A nightmare. It had to be a nightmare. This couldn't be happening to him again.

Arthur's right hand was no longer his own. It was covered in bark from the tree. Half a second later, so was his arm. It spread faster than the demon in the cave had, as fast as the heartbeat pumping blood through his body. Tiny tendrils on the underside of the bark shot through his clothing and skin, twining with his nerves. He couldn't pull away.

In the time it took to register the pain from the thorn in his hand, barkskin engulfed his chest, spreading out in all directions. By the time he drew in breath to scream, it wrapped around his lips and surged into his mouth, choking him off.

Going to die!

A pause. Something hesitated at his desperate thought. It didn't want to kill him. The bark stopped growing down his throat. The barkskin in his mouth broke apart. The hold on his nerves relented for a moment. He curled over, vomiting. Chunks of wood came up with the bile in his stomach.

Please. Please. Please. He couldn't bring any other words to mind, there was only terror. Please. Not again. Please.

Anger was the answer. Bitter, futile rage finally given form. His body doubled over of its own accord, knuckling forward like some deranged gorilla. Anywhere he looked down, his body was covered in wood. His arms were twice as long, like great branches curled at the ends that swung the rest of him forward. He was going somewhere. He was going to end it. Finally, he had the power to end... something.

But this was not like last time. Before, Arthur had been shoved aside as the demon in the cave shrugged his arm on like his body was a coat to be worn. It had had no interest in listening to him.

Whatever had taken his body over this time, its attention was partly on him. It was forcing him to move, but it was also constantly checking its power, keeping itself from growing into his vitals.

He struggled with his thoughts. They had scattered like a bag of greased marbles hurled across a room. He had to communicate! Desperate, he seized on his first related thought.

Like Yettle?

His body slowed. His gnarled fingers gripped the top of a tall fence, preparing to hurl him over the top at a moment's notice. Yet, once again, it paused. The presence probed him. It was rough, but not careless. It had its own questions. It wanted to know why Arthur could hear it before making physical contact. It wanted to know why sap already ran through his veins. Yettle? It wondered how Arthur came by such friendship with a reclusive elder tree that he had been entrusted with her name.

But these were smaller questions, quickly swept aside by a hate-filled scream that traveled in from his nerves and burst out of his mouth. This one's trunk was already hollow with rot from roots to tip. It had been dying slowly for decade, and none who could take action ever heard it. That damned poisonous curse was spawning again. It had to be stopped. No more, no more! Even if blood had to be shed, this time the curse would be uprooted.

He vaulted over the fence and landed on the other side. There was that swing, that piece of idiocy the family hung at the edge of a cliff and never took down even after a child of theirs died there. On the other side of it, his hand still on the picket fence that lead to the graves, stood the last living child of the family, frozen in place.

There. A bulging, ebony serpent coiled around the boy's chest, its head lolling on his shoulder. It was as thick as a man's arm and had tiny, needle-like legs all along its body, like a millipede. The legs dug into the child, anchoring the body in place. The curse had already taken root.

Arthur crossed the space between him and the boy in a heartbeat, swatting the flimsy swing aside and splintering the board. The boy never moved. Arthur's body raised great, gnarled fists over the boy's head as Arthur caught up with the tree's intention.

NO! NOT AGAIN!

The fists unfolded partway down, turning into branch-like hands that knocked the boy prone and pinned him against the ground.

The child had to die. He came back to this place. He practically invited the curse!

There has to be another way! Lewis' face flashed through Arthur's mind, frightened and confused and falling. Don't do this! Don't make me do this! You're no demon—listen to me!

"Arthur!" Vivi's voice broke through, followed by a familiar growl. The sound of her voice was like salt on a wound. For a moment, the boy vanished from their consciousness altogether. Arthur and the family tree shared an old injury and it was aflame, scraped raw in two directions.

Mystery cleared the fence and landed close by. Vivi straddled his back and clung to his mane with one hand, clutching a shining baseball bat in the other. Now Mystery crouched, circling toward Arthur. Arthur turned and slammed his fists into the earth near Mystery's paws, forming two craters. Mystery splayed his legs out for balance as the ground shook.

