:O What is this? Two updates in 24 hours? Yes, you are all blessed!

(I started writing the last chapter a week ago but I had a day off and got it done in three days.)

"Arthur!" both Alfred and Francis shouted.

Realising that they weren't going to do as he'd told them, Arthur grabbed hold of the leg of the bench. He had to make sure they left and, if they didn't, he needed to be in the room in case they got into trouble. Otherwise, he would let these things drag him far away so he wouldn't bother either of them ever again. Squinting up at the window, trying to ignore the pain, Arthur tried to make out what they were doing. However, their figures cast shadows and had plunged the room into a deeper darkness.

Obviously, though, they did not intend to leave the grounds.

Frustrated, Arthur tried to pull himself towards them, tried to catch his breath to shout at them. The things in the shadows were far stronger than him; he began to be pulled towards the door regardless of the heavy bench he clung to. It dragged along the ground, screeching in Arthur's ears. Wincing, he changed his tactic and reached up for the arm instead. Catching hold of it, he pulled himself upwards – and was immediately brought crashing to the ground once again as the creatures pulled him away before he had enough leverage to form a resistance. He cried out, ignoring the giggling surrounding him as they pulled him away from the bench.

Letting himself be dragged for the moment, he looked up to see one of his friends with their legs dangling inside the room. Frustrated, Arthur yelled at them. "No! Idiots! Get out of here!"

"Hang in there, Artie!" Alfred replied, completely ignoring him.

"Don't you dare be a hero!" Arthur snapped, grabbing hold of the door-frame once he had been dragged through the splintered remains of the door. He pulled himself back towards the room and was alarmed to see the shadow of someone standing in the room. "No-!" he managed before a more powerful tug sent him flying away and around the corner. He was barely on the ground, almost flying with the force and pull of the creatures. Every so often, he hit the stone floor, hurting his shins and elbows and chin.

Then the force disappeared and he dropped in the middle of the corridor. Something clinked as he shifted, wondering what had happened. Where had the creatures gone? Arthur grimaced as he felt the phantom touch of their shadowy tendrils around his ankles. He struggled onto his hands and knees, blinking in the darkness.

Except, as he waited for something to happen, he realised that he could see the outline of doors along the corridor. As well as that, he could see that the clinking noise had come from an abandoned knife. The light was so dim that he couldn't tell whether it was silver or iron so he checked his belt, wondering if his second knife was still there. Since it was, he reached out and picked the knife up.

A slippery substance on the hilt made him drop it with a clatter.

Freezing, Arthur turned his head to the right, hoping that what he thought might be there wasn't. Of course, with all that happened that night, he really shouldn't have expected anything else. For there, eyes wide, lay Lovino. Beside him, the dropped candelabra lay on its side, the guttering candle barely alight. It lent its flickering light to the gruesome scene: all along Lovino's body were bloody, horrible, huge holes. Some of his bones appeared to be broken.

It seemed that Lovino had had just as torturous a death as his brother.

Putting a hand to his mouth, Arthur swallowed, trying not to make a noise – if the things had lost track of him, they may come back if he made a sound. Slowly, Arthur pushed himself to his feet, careful of the pools of blood he could now see. Gently, carefully, he picked up the candelabra. As he righted it, he realised that he was running out of light and running out of time. He had to get back to the room with the window before the other two tried to save him.

One step back the way he came: that was all he took before the phantom force pulled him backwards again. The feeling of the tendrils had clearly been where they rested, waiting for him to see his dead friend, waiting to torture him. Once again, he toppled over but, this time, he landed not only on the stone floor but also in the puddles of blood. Unable to stop himself, he screamed at the feeling of Lovino's blood smearing his face and hands and clothes.

Somehow, even through his disgust and pain, he held onto the candelabra. Gripping it tightly, he tried to twist himself as he was dragged along the ground. Holding the light aloft, he was able to see the tendrils snaking back along the corridor. What they belonged to, however, was hidden at the moment. Annoyed, he waved the light source, hoping it would disperse them. When nothing happened, he gave a defeated sigh which turned into a grunt as he was pulled along. It looked as though they were unafraid of light, despite being shadows.

Then he remembered what the candelabra appeared to be made of. He hoped he was right for, if it was some other sort of metal, he doubted it would work. Before he could think on it further, Arthur aimed for one of the tendrils and swiped at it with the candelabra. There was a barely audible shriek and the tendril dissipated, though the one attached to his other ankle remained. It continued to pull as Arthur shifted his free leg away from the creatures: Arthur ended up on one knee, his other leg pulled at a painful angle.

Groaning, Arthur used his leverage in an attempt to pull himself free. The thing was strong, though, and he was barely able to move his leg. When he tried to use the same trick as before, the tendril of darkness shifted but held on, the shadows swirling out of the way of the weapon. He kept swiping, however, as he pulled and soon realised that, due to its avoidance of the iron, the powerfully strong force pulling at him had lessened. Using all his strength, Arthur put his free foot under him and struggled to rise, in danger of toppling over.

