THIS IS MY FAVORITE KIND OF STORY
okay bonus points though for if he successfully scares him for the first few times. but–and I’m gonna combine this with the rather popular headcanon that Artie’s parents weren’t the kindest to him, hence why eventually he left to live with his uncle–one day Arthur flees to his room and locks himself in there. Lewis, seeing an opportunity to get in a good scare before Arthur turns the lights back on, readies himself to jump out at the kid… until he hears a sniffle. Then another, and another after that.
…That was odd. He hadn’t done anything yet to scare him. So then why was this kid crying? Lewis chances a peek out from under the bedframe by lifting the bedskirt juuust slightly and sees Arthur sitting against the door with his knees to his chest, arms crossed in front of them, sniffling and sobbing quietly. The lights are still turned off. There’s a mark on his one of his wrists, and when Lewis squints, he can barely make out the outline of… what looks like somebody’s grip. A crash echoes somewhere in the house beyond the bedroom door, followed by an indiscernable but definitely-slurred feminine shout and a much quieter but infinitely more desperate masculine voice. Arthur winces and covers his ears with his hands.
Dumbstruck, Lewis lets the bedskirt fall back to the floor and retreats to collect his thoughts. This couldn’t be right. His job is to be the thing that goes bump in the night, the thing that would remind this kid to be careful with the unfamiliar. But this kid couldn’t even trust what WAS familiar to him. That lesson didn’t teach this kid anything; it didn’t help him at all. It just made everything terrifying.
Lewis clenches his fists and opens them again, steeling himself. By God, he was going to do something about this. Gently, and as non-ominously as is possible, Lewis lifts the bedskirt again and whispers.
“Hey.”
Arthur’s head snaps up, his eyes wide. Oh, man. Lewis notices that this very common gesture of fear stings this time around. He tries again.
“It’s all right. I’m… not here to scare you.”
Arthur looks around his room wildly. He can’t see anything, except for… did he leave a shoe under his bed again? What is that bedskirt caught on…?
“I’m coming out now. Don’t be afraid, okay?”
Oh. Nooooo no no no no, not the monster under his bed. Arthur gulps loudly and tries to scramble backwards, away from the bed, and realizes he’s pinned against the door. He can’t escape through there. That’d be trading one monster for another. Panicked, and with salty streaks still lining his cheeks, he whips his head back around to look at the foot of the bed.
A black shadow slithers slowly out from beneath the bedskirt, inching its way towards Arthur as the boy shivers in terror. The shadow stops about two feet away from his toes and pulls the rest of itself from beneath the bed, slowly piling on top of itself and forming an imposingly tall and powerful-looking silhouette in opaque black before him.
As Arthur gawks up at the inky black figure in front of him, some of the shadows seem to drip away to reveal the very monster that had been terrorizing him for weeks now. A bleached white skull floats above the collar of what looks like a formal suit–like the kind they bury people in–and a shining set of ribs poking through that suit’s sides in holes that looked too clean to have been torn.
Arthur whimpers, tears welling back up in his eyes. This was the last thing he needed right now. Had he done something bad? Was this why so many bad things were happening right now? He chokes up and lets out a downright sob, burying his head in his knees again as though it would hide him.
“Hey, now, don’t cry…”
Arthur raises his puffy eyes to look at the thing again, discovering that it had knelt down to see him a little closer to eye-level. All of a sudden, he notices the burning pink irises are gone from the skull’s eye sockets, and its expression seems a lot less… angry, for some reason. It doesn’t change how frightening its appearance is, of course, and Artie cowers away again with a whimper and a quiet protest.
“D-don’t hurt me, please,” he manages to squeak. “I-I don’t like getting hurt… I don’t think I’d taste very good, either…” He pulls his arms in close to his chest and raises his shoulders, almost curling himself into a ball defensively.
The monster kneeling in front of him seems to think for a second before reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out a rather startlingly fuchsia handkerchief. Hesitantly, as though unsure how to do so, he holds it out near Arthur’s knee.
Arthur looks blankly at the handkerchief for a moment, and then back at the terrifying skeleton head that is starting to look rather sad. What?
“You can use it to dry your tears.” The shadowy skull seems to think for a moment before continuing. “Or blow your nose. It’s all right, it won’t stay dirty for long.” In a gesture that seems uncanny on a skull with no eyes, the thing manages to wink. Arthur blinks dumbly in response.
