Lightning struck wildly and a fierce wind howled through every crack in the walls. Alix tried his best to wrap the rotten blanket around himself but it didn’t do much good. It was threadbare, motheaten and smelled strongly of mildew. The mattress, if it could be called that, was little more than a large coarse sack stuffed with old dusty straw, but in the crumbling ruin it was better than nothing.

  The room he had locked himself in was luckily the most intact of the few he had dashed past, with only a few of its windows smashed and a small leaking hole in the roof, but the wind and the cold still permeated the place as if he was lying stark naked outside in the heart of the storm. After what he had seen, it almost felt preferable.

  The wooden frame of the small bed was grandly carved in a way that belied the dilapidated surroundings. He tried to keep still, to avoid alerting anyone, or anything, to his presence, but his bed continued to betray him. It creaked terribly with every shivering movement, threatening to snap into kindling at any moment, and the straps holding up the mattress groaned.

  The night ahead was looking long and miserable, if he even managed to survive it. If he did, he was sure the next day would be even worse, but he didn’t want to think of what might be waiting for him on the other side of the door he had managed to bolt shut behind him after the terrifying flight through the castle. The violent shivering had started soon after he had collapsed into the bed, fully dressed. He had hoped he would pass out from sheer shock and exhaustion, but the biting draught kept fighting off his attempts at sleep.

  After what felt like an age of shivering in the miserable bed, the howling of the storm seemed to fade, his senses diminishing until there was nothing left of him.

  This is it, Alix thought to himself, I’m not going to make it.

  He thought about getting out of his damp clothes and trying to start a fire with the debris scattered around the room, the remains of chairs and tables, but it was wishful thinking. He had nothing to start a fire with and the scraps of wood looked like they were more likely to turn to dust. More than that, he suddenly found that he could no longer move, the exhaustion forcing his body to sleep while his mind remained too terrified to lower its guard.

  Shadows moved in the darkness around him, sleep paralysis demons chasing him into oblivion, but with them came a new sensation. It felt like the clothes melted from his body and a warmth slowly began to come over him.

  Alix succumbed to the embracing warmth as thunder rumbled in the distance, sure he would never wake again.

  48 Hours Earlier

  The last thick notes from the amp faded like echoing thunder. Alix waited with baited breath until silence filled the room, afraid any movement might ruin the otherwise perfect take. He took a quick glance at the clock on the wall.

  5pm. Right on time.

  They had finished just within their allotted time, unable to afford to pay the studio for any more.

  The sound engineer in the booth gave them the thumbs up, indicating that the tapes had been turned off and that they could start packing up their gear before the next band arrived to use the space. “Great job guys,” he called over the intercom. “I should be able to get the master back to you in a couple of weeks.”

  Alix could hardly believe it. His band, Riff Wizard, had just completed the recording of their debut album. It was a surreal feeling. He had walked into the studio full of nerves, even though they had practised the songs relentlessly for months before booking the session, until they were able to play everything perfectly without making any mistakes. The less mistakes they made, the quicker they could finish the recording and save money on extra studio time. Now it was suddenly all over and he didn’t know what to do with himself. As the last riff faded his adrenaline drained with it, leaving him mentally and physically exhausted, and dying for a drink.

  “That was sweet. I don’t know about you guys but I need a pint,” Alix said to the others as he began to pack up his gear.

  “I’m going to take my gear back to the flat, might join you later though,” Mac said as he unstrapped his bass guitar and stuck it back in its case, although he sounded less than enthused at the idea.

  “Yeah, same here,” Sean said flatly from behind the drumkit.

  “It’s a studio kit, Sean. You can’t take it home,” Alix pointed out. What was going on with them all? He had expected them to be raring to jump into the closest pub for a pint to celebrate their success. The hardest part was over now. All that was left was to relax and have fun thinking of what they were going to call the album.

  “I…need a shower at least,” Sean replied, looking anywhere but at Alix. “I’ll give you a shout if I’m up for it later.”

  “That’s cool, I’ll be at Brauhaus if you change your minds. First rounds on me. We should be celebrating but I understand if you are shattered. I’m exhausted as well but I’m too excited to head home. Give me a shout later.” Alix zipped up his guitar case, packed away his pedalboard and leads, then headed out to make room for the next band.

  Alix exited Sound Cavern Studios onto a dirty, run down looking side alley. He didn’t even know if the street had a proper name. He had always just called it Studio Street because the studio was the only worthwhile thing there. He walked down the alley and turned onto Argyle Street, the Phlegethon that flowed through Glasgow, a sluggish torrent of human detritus hemmed in by charity shops, out of season Christmas shops, discount stores and boarded up windows. He always hated the long trek from one end of it to the other, getting caught behind another gaggle of oblivious shoppers every few steps. Brauhaus called to him like a beacon from the far end.

