[New and want to jump in? Please read the Instructions, but go ahead!]

Sweet was staring at him, frantically afraid and deeply unsure. Those uncountable eyes were focused on Septimus with a single-minded intensity, and Septimus held up both hands to try to ward that fear off.

“Okay, let’s get back to the basics,” Septimus said, as gently as he could. “Maybe you don’t know what to do, but we know what we do and don’t want, right?”

Sweet nodded uncertainly.

“We want to get both of us out of here safely,” Septimus said, holding up a finger that almost wasn’t shaking. “Both of us together or not at all.”

“But—”

Septimus shook his head, wishing the fear wasn’t visible on his face but knowing that it was. He pushed on anyway. “Together or not at all. I need you to agree to this, Sweet. We have to be acting with the same intentions here. Everything’s symbolic. If we pull against each other, I don’t think we’ll succeed. Do you want to be out of this?”

Yes, Sweet ‘whispered’.

“Do you want me out of this?”

“Yes!”

“Then that’s what we have to do,” Septimus said firmly. “Neither of us can afford to think ‘Oh, if one of us has to stay to get the other one out, it’ll be me’. We both have to focus on getting each other out and safe at all costs. Okay?”

Sweet nodded again, the movement jerky. Okay.

“Good,” Septimus said. “We have to prioritize that over anything else. So, to do that, we need to get away from your father, which he will not want. His goal is to destroy you to become you. We need to weaken him, or strengthen us. Put him to sleep, or get away anyway. Right?”

This time Sweet seemed more certain. “Right,” he said, his voice still rubbing the wrong way against what sound should be.

Septimus smiled at him, quick and tight. “Good,” he said again. “I don’t think there’s anything out there we can reach to. We’re inside his sphere right now so I’m not sure it’d be heard. Besides, you’re the only other thing like him that I even know of so it feels like trying to look for outside help in your… kin… would be a real mistake.”

“I agree,” Sweet said. “I don’t know of any either.”

“What do we know? Do we know how he got into the hill in the first place?” When Sweet shook his head, he refused to get discouraged, just pushing onward. “Do we know why he was sleeping?” Another headshake. “We do know what got him into his partially-awake state, though. Sacrifice.”

Sweet said, “I don’t think we should sacrifice anything to him. I have been, because he demands it of me, and he’s just gotten stronger and stronger.”

“Damn,” Septimus muttered. His heart was going too fast, adrenaline spiking the further they got into this plan. He wasn’t sure why, and didn’t like how it made it harder to think evenly. The more he thought, the worse he felt. Horror stories didn’t end well, and fairy tales and things like that only did if the people were tricky or steadfast enough.

Tricky or steadfast. Maybe those were their options.

Septimus asked, “Can our intent poison it in some way?”

“Poison…?”

“I don’t mean to hurt him, just… drug him to sleep. Like—dreams. He’s asked to eat those. Can we fully put him back to sleep with it?”

Sweet made a face. It twisted and pulled in strange directions and Septimus was forced to look away. “I’m not sure,” Sweet said. I think anything we sacrifice to him goes to him. Even if you sacrifice it in the wrong spirit, once it becomes an offering / it’s something he can devour. That’s why he can want good things. He’ll drain them from someone to make them worse, but they will just be / power / to him. He hesitated, then added, Though maybe, but only if you can think of something that would poison someone like him. Something that isn’t an offering, but which he has to accept into himself anyway.

“Okay. Maybe that. Or what if we gave him something that would distract him until we were out?” Septimus asked. “A big sacrifice,  and then we bolt. It might make him stronger but if we weren’t there, he wouldn’t be able to wake up through you. Then we’d be safe and have time to plan until—when do you have to come back again?”

“The darkest night of the year,” Sweet said. When I was born. He’s only strong enough to call me those two nights. Right now, anyway.

“So it’s an option. Especially if we can come up with something that’s not an offering, not really a sacrifice, but which he has to take. Let’s table it and keep thinking, though.”

Sweet nodded again. His hand squeezed in Septimus’s, tight and nervous.