Suddenly, as if a veil had been lifted and he could see, he heard shouts from the escape route. Were Alfred and Francis still there? Why hadn't they done as he told him? Or were those shouts from the creatures, intent on luring him to his doom? He was so distracted by the new development that he lost his balance and almost fell. As he threw out his hands to stop himself, he almost dropped the candelabra. In the same instant, he felt something wrap around his free ankle again. Before he could do anything to stop it, he was tugged by both shadowy tendrils and he fell, hard, on his face once again. His already precarious grip on the candelabra failed and it flew from his grasp, the harsh movements extinguishing the faltering flame.

Arthur was plunged into darkness.

As soon as he was, he felt things grip at him, at his arms, at his hair, at his clothes, at his legs, tugging him everywhere and in one direction. He cried out in surprise and fear and tried to rise to his hands and knees. If he could crawl away, he reasoned, he'd be able to get away. But the grips tightened and they pulled more harshly; he yelled in pain, tears falling down his face. The creatures seemed to like that, laughing in his ears. He thought he could feel something licking at his cheeks and he shuddered.

"Artie!"

"Come play with us!"

"Ring-a-ring o' roses..."

"Leave me alone!" Arthur screamed, still struggling against them.

"You're no fun."

"Meanie!"

"Come play, come play!"

"A pocketful of posies!"

"I said-!" Arthur growled, pulling away from the things holding one of his arms. It only served to allow the grips on his other arm to tighten their grasp. However, as he shifted, he realised that there were no hands or tendrils holding onto his waist. He remembered his belt and the knife still tucked there. Shifting again, Arthur began to pull his arms away, trying to reach his belt. However, he barely got a few inches before his arms were abruptly pulled to either side. It was such a forceful action that he winced at the pain.

"A-tishoo! A-tishoo!"

"If you won't come play..."

"Artie, Artie!"

"We'll-"

Someone roared and, suddenly, the things released him. He collapsed to the floor at the abrupt release, barely catching himself in time to stop himself hitting his chin once again. Above him, he heard the swishing of something being waved through the air and he blinked a few times, wondering what was going on now. As he did so, he suddenly realised that he could see again and that he was facing the broken barricade at the main door. Looking up, he gaped at the sight of his saviours: Francis held the remaining candelabra and Alfred was swiping at unnatural shadows with the poker.

Pushing himself up to a kneeling position, Arthur watched in awe as Alfred fought off the shadows that had been dragging him away. Beside him, Francis looked equally impressive, batting away a few threatening tendrils with the shovel as they tried to attack him and his light. Once they had beaten them back to the door, Alfred and Francis turned back to Arthur and hurried towards him.

"What are you doing here?!" Arthur exclaimed, remembering his orders at the window. "I told you to leave!"

"Never mind that!" Francis snapped, dropping the shovel and grabbing Arthur's right arm. Alfred grabbed his other arm and they lifted him, starting to half-carry, half-drag Arthur backwards and away from the barricade. "Let's just get out of here!"

"If we're fast enough, we can all get out before they come back," Alfred said, rather optimistically, in Arthur's opinion. He still brandished the poker and was swiping at the shadows, both normal and unnatural, all of them dancing in the candlelight. Arthur felt that saying that voicing Alfred's belief that they'd escape was destined to make their venture fail but he kept that opinion to himself.

As they hurried around the corner, Arthur decided he would rather run himself than hamper his friends' movements. He jerked his arms and, miraculously, Alfred and Francis realised what he wanted. They let go and Arthur turned to run, stumbling a little with a wince: his ankles hurt from the pressure of the things' grips. Not sure how long he could keep running, Arthur took longer strides. Alfred and Francis stuck close to him, both of them panting.

Behind them, Arthur could hear an odd slithering sound. It was like something was brushing through foliage. Arthur didn't dare look back lest he stumble and have those things all over him again. They continued on until, finally, they reached the room with the window.

Here, Arthur slowed to a stop, letting his friends hurry forward a few stops. When they noticed he was gone, they spun, eyes wide. Arthur looked at them, prepared to order them through the window. But they didn't argue: Alfred grabbed Francis's arm and pulled him to the window where he pushed him up until Francis could crawl out. Then he climbed up and crawled forward a few inches. Alfred turned to him and, wordlessly, held out his hand.

Relieved, Arthur ran the short distance between them, jumped and grabbed Alfred's hand. Arthur winced as the cuts on his hands protested but he held Alfred's hand tightly. The American wasted no time in pulling him through, collapsing back on the grass beyond. Arthur collapsed on top of him, amazed that he was in the fresh air. He breathed deeply, the fact that the three of them had escaped the house sinking in slowly. Huffing and puffing, he slowly rolled off of Alfred so that he lay on his back, able to see the stars above.