  After fighting half way down, he stopped at a crossing waiting for the light to turn green. He pressed the button and WAIT appeared in dull yellow letters. Above the box, he caught sight of a poster emblazoned with cheap clipart of a guitar and a stack of amps. Alix’s first thought as he lazily read the poster while he waited for the light to change was what sort of poor excuse for a graphic designer still used Comic Sans. Then the words sank in as he read them again, the light still red.

  Guitarist Wanted for up and coming

  Doom Metal Band in Glasgow.

  Needs to be available immediately

  For rehearsals and live shows.

  Must have knowledge of the genre

  Bonus if you can do vocals as well

  Serious enquiries only.

  Above the clipart was the logo of a band in a generic psychedelic font, with probably an equally generic combination of words like Fuzz, Witch, Bong or Goblin. The overall impression he got of it was so bland that his eyes wandered over the logo without taking in the name. Below the requirements hung a row of perforated strips with a phone number on it for potential applicants to call. He had no need or time to be playing in a second band so he turned his eyes back to the opposite traffic light. Still red.

  Wait…

  Alix spun back to face the poster and tore off one of the number strips. He stared at the numbers on the paper until the light had long since turned green and back to red again. Then he noticed the band logo again. It was a name he recognised, but with the different font it hadn’t clicked before. Riff Wizard. Alix tore down the poster, crumpled it up and threw it into the closest bin, tore the phone from his pocket and stabbed the Call Mac buttons so hard he was surprised the screen didn’t crack.

  “Guitarist FUCKING WANTED?” Alix screamed down the line as soon as Mac answered the phone.

  “Fuck. I can explain Alix,” Mac spoke quickly, a hint of fear entering his voice.

  “Explain what, you piece of shit. Riff Wizard is my band. I hired you! You have no right to be looking for new members, or thinking for even a second that you can kick me out,” Alix yelled, oblivious to the stares the patrons of the Phlegethon were casting his way.

  “Look Alix, we were going to tell you tomorrow. It’s just…we don’t think you fit the band anymore. You stopped smoking because of that girl you’re with, you want us to give up all our free time for practise. It’s just sucked the fun out of it. We just wanted to smoke a joint and have a good time messing about but you’ve changed. After recording an album we just wanted to chill but you are talking about touring and Spotify and vinyl pressings. It feels like we are in a band with our dad.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about Mac? We can’t play tiny venues like Audio for the rest of our lives, a bunch of stoned nobodies with only a few hundred views on YouTube and a half-assed Bandcamp page. Do you know how much money we made at our last gig? We fucking lost money! If that’s how you feel then you can all fuck off and I’ll find some proper musicians to replace you all. I wrote every single fucking riff and lyric on that album. I soldered every custom pedal on both of our boards, which you can give me back now you cheeky bastard. How did you think this was going to go? Did you think I was just going to let you release my album without me?”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “We would have paid you back for the studio-“ Mac started to say but Alix was too enraged to hear him out. He had a mind to turn around and head back to the studio and confront Mac directly. It sounded quiet on his end so he still had to be there. Likely he was trying to convince the staff to send him the masters instead.

  Suddenly he realised why neither of them had wanted to come for a pint. They both knew they were planning on trying to chuck him out of the band. His band. Their stupidity was unfathomable. There was another reason he had wanted to have a drink with them all. A label had shown interest in the demo he had sent them and were interested in checking out the final album. If they liked what they heard, there was potentially a deal in it for them. That had just gone out the window.

  “I’m going to tell you how this is going to go. I’m the one that signed and paid for everything so you can forget about trying to get hold of the masters. I’m going to send the studio an email reminding them of that fact. Then you are going to return all my gear. That includes all the pedals I built for you because you were too cheap to buy yourself a Big Muff.” Alix couldn’t understand it. Mac’s reasoning made no sense. They had all joined the band with the intention of being successful, but by the sounds of it Mac just wanted them to stagnate. Neither him nor Sean had given him that impression before. He hadn’t quit smoking either, just decided to take a break while they were recording to help pay for the session and to help make his days more productive.

  “That’s not fair Alix, Riff Wizard is just as much ours-“ Mac tried to say, but that only infuriated Alix further.