“Again: We know that he woke up because of a sacrifice, but the wrong thing was sacrificed, so it was weaker. It wanted a heart like yours—presumably not actually yours, though, since I guess it’d have to have been before your conception.” Septimus wondered briefly what happened to that heart, but it was a useless thought here and he dismissed it. “Like you said, the wrong sacrifice was still a sacrifice to him, so it gave him power. But: Five thought Seven could make a sacrifice to himself by eating the heart, and that it’d wreck their chances to wake him. So the same things that could be sacrificed to him could be sacrificed to something else to give that other thing power. Even to a human being like Seven, though I don’t know what it would have done to him.”

Another nod, though less certain. I wasn’t there. I don’t know.

“Yeah, that’s just, it’s my understanding. I know you don’t actually know,” Septimus said awkwardly.  “But if we were more powerful, maybe we could force him back to sleep. Could we sacrifice something to… ourselves?”

Sweet’s eyes swiveled around uncertainly, as if searching the shadows for something that might work. “I guess we could,” Sweet mumbled abominably. “But what? How?”

“I tried… I tried to send you feelings earlier,” Septimus said awkwardly. “You know. Support. Hope and dreams and stuff. But I didn’t feel anything happen.”

I didn’t either. How did you send it?

“I, I just… thought about it. Wished it to happen.”

Sacrifice is an action. We’d have to choose something to do to symbolize it. Is there any symbolic term or meaning or action that could be converted into giving each other these things? Sweet asked. Then, awkwardly, “I don’t know. Maybe it’s enough to say it aloud, to use words like my father’s deliberate term setting, the whole ‘which do you want least to lose’. But I don’t… know. I’m cold and I’m, I’m scared out of my mind, I don’t know what works…!”

“Well, it’s an option to try, if we think of something to do or say to actually make it happen.” Septimus said. Then, slowly, “any other ideas?”

They both stared at each other for a few heartbeats. Sweet shook his head. Septimus nodded slowly, then shook his as well.

“So two options,” Septimus said. “And we don’t know how to do them.”

We’re running out of time, Sweet warned him. The candles are burning down. I can feel… I can feel him biting my wounds again.

“Okay. Okay. So we decide on one of those two things. We make a guess at how to do it,” Septimus said, feeling nowhere near as brave as he hoped he sounded. “And then we try it, since there’s no time for second guessing.”

“But which one?” Sweet breathed. “And how?”

[Please offer come up with a plan for Septimus in the Comments.]

[Instructions | Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9 | Day 10 | Day 11 | Day 12 | Day 13 | Day 14 | Day 15 | Day 16 | Day 17 |  Day 18 | Day 19 | Day 20 | Day 21 | Day 22 | Day 23 | Day 24 | Day 25 | Conclusion | Author’s Notes]

[New and want to jump in? Please read the Instructions, but go ahead!]

Septimus swallowed back the scream he could feel bubbling up in his throat. It was Sweet, and he knew it was Sweet, but even so, he could hardly bear to look. It was an image that would haunt his nightmares for years, decades to come—if he even had that long left.

Because it was wrong. Every inch of him, every part of him that could react, was reacting. His body crawled with a rejection of the sight in a way it hadn’t even done in the corridor—maybe because whatever was there had hidden in darkness, instead of in plain sight the way this was.

Don’t look at me, Sweet whispered, the sound brushing against Septimus’s exposed cheeks. Please don’t look at me. I didn’t want you to see me like this—

Septimus closed his eyes and drew a deep breath.

Then he opened them again and stepped closer. “Hi,” he said weakly. “I missed you. I, uh, I got worried, so I came.”

Don’t look / don’t look / don’t look, Sep, don’t /

“It’s not so bad,” Septimus lied. He was sure Sweet could feel the lie, but he said it anyway. He stepped closer again, then again, until he was within arm’s length. “I mean, I’m not sure how I could kiss you with an eye for a mouth, but, I mean, you’re still you.”

You don’t want / don’t lie, you don’t want to!

“I mean, in general,” Septimus clarified. He reached out and touched Sweet’s arms, fingertips curling into the void where some of Sweet’s flesh had come away. It felt like a brush against eternity, ice cold and hopeless, but he kept himself from flinching. “Can you come down from there?”

I don’t know—

“Come on,” he rephrased. “We’re getting you down from there.”

Moving incredibly slowly to keep himself from pulling away, Septimus moved his hands along what remained of Sweet’s arms, tugging him into a gentle embrace and pulling against whatever force held him up. There was a moment’s resistance, and then Sweet was collapsing like a wing pushing down, a gyrating wave that didn’t match what his body should be doing as he folded into Septimus’s arms, radiating ice cold and wrongness.