The skull lets out a… was that a sigh? It lowers its massive bony-knuckled hand, still holding the unused handkerchief, as it rests the same arm on its knee.
“You’re very brave. One of the bravest kids I’ve ever scared,” the skull says. Its voice sends shivers down Arthur’s spine, but the tone, for whatever reason, was oddly soothing. “And just because you’re scared right now, it doesn’t mean you’re not still being brave.”
The handkerchief is tucked back into the breast pocket, autonomously folding itself neatly once placed there. The skull moves to sit down completely, then stops and glances up at Arthur as if to make sure it was okay. Arthur’s response of a continued blank stare is all that greets the empty eye sockets, so onto the floor it goes, crossing its legs neatly. The crisp white collar is still a good foot above the top of Arthur’s head, but the height difference is a little bit less ridiculous now.
The skeletal suit leans forward and twines those massive hands and fingers together, resting matching elbows on bent knees. Two bony thumbs circle each other for several seconds before the eerie voice again speaks up.
“I’ve scared… a lot of people, since I was… er, since I came to be. It’s my job. I am, as you… well, you already know this, but I’m the monster under your bed. A Bogeyman, if you know what that is. It’s my job to scare kids and make sure they know to be careful out there in the world.” The skull hesitates and appears to lift a boney brow. “Am I making sense so far?”
Arthur wants to say “no,” but instead nods his head slowly. It would be better to make sure not to make Mr. Skeleton angry, if he could help it.
The boney gaze falls to the floor briefly before rising back up to study Arthur. “I would… I’m not going to hurt you. I would NEVER hurt you, just like I would never hurt ANYBODY who’s done nothing wrong. You don’t have to be afraid of me anymore, okay?” A painful hesitation preemptively adds weight to the next words. “Because I’m not going to let anybody else hurt you ever again, either.”
Arthur continues to stare ahead. What? What did it say? He blinks and lowers his bushy eyebrows to study the skull still looking at him. Did he hear it right?
“I promise.”
Despite himself, Arthur feels a tightness in his throat and a sob threatening to work its way out. He sniffs instead, wiping his eyes with his palms vigorously and rubbing his nose along his sleeve. When he opens his eyes again, the fuchsia handkerchief is again being presented on a large, inky black palm just in front of his knees. Arthur glances up at the skull again and slowly, gingerly, reaches out for the handkerchief… and snatches his arm back as quickly as possible once he has it, in case it turned out to be a trap so the thing could drag him back under his bed.
But no, the cloth is in Arthur’s hand, and the black palm is still open-faced before him. Arthur looks at the pink fabric and wipes his tears first before blowing his nose loudly into the cloth tissue. As he pulls the fabric away from his face, he’s astonished to find it perfectly clean, as though he hadn’t just used it thoroughly. He looks back to the floating skull again, only to find it exactly where it’d been moments ago, the hand gently reaching out again to accept the tissue now that Arthur had finished with it. Arthur reaches out to return the handkerchief and places it in the massive palm… then suddenly grips one of the huge fingers there, holding on for dear life as though it were a lifeline, and stares intently at the open palm as he struggles not to cry.
”Kid…?”
Suddenly, Arthur can’t take it anymore. Still holding onto the suit’s gloved finger, he pitches himself up and forward from his sitting position and into the skeletal dandy’s barrel chest, sobbing into the silky pink tie. A tiny hand releases its finger-shaped handhold and finds itself joining its twin arm in wrapping as far around the sides of the suit as it can reach–which isn’t very far–as its owner shudders and cries into a stranger he’d been terrified of only moments before. And if he’s honest, he’s still scared. But at the moment the only thing on his mind is that, right now, he’s safe, and this big scary skeleton man is making sure of that.
Arthur feels two hefty arms wrap gently around his shoulders, one hand patting him soothingly. “Shhh,” the voice, not so eerie anymore, whispers to him. “It’s okay, kiddo. You’re going to be okay.”
A minute or so passes like this until Arthur pulls away, still sniffling, and wipes his eyes to look directly at the skull. “What’s your name, Mister?”
“I’m sorry?”
“What’s your name?” Arthur repeats, enunciating clearly as though to make sure the skull understands him. “Do you have one?”
“…yes, I do.”
“Well, then what is it?”
“It… well, it’s a little hard to pronounce. But you can call me… how about ‘Lewis’?”
Arthur nods matter-of-factly. “My name’s Arthur.” He sticks out his hand for Lewis to shake, his expression very serious. “I promise I won’t try to put things under my bed to keep you from coming out no more.”