A laugh escaped him, joyous and relieved.

The house roared in protest.

"Shit," he murmured and scrambled to his feet. "We need to get away from here."

"Right," said Alfred, getting to his feet.

"Where will we be safe?" Francis asked, still trying to catch his breath.

"Beyond the hedges," Arthur replied, pointing towards a dark barrier in the distance.

"More running?" asked Alfred, frowning.

"Yeah."

"Let's go, then."

They started off, running as fast as they could towards it. Fear lent Arthur strength to carry on, the end in sight. They'd be free soon. It would all be over.

Laughter from behind him made him stumble a little but he caught himself and continued onwards. That eerie sound had almost made him freeze. The three of them picked up the pace. Their progress seemed too slow and Arthur was beginning to fear that this was all an illusion, Alfred and Francis were already dead, they were 'playing' with him-

He chanced a glance behind them and cried out in horror.

The shadows that had plagued him throughout his time in the house were reaching for them. It appeared to Arthur as though the house had grown a hand, its fingers spread as it followed them. All of that darkness came flying across the garden; Arthur was sure they would reach the trio before they could get to the hedges.

Stumbling, he almost fell but Alfred must have heard him for he grabbed Arthur's arm and pulled him upright. They rushed onwards, the hedge seemingly closer than they were the last time Arthur had looked. Alfred kept his grip on Arthur as they ran, as if he feared the next time Arthur stumbled he would fall and be caught. On his other side, Francis was clutching at his side, puffing far too much. Arthur prayed he wouldn't fall behind.

Thankfully, they soon reached the towering hedge. As they came up to it, Alfred released Arthur's arm. Startled, Arthur almost staggered into Francis's path. He managed to keep running in a straight line and was soon only a few steps from the foliage when he felt something on his back. There were two points of pressure – one in the middle of his shoulder blades and one at the small of his back. Glancing back, he realised that Alfred and Francis had their hands on his back. Before he could question their actions, they pushed him, sending him flying into the hedge and through the first few branches. They scratched him as he stumbled through, righting himself to find himself imprisoned in a mass of leaves and twigs.

Behind him, the crashing progress of Alfred and Francis indicated that they'd both made it into the hedge as well. Arthur inhaled deeply but paused, realising they weren't out of the woods yet. After all, the hedges were on the grounds of the estate and, if they could follow them over the lawn, they could probably attack them in the hedges.

Arthur began to push his way through the hedges, more of the twigs and branches scratching him. He kept pushing forwards, however, merely closing his eyes in case they'd be poked out. Rustling sounds were all around him and he started to doubt that closing his eyes was a good idea: what could possibly be moving around in front of him? Soon, Arthur was sure he could hear giggling coming from all around. But was it real or was he just panicking and imagining things?

All of a sudden, his hands stopped encountering branches, the chill air hitting them almost making him recoil back towards the creatures stalking them. Instead, he shouldered his way through and fell out of the hedge on the other side. He looked up to check he hadn't gotten turned around and was relieved to see a mirroring hedge across from him, bordering a road which ran out of sight to his left and right. Sighing in relief, he stayed kneeling on the ground, recovering his breath.

Muffled noises from behind him alerted Arthur to the fact that his friends were nowhere in sight. Gasping, he shot to his feet and spun around, half-expecting his friends' bodies to drop from the hedge. Instead, he spotted two right arms sticking out of the hedge, shifting constantly as if their owners were struggling with something but refusing to retract their arms. Arthur stared, wide-eyed, for a moment. A muffled cry he recognised as Alfred sent him leaping into action, shooting across the space.

Grabbing both of their forearms in a firm grip, Arthur adjusted his position, preparing to pull. Both arms twisted, perhaps trying to break away, until they suddenly latched onto him. With a nod to himself, Arthur dug in his heels and hauled at the arms. Almost instantly, both his friends came flying out of the hedge. Arthur barely had time to register their ragged shirts before they were upon him. All three of them fell onto the road in a heap, Alfred and Francis pinning Arthur there.

For some moments, the three of them breathed deeply (Arthur having some trouble from the combined weight of his friends), taking in their sudden change in situation. There was a silence, broken only by the wind gently rustling the hedges. Something wet dripped onto Arthur's cheek and broke the spell. With a loud, relieved laugh, Arthur started to sit up. Alfred and Francis rose to their knees, staring at Arthur as though he was the Messiah.

"We're free!" Arthur declared. "We got out! We're safe!"