"Release Arthur, old one," Mystery snarled. "We do not wish to harm you, but you have taken what is ours. Your offense is great. Release him!"

Arthur's mouth opened up and the body-rattling screech left his mouth again. This time, it was also his. He pointed one shaking arm up at Mystery's rider, giving words to the incoherent rage. "You. Do. Not. Listen."

Vivi's expression contorted. She slid down to the ground and gripped her bat tight. "First, let Arthur go. I can't listen to you while you're threatening two—"

"YOU. NEVER. LISTEN."

Vivi looked like she'd been clubbed in the face with her own bat. Mystery's eyes narrowed as he asked, slowly, "Arthur?"

"WHY? DON'T? YOU? EVER? LISTEN? TO ME?" They screamed together, swinging the accusatory finger from Vivi back to the child.

As he turned, Arthur saw the snake that coiled around the child had lifted its head up to to the child's ear. It pressed lovingly against his cheek, whispering to him, its black little needle-legs sinking deep into the child's neck.

"RIGHT! NOW!" Arthur howled. "Right! Now! It speaks. To you. It says. This is it! This is your death. It is grand. Like. The stories. That. Everyone in your family. Left you. It is more magical. Than any. Stories before. Legend! You will be. Buried in the ground. With them. You will be. Remembered. By all."

The boy lying on the ground was deathly white.

Vivi's voice cracked as she asked, "Christopher, did you just hear something? Besides him?"

Christopher didn't stand up and his eyes never left Arthur. He shook his head quickly, but his mouth opened and closed. Arthur's eyes narrowed. They could wait just a little longer. They, unlike everyone around them, could listen.

"I… you… you know what I'm thinking," Christopher squeaked out.

"These. Are not. Thoughts. They are whispers. Masquerading. As your own. Mind." Arthur pressed his hand down on the boy's chest once again. "You. Returned. You should. Never. Have. Come back. The curse. It is on you. It feeds. Anew. Because you. Came. Back."

DON'T KILL HIM!

Arthur's mouth twisted around the tree's response. "HOW ELSE? Every! Generation! They brought the past. With them. A whole house. Across the. Great water. I saw it. Sink. A chance to. Leave it behind! Instead she. The only woman who. Lived to. Turn gray. She invited it. To the new home. Fed it. Believed in it! Worshipped it!"

Christopher was transfixed. "You… you mean Great Grandma Edie?"

"Your family! Created! This! It whispers. To each. 'What is. The harm? You know. The future. Is short. Be. Reckless. Take. Great risks. For little. Gain. Do not bother. To seek out. Life for yourself. Away from the family. Do not. Start fresh. It will only. Sink. There is no point. You will die. It is nobody's. Fault. That someone died.' Never. Your responsibility. It is all. Just. The. Curse. It says. 'I am your. Friend. I am comfortable. Familiar. I absolve! You! Believe in me. Produce heirs. And die.' "

Keeping Christopher trapped with one hand, Arthur turned and pointed his other hand at the house. What had only been a sour presence at the edge of his perception now filled his vision. A great, bloated serpent coiled around the mansion, now bursting out of one window and entering through another. Now spilling out of a balcony and then coiling around a gabled roof. Its tail trailed through the cemetery and its head rested at the top of the house's left-hand spire. Some of its coils wrapped around the great tree that supported the spire, gripping it tight. Choking the tree. It watched them with a single milky eye, half-lidded.

"Can? You? See?" He rasped. "You believe it. So much. Your family. Then you. You come back. Read the stories. Record more stories. Feed it. It. Kills. You. It. Kills. Me."

"No," Christopher whispered, trembling under Arthur's hand. "I don't see anything. But you know! I told her, Miss Vivi, not you, but you know. How do I fight it? You have to tell me!" The boy's good hand came around, gripping Arthur's wrist. "I don't want to die like them!"

Arthur fought to keep himself from crushing Christopher right then. "But. You. Do. A part. Of you. Wants the same end. And. Believes just as much. Or you would. Not have come. Or it would. Not have. Taken hold."