  “You haven’t written a single decent riff in your entire life Mac! If you are thinking writing Merlin’s Beard gives you any sort of credit or claim to the entire band, a song that was going to be a bonus track or B-side at best, then I will just cut it. I tell you what, since you are so unhappy with the band, why don’t I make it easy for you?” Alix heard Mac sigh with relief but he wasn’t done yet. “Since I wrote everything, I will treat you and Sean as studio session musicians. What’s the going rate these days? Two hundred quid per session? Well since you were both so cheap and I had to front the bill myself, we could only afford one session to record the album. I’ll send you and Sean your money and then you can both fuck off.”

  Alix punched the end call button. Suddenly he wasn’t in the mood to go to the pub. He wanted to go home and open a bottle of something stronger. That meant turning around and walking back the way he had come. The traffic on the Phlegethon was just as thick flowing in the opposite direction. Trying to wade through it felt like the ferryman of the damned in a sinking boat with no oar, but his anger kept him pushing forward.

  As Alix walked he called another number on his phone. It seemed to ring for minutes before the call was finally answered.

  “Hey babe, you won’t believe what’s just happened,” Alix said to the female voice on the other end.

  “I’m pretty busy just now Alix, can it wait?” Molly replied in an exasperated tone.

  What the fuck? Alix silently cursed to himself. What the hell was going on with everyone today? “You know what, I’ve just realised that we haven’t spoken on the phone in over two weeks, and that you have been ‘too busy’ to come over for almost a month. Are you going to be free later? I’ve had a very shit day and I really need someone to talk to about it.”

  “That’s great babe, I’m just really swamped just now, I’ve got to go,” Molly said, hanging up before Alix could reply.

  He wanted to call her back or text her that he knew she wasn’t swamped. For the past two years, she had been trying her hand at new things, each one a bigger failure than the last. Despite his best efforts to try and support her, there was only so many MLM and crypto scams he could watch her fall for before he couldn’t do it anymore. Her latest obsession was to become a social media influencer on Instagram and TikTok, coupled with a lifestyle blog. Going by her latest posts, she would be sitting at her parents flat right now taking pictures of, and credit, for the dinner her professional chef of a father had prepared.

  In that moment he realised she wasn’t the one he wanted to be around. There wasn’t any comfort she could provide when she was glued to her phone all the time. She was gorgeous, and funny, and they shared the same tastes in music, films and video games, but now that he thought about it, he realised just how little contact they had recently. He messaged her good morning every day, hoped she had a good day, that he loved her, good night, but he received nothing in reply other than stock ‘k thx’. She liked having him around, but didn’t put in any effort to keep him there. When had everything fallen apart? That morning he had woken up thinking his life was perfect.

  Alix stopped himself from messaging her right then and there breaking it off. There was no point making his foul mood even worse if she didn’t take it well, although going by her lack of effort to keep things going, she probably wouldn’t care.

  It would be best to take a few days to clear his head before making any decisions.

  Get back to the flat, email the studio, message Sean that he’s a spineless bastard, turn off phone, open a bottle of whisky and stick on a good revenge film.

  He would have liked to play the new Switch games he had been waiting months for, the first being Golden Sun 4: The First Djinn, and the second being Final Fantasy Tactics Collection, but just to run salt in the wound, Molly had “accidently” smashed his Switch the last time she was over. Her words at the time echoed in his mind, “it’s just a game machine for kids, grow up”, and his rage returned to boiling point.

  Grey clouds built overhead as the day drew to a close. As he trudged along the street, it began to rain, the sky filling with a heavy downpour that turned the grimy streets even darker. Hoods were raised and the flood down the street became faceless.

  Alix robotically followed the path back home, a route he had taken hundreds of times before, barely taking in his surroundings.

  A mist began to fill the streets, growing thicker as he turned off Argyle onto quieter streets. The exhaustion of the day finally hit him all at once. He felt mentally drained, his bullshit meter maxed out for the month. He never noticed as the mist built and built until he could barely make out the streets around him. Had he taken a wrong turn somewhere?

  There were no landmarks to be seen, no visible shop signs to guide him. There wasn’t even any traffic on the road. When was the last time a car had passed? He couldn’t believe that he had gone the wrong way. Even in his most drunken state, he was almost like a homing missile when it came time to finding his way home. He kept on walking, hoping it was just the weirdly heavy mist messing with his sense of direction. If he hadn’t taken a wrong turn, he should be coming up to his favourite takeaway shop soon. Maybe he would stop and pick up the fattest donner wrap he could get. He hadn’t eaten in hours, and he was planning on doing some heavy drinking later.

  The kebab shop never appeared. The street became endless. The shops had disappeared, replaced by windowless and doorless unwashed sandstone facades to nowhere. Alix had never felt unsafe in the city before, but now he felt utterly lost. A sense of unease gripped him. The streets around him were silent, with no sign of life anywhere. The buildings around him were vague shadows rising above him in the mist. He decided to turn around, sure he must have become distracted in his rage and gone down the wrong street. Goddamn Phlegethon.

