Chapter Fifty-Four:

“T’what’s Right”

The room smelled too sweet.

Giggles didn’t have words for the scent, not really. It was sharp in his nose, too strong, too thick, like overripe fruit left too long in the heat. It made his head feel strange, the overwhelming sweetness of it was seeping into his skull, setting off a dull, throbbing headache. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like being here.

But the sad girl needed the thing. The collar. The big scary man had taken it. And if she didn’t have it, then she would stay sad. T'wasn't right.

Hex’s room felt broken, like a place where something had gone deeply, fundamentally askew. It was wrong in a way Giggles couldn’t comprehend.

He crept inside, keeping low, keeping quiet. The walls were lined with bottles and glass things, some bubbling, some still. The liquids inside weren’t normal colors, too bright, too dark, too thick. Some hissed when they moved, others glowed even when no light touched them. He didn’t know what they were. He didn’t want to know.

But worse than the bottles were the heads.

They were everywhere. Lined up on shelves, tucked into corners, some lying on the floor like they had been carelessly tossed aside. Not people heads. No, no, no, not those. But not normal doll heads either. These were strange. Some were cloth, some were carved, some had button eyes, others glass. Some were cracked, some had stitches, but none of them had bodies. Just heads. Just watching.

Giggles’ fingers twitched, rubbing against each other. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like them looking at him. He didn't like them looking at him. But he had to be here. He had to get the thing for the sad girl. T'was right.

Where was it?

He crept further inside, careful not to step too hard, careful not to touch anything. Hex was scary. Not in the way the big scary man was scary. She was different. The big scary man was a storm. Cold, deliberate, inevitable. But Hex? Hex was chaos wrapped in silk, pure sadistic evil dressed as a child at play. She didn’t follow rules, she made them up as she went, and the game only ended when she decided it was over.

There. The collar. Sitting on a small, velvet cushion on a desk near the back of the room. A place of importance. He didn’t know why, didn’t know what it meant to her. But it was close, so close, and if he could just.

Footsteps.

Giggles froze.

No, no, no, no, no.

She was coming.

His fingers rubbed harder, pressing against each other, twitching, moving. He scuttled to the side, behind one of the larger shelves, melting into the darkness. He wasn’t here. He wasn’t real.

The door creaked open, and the smell grew stronger.

Hex’s footsteps were light, playful, as she moved inside. She hummed softly, a tune that wasn’t quite a song, something just slightly off, like a note played out of tune.

She moved toward the desk.

She picked up the collar.

Giggles’ breath stopped.

She ran her fingers over the worn leather, the metal buckle, her nails tapping softly against it. "Oh, little pup," she said, voice syrup-sweet, "I can’t wait to play with you again."

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Giggles’ skin prickled, but he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. She was talking to the collar. Talking like it could hear her, like it would answer.

A voice, deeper, from beyond the doorway. Him.

"It is time."

Hex sighed, long and theatrical. "Duty calls," she whispered, pressing the collar to her cheek for just a moment before setting it back down. "Don’t go anywhere, little one."

Then she turned, humming again, and left the room.

Giggles didn’t move. Not yet. He counted, or tried to count, but his fingers wouldn’t stay still, wouldn’t stop rubbing.

One breath. Two. Three.

Then he crept forward, slow, careful, reaching for the thing the sad girl needed. He lifted it with shaking hands, clutching it tight against his chest.

He had it.

Now, he just had to get out alive.

Giggles clutched the collar tight against his chest, his fingers twitching against the rough material of the oversized cloth wrapped around his waist, more of a crude diaper than a loincloth. He had it. He had it, and the sad girl would have it back. But first, he had to get out.

The corridors stretched ahead of him, long and empty, but not quiet. They were never quiet. The wind whispered through broken windows, rattling the tattered red curtains that swayed like reaching hands. The air carried the scent of old decay, of stone and dust and something deeper, something rotting beneath it all.

He crept along the wall, his bare feet moving soundlessly against the cold floor. He knew these halls. Knew which stones were loose, where the shadows were deep enough to swallow him whole.

The others never looked at the shadows. They looked ahead, down, around, but not into the places where the walls met the floors, where the darkness was the thickest. That was where he belonged. That was where he could move unseen.

He had to get to the kitchen.

The big scary man and Hex had gone somewhere else. He didn’t know where, didn’t care. That meant the kitchen would be empty. The passage was there. The one they had used before. The one that led away. If he could get there, he could disappear, just like last time.

Step. Step. Stop.

He pressed himself into an alcove, fingers pressing against the stone as voices drifted down the hall. Low, grumbling, familiar.

Cackle and Bash.

Giggles’ fingers twitched harder. They were close. Too close. He shuffled back, slow, slow.

They were coming. No, no, no.

He turned, bolting for the corner, heart pounding in his ears. Just a little more, just a little farther.

Then he hit something solid. Hard. Unmovable.

The impact knocked the air from his lungs, sent him sprawling backward, his vision spinning as he hit the cold floor. A wall? No. Not a wall.

Bash.

The hulking, solid mass of a creature barely budged, his head tilting down, eyes narrowing as he looked at the pathetic heap now at his feet. Giggles blinked up at him, frozen in place, his fingers twitching against the cloth wrapped around his middle, feeling for the collar, making sure it was still there.

Bash’s mouth twisted into something between a sneer and a grin.

“Well, well. Look what we got here.”

Giggles didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Bash’s solid mass loomed over him, thick fingers smacking at his sides, the sneer on his twisted face deepening.

Cackle stepped up beside him, shorter but wiry, his face stretched into something that might’ve been amusement. "Where you runnin’ off to, Giggles?"

Giggles didn’t answer. He never did. That was part of the game. The unspoken rule.

Bash huffed, stepping forward so his shadow swallowed Giggles whole. "What, cat got your tongue?" He raised a thick hand, not clenched into a fist, Bash never punched, not really. That wasn’t fun. He just let gravity do the work.

The slap cracked across Giggles’ face, knocking his head to the side. The sting bloomed slow, crawling along his skin like a creeping vine. He didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. He just waited.

Cackle let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Still as stupid as ever, eh? Maybe we smack some sense into him this time, huh?"

Another hit, this time a shove, sending him back against the cold stone. Bash cracked his knuckles, but there was no real malice in it. Just habit. Just play.

Giggles curled his fingers tighter into his makeshift cloth, feeling the hard outline of the collar beneath, tucked safely away. They couldn’t see it. Couldn’t know. He just had to endure.

He always endured.

Bash’s meaty hand gripped his shoulder, giving him a rough shake. "Ain't even fun when you don’t cry about it."

"Maybe we oughta drop him down a level," Cackle mused, tapping a long finger against his chin. "See if he bounces."

Giggles said nothing. Did nothing. Just waited.

It was Bash who got bored first, letting out a grunt. "Eh. Ain't worth it."

Cackle snorted. "Yeah, ‘sides, Hex see us messing with their favorite little idiot, we’ll be the ones gettin’ it."

Bash shoved Giggles one last time for good measure, sending him stumbling. Then, just like that, the moment was over. They turned, muttering to each other, already lost in their own talk as they disappeared down the corridor.

Giggles stayed where he was. Waited. One breath. Another. Just in case.

Then he straightened, fingers twiddling, and crept back into the shadows, heading for the kitchen.

The way to the sad girl.