"What do I do?!"

"Die now. Make no. More heirs. For it to consume. And discard. Let the curse. Die. With us."

Arthur struggled against the tree's hold as Vivi shouted, "That can't be the answer! Give us time, we'll figure something else out!"

"More time. For the curse. To adapt? To draw in. More belief?"

You don't want to kill anyone! Arthur hurled his thoughts at the tree. I've seen it! You embraced this house, you held it up! You loved to watch the little ones. You grieved at every death! You tried to warn them as the curse choked you, too. You screamed for them to hear you!

He leaned toward Christopher, studying the boy's face. "No. I do not. Want this. But. I do not. See better ways. He could not. Stop. Believing now. Even if. He wanted to."

"So you're going to punish him for your mistake?" Vivi challenged. "You pop out and scare him into belief so hard he can't shake it, then you kill him? What kind of trap—"

Arthur and the tree turned, roaring at her. "STOP. SPEAKING."

She took a step back, shaken. Mystery edged in front of her, his posture tense but no longer hostile. "Vivi, it wasn't a trap. If our friend, Christopher, had continued to come back here, he would have perpetuated the curse to the next generation. Either way, he will meet an untimely end. Old one, you are trying to make it so that there is never a next time, correct?"

Sorrow dampened the edges of the rage. Someone was listening. Arthur let out a sigh like a gale through stripped branches. "Yes."

Mystery crouched, but Arthur did not sense an attack in his posture. Instead, he inched forward, cautious as a cat in his approach. His tails swept from side to side in gentle, wide strokes. He spoke gently. "Old one, please. Is Arthur well?"

"Well. Enough. He will not. Die. He gives me. Voice. When I am. Gone. He will be. Whole."

"Thank you, old one," Mystery said, still soft as his own footfalls. "He is dear to us, as this family has been dear to you."

Arthur's mouth made a sound like a wounded animal and like a great tree cracking in half down the length of its trunk.

Mystery stopped next to Arthur, lightly resting his chin on the arm that pinned Christopher to the ground. "Old one, you are not killing him, but you are hurting our friend. He has been forced to do such things before. You must see it in him."

"I. See."

"Old one, does the curse have power to move outsiders?"

"No."

"Does the curse force anyone to act?"

"No. It only. Whispers. It is. A powerful. Parasite."

"Then we are in no danger from it. Please, old one, may we talk? What harm can there be? If we cannot find another way, we delay your task a little while longer. But maybe we can find another way, and you will not have to destroy this life."

The anger dimmed further. This child was all that was left. Why did it have to be this way? "Child. Why. Did. You. Come. Back?" The question was saturated with grief. "One child before. Knew. The dangers. And left. And never. Ever. Came back. Why. Didn't. You. Do so?"

Christopher's eyes couldn't get any wider. "Uncle Milton?"

"He. Knew."

Mystery's ears swiveled. "So, there are ways?"

"He left. Took nothing at all. I heard him. Whisper. He would even. Leave behind. His name."

Mystery lifted a paw and placed it on Arthur's arm, alongside his own muzzle. "When he left, was the curse on him?"

"Yes. But it. Was struggling. Thinner. It seemed. Desperate. Dying. I do not. Know how. His story. Went."

Mystery exhaled slowly. "Old one, listen to your own words. There is a way to spare the child."

"But I. Cannot be sure. It will die. If I let. Him go. Perhaps I allow. More suffering. Perhaps he will. Not do. What needs. To be done."

Christopher trembled like a leaf on the ground. "I'm just a kid. I'm just… you want me to run away? With nothing?! Nobody knows what happened to Uncle Milton, for all I know he got kidnapped the day after he left! Or broke a leg and died in the forest! What's going to happen to me?"

You want him to live. You want it so badly, you'd risk it as long as he does his utmost to leave it all behind.

Arthur gave a low, creaking groan. "Child. Listen. Then think. Then answer. How far. Would you go. To be rid. Of the curse? What efforts? What dangers? How quickly? Think."