  But when he turned, even the shadows of the buildings faded away, the rain stopped, and he was left in a world of endless swirling mist. Even the gum encrusted street beneath him was gone. He should have felt panic, but instead an overwhelming sense of numbness washed over him, like his body was melting away along with all his fears and worries. None of the shit he had just gone through mattered. It was insignificant.

  With the last of his consciousness, he became aware of a black void rushing towards him out of the mist, swallowing up everything in its path. Or was he being drawn towards it? It made no difference. In moments he was consumed by the darkness. As the wave of darkness hit, there was a gut-wrenching sensation of vertigo, then he lost all feeling and became nothing.

  Approximately three hundred and sixty four miles away, Leon drove down the motorway in the Duesenberg SJ Phaeton he had just stolen from his grandfather’s garage. Well, borrowed is the term he like to use. He was going to bring it right back.

  It had once belonged to his great-grandfather, who had imported it from America ninety years previously. Back then, he had grand ideas to recreate the roaring twenties in the English countryside, but he had been too tight fisted to throw any parties. He had died a very rich man, a fortune the family were still living off of to this day, although if his family’s habits didn’t change soon, it wouldn’t last much longer.

  Leon doubted anyone would even notice the car was gone. His grandfather had the beginnings of dementia and lived away in a home, and his father only cared for modern supercars and spent most of his time in his London penthouse, wasting the family fortune on bad stock investments and hedge fund scams. His mother spent the days lounging around their vast mansion, wrapped in furs and watching daytime TV, pillaging his grandfather’s extensive wine collection. He felt like he was the only one that realised these things were their inheritance, and they were squandering them before they had even techinically been given them.

  All he personally cared about was the family mansion and the collection of classic cars stored there before everything fell into complete disrepair, but he knew once his grandfather died, his aunts and uncles would appear out of the woodwork and start demanding the estate be broken up so they can get a slightly larger slice of the pie. He already had a plan for that though.

  Leon’s inheritance, or whatever little of it he hoped not to be scammed out of, meant nothing to him.

  Last weekend he had been out with the boys for a few pints to celebrate the completion of his master’s degree. Stopping at a corner shop for a pack of cigarettes, he spotted the National Lottery sign and asked for a lucky dip ticket as well. He had been so hungover the next day that he forgot about it until he saw his mum watching the draw on the TV. She threw her losing tickets into the open fire and stormed off to drink herself into a gin coma.

  Leon rummaged around in his pockets until he found the crumpled up lucky dip ticket and read the numbers. He read them at least a dozen times, for sure the numbers weren’t matching. It had to be a hallucination. His head was still pounding. It wasn’t until he ran the numbers through the official app that he believed what he was seeing. He had just won the lottery.

  It was the biggest jackpot in UK history, and he had just won it all. As soon as the shock had passed and he realised that he didn’t have to worry about anything, he took the Duesenberg out for a joyride.

  His plan was to buy out the family estate and let the rest of the family waddle back to their dens to squat with their riches, which he doubted would last them more than a few years. If there was one thing his family suffered from, it was an obsession with keeping up appearances even when they couldn’t afford it.

  Then he would carry out the repairs he had been begging his father to pay for. He seemed to be the only one that noticed the collapsing roof and the crumbling chimneys, while his father spent the funds that could have saved the family home on a new flat in the city to hide away his latest mistress. The mansion could become a perpetual source of income in the right hands.

  The way his father treated women had put Leon off the dating scene so he didn’t have to worry about a girlfriend or a wife trying to take half his winnings. He suddenly wished he had someone to spoil, but he was set for life anyway. When he met the right one, he would be able to give them everything they desired.

  The roar of the Duesenberg washed over Leon as his mind raced with what he would be able to buy, where he would be able to go, and what he would be able to do.

  As he drove, suddenly it began to rain.

  Damn, I’ll have to get the Duzy back inside. Rain won’t do the old girl any good.

  Leon was several miles from home, but before he could make it back to the estate, a thick fog rushed quickly out of the woods to envelop him. He let up on the pedal and brought the car to a crawl. He didn’t even know if the car would be repairable if he crashed it in the fog, but with his new resources he could just buy another one. He tried squinting ahead to see the safe turn off to the estate, but all he could see was a black spot on the horizon.

  The blackness grew with terrible speed. Leon had no chance to react, no chance to bring the poor car to a stop before the strange blackness hit him and the world fell away.