“That’s right,” Septimus said through chattering teeth. “I’ve got you.”

He managed to shrug off his backpack and get it open despite numb fingers that didn’t want to obey him after the things he’d been asking of them, tugging the comforter out. He wrapped that around Sweet’s shoulders, cocooning him, keeping the blanket between the two of them as he did it. It seemed to help a little, as did the way Sweet kept his face lowered, his hair falling forward. It made him seem human except for the tiny eyes open along the back of his neck.

“Better?” Septimus asked.

“Mm—” Sweet was trying to talk, and it grated against reality the same way touching him had.  He gave up a moment later, falling back into that horrible mental whisper. It wasn’t much of an improvement. Thank you / you shouldn’t have come. What did you give up?

“Just that necklace,” Septimus said. “Though I still don’t know what it was.”

Some part of him / I think, Sweet admitted. Something he gave my mother a long time ago. In return for whatever she lost.

Septimus ran a careful hand over the back of Sweet’s hair. “Was she the girl in your story?”

It was… a fictionalization / you told me to make one up. But…

“But essentially yes,” Septimus said softly. “Some time ago, something woke him up, but only partially. And when she found him half-awake, however much later that was, he acted on her in that state.”

Yes / yes that’s what happened / yes, that’s correct.

“How did it end?” Septimus asked, though he thought he knew.

Fourteen months later I was born, Sweet said against Septimus’s mind. Her little demon, conceived in the basement of her childhood home. And he feeds on me every year / I only just learned why / he needs me, though / he does need me.

Septimus repressed a shiver. “Wait here for a second,” he said.

Sweet’s head jerked up to look at him, and Septimus really wished it hadn’t. But he smiled as reassuringly as he could.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he added. “I just… I brought some things, and I thought they might… help?”

It was maybe a silly thought, but at this point, every bit of symbolism he could muster felt important. He walked around the basement, careful of the debris, putting candles down to form a rough circle and lighting them with matches. As the darkness began to withdraw from the room, he saw, unexpectedly, the end of the bandage-thread he’d made hanging off the end of the stairs.

So it had done some good after all, at least. But he didn’t think that leaving would be as simple as just going up the stairs.

That was two symbols down: light in dark places, a guide home. Three, maybe, since he’d put the blanket around Sweet to warm him. He swallowed, taking the medical kit out of his bag and bringing it over, picking one of Sweet’s hands up and kissing the fingertips before starting to wrap the eyes on that arm in the tenser bandage.

“Sep—”

At the sound of Sweet’s voice, Septimus’s head jerked up; Sweet’s mouth had returned, and his face was almost back to normal, although everything below it still winked and twinkled with the strain of a foreign sky trying to pour through.

“Hey,” Septimus said, voice coming out wobbly.  “I’m, uh, out of bandages now, but I thought it would help? I could… I could try putting Neosporin on, but I’m not sure you want that in your eyes.”

Sweet let out a weird, anxious laugh and shook his head. “No,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Septimus said. He swallowed. “It’s okay, you know. I mean some guys would probably give their left arm to date an, um—” the phrase devil’s child came to mind and he wished he could think of a better one.

“Horrorterror?” Sweet suggested. An eye opened on his cheek, then closed again, as if through a force of will.

“Half,” Septimus said. “On your father’s side.”

Sweet groaned. “I guess he told you that,” he said, and pulled the blanket more tightly around himself. “I’m sorry. It’s never been this bad. I wouldn’t have invited you if I thought—”

“It’s okay, Sweet.”

“I’ve never understood what he needed before,” Sweet whispered. It fell out of sound again a moment later. He wants to eat my heart. The human half of my heart. Once that’s gone, he can wake up by wearing me. My flesh is designed to hold / what I am, what he is / but my human blood keeps me myself.

“Why didn’t it happen before now?”

“He’s been working on me” year after year. I guess this is just the year that it “got far enough.”

Septimus rubbed his brow, aching inside and out from the feel of those words against himself. Half to keep Sweet quiet for a few moments, he carefully explained what had happened to him when he’d come down here, the things that Sweet’s father had said—then looped back around to his memories of Seven, abruptly remembering that he hadn’t had the chance to tell Sweet about them before.