Gulping, Christopher shut his eyes, screwing up his face in concentration.

The serpent at his ear whispered ever more frantically.

Arthur countered the rising urge to end it right now.

Mystery kept his chin along Arthur's arm, pressing his paw against it.

Vivi stood back, the tip of her bat resting on the ground. Silent.

Christopher's voice cracked as he answered, "I'm having trouble… thinking. I can't do… can't make a runaway plan… it's hard to think!" He hauled in another breath. "But! I'll figure it out! I'll run… away… and I'll never come back. I won't take anything from it. I'll…" he turned his head to the house. "… I'll burn it down!"

Arthur's lungs slowly emptied. The anger burnt itself out, and he felt every inch of the tree's hollowness in his own chest. "Yes. That. Is what. I hoped. To hear."

"He can't." Vivi spoke up. "Even if it's his house now, he might end up in juvenile hall if they catch him."

Panicking, Christopher blurted, "I don't care! If they lock me up, that'll get me away from all this too, right?"

"Wait, you don't have to." Vivi walked over and squatted next to Christopher. "We know a guy… someone who can burn it all down and they'll never be able to trace him. You hired the Mystery Skulls for this job, right? Well. The Mystery Skulls will finish it, as per your instructions. Consider us the match you're using." She turned to Arthur. "As good as if Christopher did it himself, right?"

"Yes. Good. Enough."

A sound like a line of swords sliding over stone filled Arthur's ears. He turned to see the great serpent around the house shifting. It raised its head, its eyes wide open and fixed on them.

He lifted his hand, dragging Christopher to his feet. "Child. I wish. I could have. Spoken. To you. Without this. I wish. It were. Different. But you must. Leave. All of. You. The curse knows. What you intend. It will be. Hard enough. To fight the. Small one. Upon you. Impossible to. Resist the drag. Of the great one." He set Christopher on Mystery's back, then seized Vivi and set her there also. "Go. Never. Look. Back. No sentiments. For. Old disaster."

Christopher leaned forward, mutely holding out a worn old notebook. His face spasmed as the serpent at his ear began to shrill, but he kept his good arm outstretched.

A weak, sputtering hope kindled in the old tree as Arthur took the notebook from the boy's hand. It had the words Edith Finch in softly looped letters on the front. He curled his hand around the book of the most recently dead. "Go. Young pup. Return for your. Friend. He will be. Too weak. For speed."

Mystery dipped his head once, then bounded up and over the fence, bearing his passengers away.

The great serpent stared down at Arthur. It did not speak and he could not sense its thoughts or feelings, but its attention was fixed on him. Its coils tightened around the great trunk holding up the house, and it felt as though Arthur's bones ground against each other.

The old tree sighed, tiredly. "I have. Ill-used. One who. Might have been. A friend. Grant me. A few more. Minutes. Lend me. Your strength. Then I will. Leave you."

What now?

"Stone. Will not. Burn." Arthur turned toward the graveyard, propelling himself down the trail. By the time he reached the cemetery, he and the tree acted as one. The weight of their fists came down on the pet monuments first, cracking the doghouse in half and crumbling the smaller headstones like chalk. With their feet, they swept the tiny picket-sign markers for smaller pets aside, scattering them in all directions.

When he turned to the second section, where the first layer of the family lay, the serpent was already there. Its head filled the space, blocking his way. Arthurs bones began to scream, and his breath came in shorter gasps.

The tree laughed, a hoarse, earthy sound. "You. Can do. Nothing more. To me. And this one. Was never. Yours." Their body swung forward, passing through the serpent's head. He wrapped his long, thick fingers around the first headstone he saw, one with a spaceship creatively suspended from the top, and dragged it out of its socket like a rotten tooth. Hauling it up over his head, he cracked it across the neighboring headstone, shattering both at once. Again, he wrenched one free and brought it down on its neighbor, and again until nothing but unreadable fragments lay scattered about the second circle.

He passed the two-part monument to the sunken house without a glance and entered the final circle of graves. The face of each member of the family flashed through his mind as he shattered their markers and threw the remains over the cliff. Only when every headstone was broken did he return to the great pair of stone statues depicting a married couple in a boat across from a man atop a sinking house.

