Hello! This is my first Fic for Hazbin Hotel. It's been a long time for me and my writing so I hope you all enjoy!
Outside the Hazbin Hotel the rain poured and roared as the occupants inside entertained themselves. Up in her room, Charlie tried to get an early night's sleep, her thoughts twirling about redemption; and in his own room Alastor thoroughly tucked into a late-night snack of a deer's intestines. Both were done in different means with the other's antics downstairs.
Down in the lobby, huddled in the darkness near the crackle of the fire, the remaining occupants of the hotel giggled and taunted each other with ghost stories. It was all very child-like, especially the quality of the stories. Vaggie had told a tale of giant worms stalking you through town; Husk a ghost story in a quiet bar and Nifty had spoken of someone being stabbed, stabbed and stabbed again in a dark alley.
"Your stories all suck," Angel Dust yawned with a dramatic lean over the couch. "Honestly, if they really happened, I'd hardly be scared."
"Oh yah? You looked pretty scared at Nifty's story," Husk chuckled into a gulp of liquor. The spider shot him a glare with a huff and flick of his hair.
"The only thing scary about her story was her enthusiasm for it," was the drawled response.
"Okay Angel, it's your turn anyway." Vaggie scoffed, folding her arms. Angel snorted and sat up straight.
"What about a real tale? Anyone heard Old Misty is back in town?"
"Oh fuck off, that's just rumoured shit."
"Nah huh! I got a buddy who swears it - honest Whiskers."
"Old Misty? Who's that now, a racehorse that got put down?" Angel rolled his eyes at Vaggie's smug comment.
"Old Misty was – IS— a powerful Overlord. They say he is lanky and tall, with the ability to merge into the shadows at will, stalking unbeknown sinners. Those unfortunate enough to remember seeing him say his appearance resembles that of a child's nightmarish envision of a Shadow Monster!" Angel stood large and grew his hands to mimic claws, as a well-timed clap of lightening erupted from outside. Despite the dramatics, no one in the group budged.
"Unfortunate enough to remember?" Vaggie interrupted with a raised and unfazed eyebrow. Angel was starting to wonder who the tougher crowd member was between Husk and Vaggie.
"Um, I do believe we're supposed to be quiet during other's stories?" Raising her hands in a mocking surrender, Vaggie then gestured for him to continue. "Old Misty came into his power by merely stalking poor sinners and stealing their memories. He'd snatch them away when they least suspected and then prayed on their inability to remember and con them into offering him their soul."
"This is supposed to be real?"
"If we told you the story of The Radio Demon, one of our very own guests in this very hotel, without any knowledge of it being Alastor, would you believe that tale?"
"I liked the part where you pretended to have knives for hands." Nifty pipped up, the one eye staring intensely. A shiver ran through the group. "I'm going bed now. Lots cleaning to do tomorrow." And with that, she hopped up and scrabbled off.
"Fuck me she's the scariest part of this place," Husk murmured.
"The literal Radio Demon owns your soul and she's the scariest thing here?"
"Don't fuckin' remind me." Husk didn't mean for the words to come out so bitter, especially not towards Angel. With a low growl, the man snatched another bottle and excused himself for the night too.
Once alone, Vaggie laughed lightly. "And I thought my one about worms was bad." Angel turned slow and looked seriously at her.
"Doll, I ain't making him up. He is real."
It was wet, it was raining, and Sir Pentious regretted greatly having spent his evening running around in hope of finding a rare part for his ship. It had smelt like a dead end, but some foolish hope sent him running out into the horrid weather anyway. Missing his Egg Boys greatly, the sinner was glad to have the hotel's bright light's in his sights.
The Hazbin Hotel sign shone like a red angelic blaze in the darkened sky for the poor sinner, whom dreamed of his Egg Boys starting him a nice hot bath. The sign was so bright, Sir Pentious had to squint when looking at it. He could swear, a figure that moved so fast, had been hiding up there.
A figure tall, and lanky, with long fingers…
He dismissed his foolish mind for playing such tricks, and with an uneasy feeling in his slithering gut, Sir Pentious hurried his way home up to the hotel.
Charlie had already fallen asleep, despite her circling thoughts. The usual woes of self-doubt and fearfulness for the hotel had taken to her that evening more than they usually did. It had begun to feel overwhelming, so she half-assed an excuse to leave the group, muttering about a dislike of ghost tales. Downstairs they had believed her, because, well, it wasn't a complete lie.
Charlie was so taken by her slumber, she didn't stir when a shadow slipped its way through her windows and into the room; the chill in the air as the temperature dropped did not disturb her either. The shadow grew, pulsing bigger and bigger until its lanky form covered the wall adjacent from the princess's bed.
A low groan echoed in the room as a single, spiked finger made its way to hover over the princess. With a single, almost gentle tap from this shadow upon Charlie's head, a red and golden mist begun to lift out of one of her ears. It danced in the room like the smoke of an extinguished candle, rising slow and steady.
The creature's hand twist round to reveal a small blue bottle with a cork stopper. Opening it, the shadow tipped it to the side and watched with an eerie glee as the smoke begun to flow into the little bottle and with a pop, closed the lid on it. Returning all it's limbs to the furthest wall, the shadow gave a low blow of cooling air that tussled Charlie's hair and caused her to begin to stir awake.
A gap started to crease open nearing the top of the shadow figure; a crooked smile.
And then, the plan went wrong. The bedroom door creaked open, as Vaggie tried entering without waking her girlfriend.
Vaggie entered to an empty and cold room, Charlie wrapped in multitudes of layers of the duvet, seemingly waking up.
"Hey, babe, sorry I woke you," she muttered softly into the darkness as she began to change into her night clothes. "I know all those ghost stories give you the creep, but honestly, we all failed pretty badly at them being actually scary."
Vaggie waffled on in whispers as she got ready to go to bed. At first, she didn't notice how Charlie had shift in the bed, how she sat up and kept looking around. She mistook the shivers for the cold, not for fright.
She definitely noticed though when she got into the bed how Charlie, in the dim glow of the night, looked at her.
"Charlie? What's wrong?"
"I… where am I?"
"Huh?"
"Who are you?" Her voice grew louder, more concerned. "Why do you keep calling me Charlie?"
"Oh my God! I'm gonna kill Angel for getting you in on his fucking stor-" at the raise of her voice, Charlie jumped from the bed, making across the room to the furthest point at a record speed for any creature in hell. "Okay, you're giving this theatre role a little too much here."
"What role? I…. I… Don't remember you, I don't remember me!" Panic was evident in Charlie's voice and it started to grow in Vaggie's gut. Charlie would have given up by now if this was fake; she didn't have the heart to scare her like this.
"Okay, let's calm down – " but Vaggie exiting the bed and taking those steps closer sealed an unspoken deal. Stepping into what little light the night offered, Charlie gasped.
"Why do you look like that? What happened to your eye?!"
Vaggie's heart shattered.
The sullen feeling that dragged the pieces of her heart deeper into her body had frozen her. She hardly had time to react when Charlie sprinted from the room; time felt slow, the shouting voices were distant. Vaggie could heart Angel Dust, muffled, followed by a scream from Charlie, followed by Sir Pentious squawking in surprise and then again, Charlie screaming.
Then she heard the front doors to the hotel slam shut and that was when she sprinted into action.