A/N: IT LIVES
And should've been posting a piece of this all week...whoops...
So, at the beginning of the month, I had this really ambitious idea to post something every week for the spookiest month of the year. I was so excited to do it that I wrote a whole story!
...and, like, nothing else.
But in my defense...okay, I have none. I was playing Hypixel and scrambling with school and SATs and whatever. No excuses.
I can fix it, though!
Since this is a five-part fic, and it's already all written up, I've decided to do an all-day posting spree! That's right; you're gonna get all five chapters of this fic, AND I'll be hanging by my laptop (till I leave for trick-or-treating because I am a literal child) to answer any questions, accept story ideas, or just chat! So stay tuned for spooks and scares!
(No, seriously, I PROMISE this Weeping Angel fic is better than my other one. Pinky promise.)
Enjoy!
(Also, one last side-note, this is a kind of AU where Emma kinda got adopted into the Xavier crazy clan, Erik decides NOT to be an idiot, and Charles and Erik continue their recruiting. I have another story that I will - hopefully - post in a week that sorta clarifies everything. Okay, I'm done - on you go!)
The phone call itself had been a little strange, admittedly, but Charles wasn't known for his suspicion. That was Erik's job, and, frankly, it made them a very effective duo. That was why it was Charles and Erik were both outside a Victorian-esque manor in upstate Maine. Charles, used to New York winters, was actually cold. Erik, being Erik, didn't show that he minded at all.
"Charming," Erik remarked dryly, raising an eyebrow as he scrutinized the decrepit grounds. Charles gave him friend his characteristic amused yet wearied smile and led the way in.
The grounds themselves were overrun. Weeds and vines crawled up anything higher than a foot and strangled it, the grass was tall and ragged, the iron fence was rusted and bending unnaturally, the once-intricate stone supports were crumbling, and it looked, for all appearances, that no-one had lived here in nigh on a century. "It's not a projection," Charles said, looking around. "I don't sense any mental manipulation here."
"Charles, look at that statue." Erik nodded at the graceful, mourning angel, standing in the middle of the left side of the grounds in front of the house. Erik stopped where he was, but Charles took a couple of curious steps toward it. "Don't."
"Erik, it's just a statue," Charles replied with a chuckle. "What's it going to do, eat me?"
"Don't you see it?" Charles looked back at his friend, jovial expression falling to match Erik's more concerned one. "Everything else here has been left to ruin, except that statue. Why?"
"Family heirloom? A tradition or superstition, perhaps," Charles answered matter-of-factly. Erik shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. "Let's just go inside, then," Charles added, placing a friendly hand on Erik's back as they both walked to the door.
They didn't notice the statue had moved just a little closer.