Lewis chuckles and adjusts himself to stand up again, dusting off his pant legs unnecessarily. He bows forward to take Arthur’s hand with his forefinger and thumb and shakes it gently. “It’s very nice to meet you properly, Arthur. And thank you.”
For the first time in what Lewis abruptly realizes has been a while, Arthur gives a little smile.
A crash similar to the one before it rings out throughout the house once more, this time much closer to Arthur’s door. Arthur and Lewis spin to face the doorframe, Arthur scooting into Lewis’s legs in abject terror. The drunken woman’s voice is much clearer this time as she calls out loudly.
“WHO THE HELL’RE YOU TALKIN’ TO, YOU BRAT?!” Arthur’s hand finds the material of Lewis’s pant leg and clings to it tightly. Lewis glances down at the shivering child, standing unable to tear his eyes away from the door. He raises his gaze back to the door. That was it. No waiting on this.
Lewis nudges Arthur’s shoulder with his fingertips, guiding the child behind him until he, in all his horror, stood directly in the way of whoever decided to open that door.
A heavy set of sloppy-sounding footsteps get steadily louder until a sharp BANG on the door vibrates it in its hinges. “YOU IN THERE, ARTHUR?” Another series of heavy-handed knocks threaten to bust the door down, followed by a rattling noise that could only be the door handle. Cowering behind Lewis’s legs, Arthur faintly notices a soft pink glow illuminating the room. He glances up questioningly towards Mr. Lewis, only to find the skull and his shoulders were smothered in silent but furious-looking pink flames. He abruptly found that whatever was in his throat about to leave his mouth was stuck there, and he couldn’t utter a sound. It was, by far, the scariest thing he’d ever seen, but… for some reason, he knew he shouldn’t be afraid of it.
The door squeaks open, and a relatively short female silhouette appears against the yellow light. “LISSSSHEHN HERE, YOU BRAT… WHAT’D I TELL YOU ABOUT… SSSHTAYING UP THIS LATE? YOU WANT ANOTHER ASS-WHOOPING?!”
It clearly takes a moment for the woman to look up high enough to see the furious raging inferno and its matching pinpricks boring into her. The broken bottle drops from her hand and clatters along the floor.
“Wh-wh-whuh… whuuzis… wh-who’re you? What are…?” The drunken slurs have an added layer of terror that sounds one step away from soiled pants. Lewis takes a step towards the woman, who is too drunk and terrified to realize she’s able to step backwards. Lewis follows with another footstep, and then another, until he is looming directly over the woman.
“You will take three steps to the side,” he growls in a tone that somehow sounds infinitely deeper than before. “And you will stay there until I have left with everything I am taking with me.” He leans in close, so that there is less than an inch between his skull and her nose.
“You do not want to find out what will happen if you do not do exactly that.”
Without so much as a stutter, the woman steps to the side, her eyes wide as dinner plates. Lewis turns around to face Arthur, the flames instantly gone but the irises still in his eyes. Arthur’s own eyes stare up at Lewis, in a mixture of awe and terror.
Lewis winces. “Please… don’t be afraid. I’m here to help, remember?” His boney brows knit high on his forehead with worry. This may be the only shot this kid has to get out, and if he doesn’t take it now…
Arthur swallows thickly and nods, still looking wide-eyed, but with a solid determination written across his face. Lewis lets out what would be a tight breath and glances around the room. “…grab whatever you want to bring with you. I’m going to take you somewhere safer.”
Nodding sharply, Arthur looks around with purpose and scrambls over to grab his blanket and spreads it out on the floor. Moving quickly around the room, he grabs his toothbrush, a rather intense-looking book on mechanics for a child his age, a pencil, a flashlight, a small pillow, and three shirts and three sets of shorts and underwear. Satisfied, he rolls the blanket up and ties it at both ends, then looks up to Lewis to give a rather soldier-like nod. Lewis looks down sadly at him, attempting to give him as much reassurance as possible, and offers his hand out to the child. Arthur takes it after only a moment’s hesitation, and allows Lewis to lead him out of his room, down the hall, and out the front door.
“You were… awfully quick about getting ready to go.” Lewis glances down at Arthur, having donned a humanlike appearance just in case a random passerby happens to see them. Arthur’s questions about it when he first switched to it had been brutal.
Why purple? I thought you were pink. Is that your hair? Can I touch it? Why are your eyes still funny? Lewis didn’t have a good answer for any of them.