For a little while after he’d finished, Sweet remained silent. Then he let out a choked laugh.

“You could eat my heart,” he said, in a very small voice. “Then I’ll at least know he won’t get it.”

“No,” Septimus said quickly. The memory of Seven’s temptation rose up in him. “No, Sweet.”

“Then what?” Sweet asked roughly. “He’s not letting go this time and he’s… he’s stronger. I thought I might be able to go when you started to light this place up but he’s become stronger really fast. The necklace, the thing you sacrificed to him—”

“I’m sorry,” Septimus said. “I didn’t know how else to get to you.”

Sweet closed his eyes—all of them.  I don’t know what to do, his essence breathed. I understand now that if we sacrifice anything to him / he’ll get stronger. He won’t let me leave this time, and he’ll eat me empty /so he can become me. But without a sacrifice /

He didn’t finish the thought.

“Well, do… do we have to sacrifice to him? If we have to give something up, can we find something to give up that’ll make him weaker, or make you stronger?” Septimus asked. “Five had thought Seven could try to take the power for himself, or… something. And Seven sacrificed the wrong thing. He said something about the heart being a symbol, right, but… I mean, the trouble is, I don’t know how right or wrong they were about any of it.”

But what would we sacrifice and to whom? Sweet hesitated, then reached out his bandaged hand and put it in Septimus’s, squeezing. … and even if we find something, what if it hurts him? He’s still my father, even if…

“He wants to eat your heart and wear your skin!”

“But…” I don’t know what to do, Sep!

[Please offer actions, thoughts, or concerns for Septimus in the Comments.]

[Instructions | Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9 | Day 10 | Day 11 | Day 12 | Day 13 | Day 14 | Day 15 | Day 16 | Day 17 |  Day 18 | Day 19 | Day 20 | Day 21 | Day 22 | Day 23 | Day 24 | Day 25 | Conclusion | Author’s Notes]

[New and want to jump in? Please read the Instructions, but go ahead!]

It was almost impossible to think. The eyes were watching Septimus closely, too closely, impossibly closely. It felt like they could see his thoughts, his soul, everything he’d ever done that he didn’t want brought to light, every sin and grief and shameful hidden thing that he’d forgotten along with those he hadn’t. It welled in him like sweat seeping through his skin, unable to be held back just by wishing he could.

It was easy to see how people went insane in stories about things like this. He bit back an inappropriate laugh.

“I…” What could he even sacrifice that could possibly help either of them? If he lost his love, he probably wouldn’t keep fighting for Sweet. He thought about that and wished, briefly, that he could do more for Sweet now. The monster had said he could enhance Sweet’s humanity—he tried to send some to him, to will his love, his hope, his dreams to reach. But felt nothing.

And why would he? The thought rose bitterly. These things were only shared when communicated. Wanting it to happen didn’t mean anything unless he could do something about it.

So it was back to sacrifice. His dreams? That seemed like the safest option, but he didn’t trust it. In so many ways, dreams were the symbol for the future, and if he gave that up, wouldn’t that mean he’d stop fighting for himself?

And hope…

No, above all, he couldn’t give up hope. Hope was the only thing that even had a chance of standing up against a creature like this. Everything about it threatened to overwhelm him with madness, misery, the loss of self. If he lost hope, he’d stop fighting entirely.

What was the best option? Giving up the things that made him human was less of a concern than it should be—Sweet wasn’t, apparently, and he seemed just fine—but in terms of what part of it wouldn’t be giving up too much to let him save them both—

“I need more information,” he blurted.

The creature didn’t respond to that except for a sense of brief confusion—only barely that, though, brushing against him with a lack of concern.

“A sacrifice has less value if it’s made while not knowing the value,” Septimus said, and hoped it was true. It seemed like the sort of thing Seven would have believed, for better or worse. “I don’t know anything about you, o-or him, or any of this. You were, you had a relationship with Sweet’s mother, right? Miranda?”

The end of the corridor was almost there. He focused on it, hoping without much faith that he’d reach it while the thing was distracted.

Miranda, she / yes, a tool / she could birth something I could

/ hollow /

/ out.

That didn’t sound good for Sweet. “Hollow out? Is that why you’ve been feeding on him?”

The things he loses makes / room.

/ nurtures me /  drains him / shifts from one to another /

You know that, surely?