The tree's strength faltered. He stumbled, catching himself on a spyglass pointed out to sea. His blood pumped sluggishly, and he gasped out tiny breaths of air.

Not yet. We are not finished yet!

Once again, the serpent blocked the way. This time it lunged at him, stopping just short of his face with its jaws flung wide, fangs gleaming. It hissed like a hail of knives, bunching up its coils on all sides of the path to loom over them. On the far side of the house, the great tree gave a great creak under the serpent's tightening grip.

Arthur leaned forward on weary knuckles, staring down the inky maw. "You. Have nothing. Over me. Nothing. To threaten. Me with. Nothing to offer. Today I die. Soon you starve. But. First."

We have something to finish.

Once again, he passed through the serpent as if it were merely fog. He stared at the final monument, fatigue seeping through his limbs. "I trust. Your friend. To take care of. The rest. I have not. The strength. For more. Than this."

Lewis will be back to burn that house to the ground.

"So. Be. It. Thank you. For listening."

Take my strength. Tear it down.

Too long. Every leap felt like it took an age to complete. By the time Mystery left Christopher and Vivi at the van and scrambled back, he was sure he'd missed something important. Again. What was it going to cost Arthur this time?

I will never forgive myself.

He found Arthur sprawled, unconscious, between two hulking stones. Chunks had been gouged off each boulder. Stone hands, heads, and legs lay strewn around him. Great, spiderwebbed cracks ran through each boulder, as if some force had pounded away at them. Neither had a discernible shape anymore.

Fabric from Arthur's vest showed through the wood in patches here and there, and Mystery seized him by the patch of vest near his neck. Patches of wood flaked off him a Mystery dragged him to the van, leaving a trail of bark and tree debris in their wake. He shoved Arthur into the back and climbed in, crowding Christopher aside and barking at Vivi, "Step on it!"

Vivi peeled out. Mystery refrained from looking back. He'd never seen the monster that Arthur had pointed at, but even so he knew better than to offer such things any parting attention. He curled his body around Arthur, draping his tails over him like a blanket.

He replayed the afternoon in his mind as Vivi retraced the road away from the coast. Retracing every mistake. Aching over every word.

It could have been different. It should have been different.

If Lewis had been here?

If I restrained Arthur?

If Vivi and Arthur stayed together?

More than stone had been fractured today, and Mystery wasn't sure how many more blows his kits could take. He laid his nose across Arthur's chest and listened for every ragged breath.

Note:… and then I don't update for ages. So, a few things. I finally brought the Just Legends saga to an end, and that took a lot out of me. I replaced all first-draft chapters of Best Served Cold with majorly updated & revised chapters (only on A.O-3) with plans to do the same for the rest of the stories in that saga. Then I finally began to write something original over on fiction-pre-ss and Wa-tt-pad (The Remara Phenomenon) with very little plan about how to make it work, with the hope that if I practice enough it will do what my fanfictions do, and form itself into a story as I do what I do best in the background: observe and clean it up into something readable. The writing front is busy and this fic has fallen through the cracks a bit. I don't think that's a permanent state of affairs, but I do think this fic's updates will slow way down. I'm working on prioritizing and goal-setting, and sometimes in that mode you have to set aside half the projects you started because you realize they are distractions from the main goal.

One more thing. I've realized something about this story, and it saddens me, but it just… it's right for this story, if that makes sense. And that is, this story probably does not have a happy ending. Right now it looks to me like its ending will be more bitter than sweet, though more in the direction of dissolution than destruction. Usually I try for at least bittersweet, but I set up a few too many obstacles at the start of this story, and I'm realizing that the story doesn't always work out the way I hope it will. I have to follow the story's lead or it will become dead and uninteresting. You've been warned, you still have time to get off the ride.

My thanks to Joseph Anderson, whose Youtube review "The Villain of Edith Finch" inspired the way this case came together for the Mystery Skulls gang. My writing about the nature of the curse is heavily inspired by his review.