Alfred immediately burst into tears and threw his arms around Arthur. Since Alfred was hogging Arthur's entire body, Francis made do with grabbing Arthur's right hand in both of his and clinging to it tightly, as if he intended to never let it go again. They stayed like that for some time, nothing to disturb them: Arthur grinned so much his cheeks hurt; his sweater got soaked in Alfred's tears; Francis stared up at the stars. Despite his smile, Arthur spotted what had dripped on him – Francis's face and hands had deep cuts sliced into him, probably much like Arthur's own scratches from the hedge – only much deeper. Arthur had the feeling that Alfred was in much the same way. That realisation both sobered and exhausted him.

Everything was over. They had nothing to fear.

Beeping and chirping noises started up and Arthur gave a yell in fright, his heart hammering. Francis retracted one of his hands, though, and quickly soothed Arthur. "It's only our phones. We must be getting a signal now." He reached into his pocket and pulled his out.

"Great!" Alfred declared, pulling away and rubbing at his eyes. "We can call for... for..." He trailed off, obviously not sure who he should be phoning first.

"Someone to fix our cars," Arthur mumbled, tiredly. "Or one of them, at least."

"No," Francis answered them, already pressing the call button. "I'm calling for an ambulance. And the police, of course. We need to stop this happening to anyone else..."

"Wait..." Arthur began but he was too late. The operator answered Francis's call and he ignored both Arthur and Alfred to explain what he needed. Arthur's heart sank and he slumped against Alfred, letting the American hold him upright as they waited for someone to turn up.

He wasn't sure talking to the police was a good idea...

"Hello. What's your name, son?" said a policeman who squatted down next to Arthur.

Keeping his arms wrapped around his legs, Arthur turned his tear-stained face to the man. "Arthur Kirkland," he told him.

"All right, Arthur. Could you tell me what happened inside the house?"

Nodding, Arthur launched into his explanation. As he continued, more tears fell and he hugged his knees more tightly. At one point, he broke down and cried for a while till he calmed down enough to go on, the policeman rubbing his back all the while. Finally, he described his escape and how he had almost been run over. When he finished, he looked up at the man, hoping to find comfort and someone who knew what to do.

His eyes widened.

It was clear the policeman didn't believe him.

"All right, son," said the man, patting Arthur on the head. "I'm going to call your parents, get them to come up and get you. I'll find someone to sit with you, okay?"

Slowly, Arthur nodded, stunned that someone who could so easily save other people would dismiss what he had said...

The red and blue lights were blinding after the darkness of the house. From his position at the back of an ambulance, Arthur watched both paramedics and police officers move to and fro as a young woman put the last touches to a patch of gauze she was attaching to his chin. She seemed to sense he didn't want to speak and didn't try to engage him.

Once she had left, Arthur pulled the blanket tighter around himself with his bandaged hands. He still wasn't quite willing to believe he'd made it out – and with two friend, no less! However, he was exhausted and he wasn't looking forward to the interrogation. The police had already been inside the house and, just like last time, they weren't locked inside or killed. They'd found the various bodies and forensic scientists were stalking around, taking pictures. Arthur had already had to endure pictures being taken of his wounds.

Glancing to his left, Arthur watched the patched up Francis and Alfred talking with the local sheriff and his deputy. At least, Arthur presumed he was a deputy. Both of them had their hands placed on their belts, within easy reach of their guns. And both of them were studying Alfred and Francis with strange expressions. Arthur recognised them.

Disbelief.

It was happening all over again. No-one would believe them. They'd contact his parents. He'd have to see a therapist. But, this time, they wouldn't be able to make him agree to forgetting. He was determined to remember.

But he didn't need to be believed.

Eyeing the police officers, he wished he didn't need to be interrogated. He didn't want to relive the past few hours. He didn't want to see his friends die in his mind's eye. He didn't want to hear phantom giggles. He didn't want to – couldn't – do this.

All Arthur wanted to do was go home.

All Arthur wanted to do was leave and never look back.

On the verge of panicking, Arthur wondered why he couldn't do just that. Clearly, Francis and Alfred were telling the police everything. His testimony wouldn't be any different. There was no need to make him repeat it. Why should he stick around?

Even though he hated what he was thinking of doing, Arthur knew that Francis and Alfred would be safe. After all, he wouldn't be with them to put them in danger. That's right: the things could come back for him. He had to leave. And he had to leave now, before anyone noticed.

So he slipped from the ambulance and landed lightly on his feet, wincing a little at the pain in his ankles. Apparently, they were merely bruised: it felt much more painful than 'mere' bruising. Wrapping the blanket more tightly around him, Arthur waited until the red and blue lights had passed over him once. Then he darted into the shadows of a second ambulance, circling around. Finally, he made it to a clear patch of road and, orienting himself, he set off, back towards the crossroads they had passed earlier in the night.

The stars watched over his lonely trek as he slipped away. No-one noticed. And, finally, he was free.

As free as he could be with his memories.

Fin!

Well. Kind of.

See, I decided ages ago that I'd make a sequel! So look out for Shadow House 2: The Reckoning being posted soon. Like, probably within a week. Happy early Halloween!