Arthur doesn’t answer immediately. When he does, it’s with a steely tone that sounds out of place coming from a kid that couldn’t be more than eight. “I had already planned what I was going to bring,” he admits. “I wanted to run away a long time ago. But I was scared.”
He looks up at Lewis. “I’m still scared, but not as much as before. Besides, I know where I can go.”
Lewis’s eyebrows raise at that. “Oh? Where’s that?” Come to think of it, where had HE planned on taking the kid? It wasn’t as though he had a proper home for him…
“Uncle Lance!” His answer is concise and to-the-point, as though the mere name answered every question there could possibly be about the matter. Lewis blinked.
“Your uncle?”
“My Uncle Lance,” Arthur corrects. “He’s really nice. He’s kinda rude, but he always treats me good.”
Lewis ponders this for a second. It’s not as though Arthur has anything to hide from him at this point, and he probably is able to recognize the difference in people’s demeanors now, considering…
“I bet he’s great.” Lewis smiles warmly down at Arthur, who returns it in kind.
When they get to his Lance’s house, Lewis explains that he ‘found Arthur walking alone down the street and got worried that the kid was lost.’
“He said he knew where he was going, but I wanted to come with him just in case. Are you Lance Kingsman?”
“That’s me, sonny. Thanks for keepin’ an eye on the little tyke.”
“It was my pleasure, sir. I hope you’ll excuse me now, though; I’m afraid I’ve got some things to take care of.”
“No sweat. Say, you got a sore throat or somethin’? There’s somethin’ real funny goin’ on with yer voice there.”
Once inside, Arthur tells Lance everything–about how his mom had gotten mean again, about how his dad stayed out of it as much as he could, about how he decided to run away–but leaves out the part about Lewis. The nice monster had told him not to tell anybody about him, and that he’d be back soon. Arthur decides to believe him for now.
Lance, for his part, becomes furious and seriously debates calling the police on his sister and her husband, but decides against it because that might get Child Services involved, and they might take Arthur away. Instead he settles for a dark phone conversation with Arthur’s deadbeat parents, warning them that if they tried to get near Arthur ever again they’d have to deal with him. He’s surprised at how quickly his drunken sister complies, but he isn’t about to argue.
After dinner that night, as Arthur is getting ready for bed and has said goodnight to his uncle, he notices a shadow moving in the corner of his eye. Whirling around to look directly at it, he watches it carefully… as it slides down the wall and to a stop about two feet in front of him, then materializes into a familiar skeletal face.
“Miss me, kid?”
That night, Arthur asks Mr. Lewis-Monster (”It’s just Lewis.”) if he can hold onto his hand tonight as he’s falling asleep, because he forgot to pack his plush toys and doesn’t have anything to hold onto in his bed tonight. Lewis agrees, and Arthur’s hand slings over the side of the bed, holding tight onto a much larger, soot black hand extending from the shadows beneath the bed.
Upon his uncle’s suggestion, Arthur begins to attend a new school during the day, and it isn’t long before he’s made a new friend. “Her name is Vivi,” he proudly announces to his uncle and later to his big scary friend. “She’s really really nice. And she has a dog named Mystery.” He leans in as if telling a top secret, with his hand cupped to the side of his mouth. “I think he’s secretly a fox, though!”
It’s not long before Arthur accidentally spills about the monster under his bed to his new blue-haired friend, and she immediately decides she HAS to meet him. Lewis sighs and scolds Arthur lightly for it.
“There aren’t a lot of people who believe in things like me, Arthur. And most who do are scared of them.”
“I know, but Vivi is really cool and brave! You’ll see; she’s not afraid of anything! I promise she won’t be scared of you.”
True to Arthur’s word, Vivi is filled with sheer delight when she brings her dog over to play and finally gets to meet Arthur’s friend Mr. Lewis. She introduces herself politely, then proceeds to giggle excitedly with Arthur.
“Omigosh he’s real! You were telling the truth!”
“I told you. He’s my friend, and he helped me a lot! He’s kinda like a superhero!”
“Oooh, what do you think his hero name would be?”
“Hmm. How about the Crimson Ghost?”
“He’s pink, though. Oh, wait, wait, wait… I’ve got it!! He’s Mystery Skull!”
Lewis is overwhelmed by this rambunctious little girl right off the bat, but is delighted to see Arthur’s mood climbing the more he’s around his new friend and environment.
…even if that dog is staring at him constantly and making him just a liiittle bit uncomfortable.