The last with a strange, horrible amusement that washed out over Septimus. He broke into a run, his will snapping, reached the end of the corridor and—

—he came back to himself wrapped in something, dangling over a whirling void, breath pushed from his lungs. That awful thing’s presence was closer here, rather than further away, and he realized that the end must have been a pitfall, a drop further into the earth, into this thing’s self.

It held him carelessly, slithering darkness crawling over his skin and leaving coldness behind.

I would rather / you make this sacrifice /

knowingly.

“Please,” Septimus sobbed, teeth chattering, his calm swept away against his will. In the darkness, with no solid ground underfoot, vertigo hit him and it felt like he was spinning and spinning, falling. “Let me see Sweet!”

Why? It was unconcerned. Only curious.

“I—” Wanting to wasn’t enough. He knew that.  “Can’t you rewind time? Make this how it never happened? If I gave you something good enough, could you do that?”

No. / This is outside time but / inserting you will move you forward.

It seemed to consider.

I could keep you out here endlessly

endlessly/endlessly

“No,” Septimus groaned. Everything ached with the cold, and he was more deeply afraid than he’d ever been in his life. He reached up, tugging the necklace free from his shirt. “Is this enough? If I gave you this? Is it something you want?”

It seemed like reality drew a breath.

“It is,” Septimus said, chattering. “So it must be a strong sacrifice. You can have it, just free me and Sweet—”

Not enough / but / if you sacrifice it, I will bring you to him.

Not give him back to you but /

/ bring you / show you / reveal /

 

/ him. /

 

Then / perhaps

/ you will find something better /

/ to give up.

He could tell that he couldn’t bargain any further; had nothing left to bargain with but parts of himself. And if he dropped, it’d get the amulet anyway, along with the rest of him. It’d just be less power than if he gave it willingly.

But if they were together, maybe they could figure something out.

“Fine,” he said. He tore the necklace from his throat and let it drop from numb fingers into the void.

Reality wrenched again and he found himself in what looked like a normal basement. His flashlight illuminated it as usual, casting shadows around broken glass and wood shards and dusty air.

And Sweet.

He hung in the air like he was suspended by a thread, rotating and coming to pieces. His skin had flaked off to reveal darkness underneath—no, Septimus realized, not darkness, but void. It was the night sky, endless and deep, stars glittering in their depths. No, eyes. Eyes that were stars, stars that were eyes, staring up through the gaps in his body where his flesh had been stripped from him.

Sweet’s mouth opened and opened and opened, splitting along its middle and through his cheeks, void pouring out of it. An eye opened in its center, where  his tongue and throat should be, fixing on Septimus with such an intensity that a bolt of pain shot through him.

Sep? Sweet said, soundlessly.

[Please offer actions, thoughts, or concerns for Septimus in the Comments.]

[Instructions | Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9 | Day 10 | Day 11 | Day 12 | Day 13 | Day 14 | Day 15 | Day 16 | Day 17 |  Day 18 | Day 19 | Day 20 | Day 21 | Day 22 | Day 23 | Day 24 | Day 25 | Conclusion | Author’s Notes]

[New and want to jump in? Please read the Instructions, but go ahead!]

The most bizarre thing was how unsurprising that news was. There was some part of Septimus that was in shock, sure—a part that had been holding out hope that Sweet himself was normal, and things like the eyes, his eyes, were just the effects of this place, some kind of curse, something like that. But it was mostly drowned out by the sheer amount of evidence that had been hanging over his head, unacknowledged.

Honestly, this wasn’t even the weirdest thing that had happened tonight.

But at the same time, he didn’t want to let the strange banality of the realization make him too complacent. Even when he’d thought Sweet’s father was human, he’d known that Sweet had a poor relationship with him. Sweet didn’t even go by his first name, but instead his mother’s maiden name, and he’d avoided talking about his father whenever possible. Some of that was probably that he was apparently an eldritch abomination living in the basement of their family home, sure, of course, but it was clear, too, that he was using Sweet in some way. That it was his fault Sweet was cold, exhausted, tired—if not worse.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” he managed, keeping his eyes straight ahead as he continued down the hall. “My name is Septimus Boon and I’ve been dating your son for a few months now.”

He brought you here / he told you to leave him here / leave him here.

The voices came from all around, overlapping and difficult to pick out in their strange susurrations, coming in together only on the final here of each one. Septimus repressed a shiver and kept walking, slow and steady, like he wasn’t fighting the primal urge to break into a run, to just flee until this thing was left behind.

