when he made everything so much worse.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked.

“I’d rather not.” (But you’re probably going to make me…)

“We’ve talked about how bottling up your feelings won’t help you…” Dr. Clearwater reminded him.

“I remember, and I am working on a creative outlet.” He reminded her.

“Right, your dolls…” The Doctor clearly wanted to say something else there, his ‘uncle’ likely having snitched on what he did with those dolls, but luckily for him she was apparently choosing her battles today. “How is your schoolwork going?”

“Good. Already a whole year ahead of where I should be.” Give him another year and he could probably graduate if he wanted.

“Perhaps, though I do feel like you’re still missing out on some important aspects of going to high school.” Clearwater confessed.

He gave the woman a pointed look. “Like being stared at as everyone wonders just how much I knew about what he was doing? About how far the apple really fell?”

“We both know you’re nothing like… him.” Clearwater frowned, knowing how he’d react if his… relationship with that man was brought up in any real detail.

“Maybe, but no one thought the founder of the best arcade in town was a monster.” He pointed out with a sarcastic smile. “If that was all a con, then maybe I’m conning everyone too?”

“I know you’re not.” The doctor told him in a tone that rejected any argument. “If not for you none of those families would’ve known what happened to their kids, Malcolm.”

“Yeah…” The fact that he’d been trying to cover things up and screwed the whole thing up was a detail he’d be taking to his grave. (At least I managed to hide his coffin…) “Well, everyone thinking he’s still out there doesn’t help anything…”

“And you don’t?” Clearwater asked, her tone carefully neutral.

(Fuck…) He should’ve kept his mouth shut, he swallowed trying to think of something he could say without digging the knife too deep, before stuttering out that, “If… if he was alive he’d… he’d find me… but with the blood they found…”

“You’re convinced he’s dead, that he didn’t abandon you.” Clearwater realized with a mix of pity and sympathy that disgusted him, if only because (I don’t deserve that…)

He took a deep breath before letting it out. “It doesn’t matter… He’s gone, and I’m being blamed for his mess…”

The doctor was quiet for a moment, letting him find his mental footing again, before telling him, “Things are… they’re going to become more difficult the closer we get to the anniversary of… everything. Especially given your… lack of closure.”

“You never know, it could be easier.” He shrugged, thinking that as hard as today was, it wasn't his… worst day.

His fingers ran over the bandage he kept wrapped around his hand.

“Do you think you’re at risk of…” Clearwater trailed off, having caught the gesture.

“No, I won’t hurt myself again. It was a one time thing…” (After all, it didn’t help get rid of the stupid mark…)

“You know you have people here for you if you need us, right?” Dr. Clearwater made sure. “You can call any of us if you need help.”

“I know.” He assured her, despite knowing that that was bullshit, they told him because they were worried about him and of those people he had the doctor who he paid to care, his ‘uncle’ who made money by being his guardian, and…

His fingers dug into the mark on his hand.

The people who cared about him without wanting something for themselves were all dead and buried.

Even if the rest of the session went nowhere fast, it did start several thoughts bubbling inside of his head. Bad thoughts that he’d be an idiot to even truly consider, but… (I’ve more than proven I am an idiot…)

Given how there wasn’t really anyone in his life to stop him, he waited until nightfall before leaving his house, the ride service taking him out to an old building with all of the lights turned off. The place having been long since shut down after everything that was discovered about the building.

“This some kind of Halloween dare or something?” The driver asked when they realized where they were dropping him off. “You’ve got friends or something meeting you here? Cause with this place’s reputation, not sure I feel right about dumping a kid here.”

“Yeah, something like that…” He wanted to ignore the driver, but found that he couldn’t given how much pain he’d already caused because of this place. Enough so that someone was worrying about him without a payment involved, which is why he went ahead and told the driver, “And don’t worry I am meeting someone here.”

“Alright, if you’re sure, kid.” The driver shrugged, what little care he had for a stranger now spent.

The easy dismissal left him feeling cold even as he waved the driver off.

With a deep breath he counted to ten before turning back to the building, his eyes immediately locking onto the depowered image of a bear mascot smiling at the world, uncaring of the things it had covered up, the children it had helped lure to their demise.

He pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and went to the front door, part of him wanting to stall this even if he was determined to do it.

Of course, the keys proved worthless when he found the lock to the place had been broken already, leaving the door unlocked.

Thinking about what the driver had said about Halloween dares, he really hoped he wasn’t going to find anyone in here tonight. Not actually caring about how vandalized the place was otherwise.

Because it was vandalized. Graffiti, trash, and broken glass were all over the floor, several of the abandoned games having been further broken or outright toppled after the arcade failed to retain enough business to stay open in the wake of everything coming out.

The only reason the franchise itself wasn’t dead was because of opening arcades in other towns outside of Gravesfield. Places that were far enough away to not connect the arcades to a serial killer when they had their own problems to deal with.

Even with him stalling, and taking the time to let his mind drift to bittersweet memories about all of the games he’d played here over the years, he still found his way to the infamous wonder workshop where both dreams and nightmares had come to life.

The workshop had been mostly cleared out, more thoroughly so than the rest of the arcade his ‘uncle’ still hoped to one day reopen due to some vain sentimentality. The only things that still remained were the animatronics that had been cleared after ‘Bugsby’s’ darkest secret was discovered.

With a deep breath he made his way towards the wall that once hid the basement that would become publicly known as ‘Morgan’s Morgue’. And much like he had years ago when the police had begun pressing him for his father’s whereabouts after his disappearance he opened the basement that was better left sealed.

Only unlike last time where he accidentally led the police here though, he knew he was alone tonight and that only he was going to know what happened here.

He stared down the stairs and into the dark abyss that he’d personally entered exactly three times before, the sight having been the center of more than one of the night terrors that had haunted him since that night.

With a deep breath, he decided that, (It’s time to get closure.) and started down the steps.

The basement had long since been cleared out by the police, the ritual circles on the ground having been scraped and scuffed into near oblivion, and the metal coffins all gone.

His eyes drifted towards a segment of wall, one that was covered in hasty script written in his own blood, before deciding that that door was going to remain sealed alongside all of the salt he’d dumped in there.

Instead he looked down at the dried bloodstains on the floor before steeling himself and undoing the bandages on his hand.

The back of his hand was still scared from where he’d tried to mangle the flesh, but that did nothing to damage the mark of two rabbits, one horned, chasing each other in a circle and bound by chains.

Remembering lessons he wanted to forget, he began to pull on the power around him, the magic that still lingered in this room, forever stained by death. A power he pushed into the mark on his hand as he did something arguably stupider than when he’d panicked and led the police to the scene of all these crimes.

The mark on his hand began to burn as the power within it built up, before reaching a point he could no longer contain as his fingers were forced apart and he shoved the power forward.

In a surge of red light born of both crimson cinders and scarlet electricity, a humanoid figure appeared before him looking exactly as it had a year ago. The same red and black suit, the same stitched together white fur, the same rabid red eyes, and the same terrifying maw full of fangs. All of it the same as if not even a day had passed for the Demon in front of him.

“My, my it has been some time, my boy, hasn’t it?” The Demon smiled.