“I know, sir,” he said. “But he’s been in a bad way tonight and I’m worried about him. He was pretty weak when he came down here to see you, and he’s been down here longer than before. I just want him to be healthy and happy, so I’ve come to check on him. May I see him, please?”

Go back / pretend you saw nothing / or go ahead and / find him / but you won’t be able to leave.

The pitch blackness of where the eyes ended was around twenty feet away, he guessed, though it was difficult to judge distance in this place. He could tell he was speeding up despite his attempts to stay measured. “What do you mean?”

He’ll be gone soon / the part that makes him him / Sweet / Damien / gone / you’ve done a good job restoring his humanity / he struggled / but he’s just temporary

A placeholder /

/ a space to be filled.

“I—”

I will awaken.

“I disagree, sir,” Septimus choked out. “He’s no more temporary than anyone else, and he’s a lot more than just empty space. And I’d like to see him and take him upstairs, if you’re done with him. I’m sure you’ll have another chance the next time he comes here, so if you’ll let me see him now—”

/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/
now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/
now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/
now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/now/

The echoes grew and rumbled and roared around him. The end of the corridor was still out of reach—ten feet? More, less? It was hard to think, the words pounding around him and through him, disrupting the pace of his heartbeat and the rhythm of his footsteps.

And then they fell silent, suddenly. Against his will, so did Septimus’s walk, feet rooting to the ground. He wasn’t sure whether his heart was still beating, feeling only a tight squeezing in his chest.

Or will you sacrifice yourself to me instead? 

He couldn’t answer, suffocating on lack of air. Wasn’t sure he should. He’d played enough games and heard enough folktales to know the danger of bartering with something like this.

On the other hand, he wasn’t sure either would get out of this alive if he didn’t offer something.

/what will you give up/yourself/him/yourheart/youreyes/
what do/
/you want to lose the least/
/hopedreamslove/
/humanity/
/self/
/those things that make you/ human/
/what will you give me so I don’t take that last
/ drop/
/of what he has that has let him/
/stay/

/human/

Air rushed back in. Septimus’s feet remained frozen and he willed them to move—felt, after a moment’s aching effort, his toes wiggle. The walls seemed to be moving closer now, closing in around him, in front of him. If he ran he might be able to make it to the end.

If he could run.

ANSWER

[Please offer actions, thoughts, or concerns for Septimus in the Comments.]

[Instructions | Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9 | Day 10 | Day 11 | Day 12 | Day 13 | Day 14 | Day 15 | Day 16 | Day 17 |  Day 18 | Day 19 | Day 20 | Day 21 | Day 22 | Day 23 | Day 24 | Day 25 | Conclusion | Author’s Notes]

[New and want to jump in? Please read the Instructions, but go ahead!]

The darkness radiated out from the basement like something with both weight and gravity, trying to pull Septimus forward. He drew a sharp breath and shut the door, a little more firmly than he meant to.

He was going to go down there, but that didn’t mean he needed to be stupid about it. Sweet kept coming back cold, so it was probably freezing down there. There might be glass and nails, and even if there wasn’t, there was a risk they could get hurt—and any bit of blood might count as a sacrifice. Plus, there was a good chance he might lose his way—if it turned out to really just be a basement, even if it had something in it, that was one thing, but…

So many stories his parents had told him came flooding into his mind of heroes descending into the underworld, heroes entering mazes, heroes and their journeys. Things to do, things not to do. Some of the traditional rules would be easy to follow, since he definitely didn’t intend to eat or drink or sleep while in there. Others…

Septimus headed back up the stairs to the bathroom, digging around under the sink until he found a first aid kit stashed there. Checking the medicine cabinet, he found a few additional rolls of gauze.

It wasn’t yarn, and it wouldn’t nearly be long enough, but it’d have to do. Ariadne’s was enchanted, he remembered, and that might make all the difference, but if nothing else, it should at least be long enough to lead from the outside of the basement door down the stairs, and if he needed it to be a lifeline, that might be enough to help him find his way from inside to outside again.

(Of course, he remembered, Ariadne ended up lost herself later, abandoned on the island of Naxos by a faithless lover. He tried not to think about that further.)

From there, he went back to Sweet’s bedroom. The way it was set up, homey and normal, hurt him to look at now. It was all too easy to imagine a younger Sweet on some earlier Halloween, shivering in his unnatural cold, knowing his mother wouldn’t listen and that soon the power would go out and he’d have to head back downstairs. He wondered if Sweet had the eyes then, or if they’d developed over time. He suspected the former, since Sweet had said he’d planned to hide some effect of being here from him. 

He picked up his backpack and jacket from where he’d left them on the bed. He shrugged the jacket on, feeling the amulet shift on his neck as he did, then touched it briefly, unsure whether to keep it on or take it off. In the end, he left it on. Maybe it would do some good after all.

The jacket was at least both extra warmth and extra pockets. He took Sweet’s extra flashlight and put it in one of those pockets, then took a couple of the candles they’d set up in the room and the matches and stuck those in the other. Better to have light easily available. His phone went back into his pants pocket, though he knew the battery would die soon. His change of sweater went into the bottom of his backpack, leaving space for one or two more things. The medical pack would go in there too, he decided, though after he’d packed the comforter. Just so he’d have the former near the top. That he’d have to go back downstairs, though.

Septimus paused and closed his eyes, trying to think of anything he was forgetting. He wished he’d brought gloves or an umbrella, anything he could use to shield his hands or prod the ground in front of him, but he hadn’t, and there was no point in second guessing these things.

Was there anything else he might need? Anything else Seven might have wanted? He wished their minds had either been more mingled or less in that dream—it was hard to pick apart what he’d thought and what Seven had been thinking, let alone to project on it.

A knife, he decided. Items of intent and power. Symbols.

On second thought, maybe he didn’t want to think like Seven after all.

He picked his backpack up and headed back downstairs. In went the folded comforter, and then—just barely fitting with the zipper done up—the medical kit, minus three rolls of gauze. Two of these went into his pants pockets, and the third he tied to the kitchen doorknob just down the hall from the basement door, unrolling it a little as he headed back there.

Then he shrugged on the backpack, drew a deep breath, and opened the basement door. One step at a time, he reminded himself, meaning it entirely literally as he put his foot on the first basement stair.

It was like wading deliberately down through mud; there was a thickness to it that drew at him even as it provided resistance, and he forced himself not to tense up, letting the gauze unroll in his hand and taking the next step, and the one after.

His flashlight flickered and died, and he paused to reclip it to his belt, then dug out Sweet’s. This he didn’t turn on yet, taking the next few steps in darkness, feeling the comforting sensation of the gauze unwinding.

Five steps. Six steps. Seven steps.

Something was watching him. The thought came to mind and he felt his skin crawl abruptly, but forced himself to keep progressing. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve—

His next foot forward only found ground, and he shifted his weight onto it fully.

The eyes opened.

They filled the darkness around, outlining a shape of a corridor. The gauze felt like it had reached its end, so he juggled the flashlight and a second roll for a moment, tying the end to a new one, then forced himself to continue down the corridor, trying not to watch as the eyes followed his movements, watching him.

He turned on the flashlight as he went; it cast a thin beam that illuminated nothing, no path, no walls for the eyes to sit in, only further darkness as if it was sucking the light back up. Still, he kept it on, trying to balance the fear of the battery draining against the fear that he’d overlook something.

The stairs were no longer in sight, only more darkness and eyes behind him, but the gauze was at least comfortably in his hand.

The whisper came so faintly that he almost imagined it: What are you here for?

Septimus had to clear his throat before he could talk, the weight and darkness and pounding of his heart all too much at first. “I’m here to fetch Sweet,” he managed.

Sweet? Miranda Sweet?

“Damien Sweet.”

He continued forward. He could see what he thought was an end now, or, at least, the eyes seemed to stop after a certain distance. Would it be better to just break for it and run, or continue at this slow pace…?

While he was trying to decide, the voice came again:

What do you want with my son?

[Please offer actions, thoughts, or concerns for Septimus in the Comments.]

[Instructions | Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9 | Day 10 | Day 11 | Day 12 | Day 13 | Day 14 | Day 15 | Day 16 | Day 17 |  Day 18 | Day 19 | Day 20 | Day 21 | Day 22 | Day 23 | Day 24 | Day 25 | Conclusion | Author’s Notes]

[If you missed the art my friend Mikage sent me for this, check it out!]