Alan—head-phones on—dragged a floor buffer across the hardwood of the museum's rear hall when Godric entered, early again. The bald janitor smiled, curling a black goatee, and Durst waved before stepping over the extension cord. A long sinew covered arm—perhaps better placed and utilised on a spider—waved back. Continued to regard Godric with eyes that verged on leering. The smile too slow to fade.

The lad always stared like that, including at patrons—children even—and no one liked it less than Godric. Made the boy seem even more the arachnid, perched and wanton, even if he only had two eyes. Did he eve know he was being creepy?

Durst turned to open the door to another room but caught something in the corner of his eye—the janitor was still watching him. Hands fiddling with the floor buffer, his face and eyes tilted up. Godric spun, and the face dropped back down.

When he reached the east stairs that wrapped and climbed the walls, Godric stopped before the basement door. Alan forgotten, he glanced around, simply to make sure he was alone, and then at his watch. There was time for this. With a quick hand he tested the knob—locked. He sighed and stepped back.

The ancient portal looming over him always felt a thing of bad omens. Behind it the stairs wound down and down into basements that stacked and clamoured over each over for four stories. The first two belonged to the living, but the third and fourth were unclaimed and old.

One door to third basement still existed—all others were bricked up. And that lone remainder was eternally locked and sealed with special tape to keep the damp and mold locked away too. If anyone did get through, they'd find empty halls and a dead end. All portals to the fourth basement blocked.

Steve was the only one who claimed to have been there. Said that the floor was half-dirt and the walls were the foundation of the castle where the ancient Lords of Clemsworth buried the bodies of their enemies slain secretly in the night. Told that in some spot's blocks had fallen from the walls; behind which soil-caked skulls leered. Laughing that the Lords that killed them were gone—forgotten—yet they remained.

But that was the word of Steve.

And this door was trouble enough without his wild tails. The cameras couldn't see it or anyone who might use it whether they were coming or going—couldn't even see the stairs that lead up to it from it from the lower levels of the basement. Godric's boss had warned him about such blind spots in the museum, and there were many, many more than this. That fact was kept quiet, but still they lingered like shadows unseen by the camera's eyes.

Again, Godric tested the knob with a twist and jerk.

The door didn't open but something shifted beyond. A boot or a heel dragged across stone.

Durst froze. Listened for a recurrence. It came. Another slow, dragging step across the floor only inches away. Godric felt his pocket for the key—it was still upstairs.

Something bumped in the hallway next to him, and Godric turned with a flash of terror. It was Alan the janitor. Had shut a door hard after hauling the floor buffer through and was making for the elevator—finished for the night.

Godric could've laughed at himself. Of course, it was just one of the other janitors on the stairs beyond the basement door. Sylvester or George. They'd be down there by now, tidying their lair up so they could leave a little early. Durst sighed and shook his head, turned back to Alan.

Hard, screaming music drifted from his headphones. He muttered while he listened, nodding his head—genuinely angry—saying;

"Two? Fucking two? Full pay? And can't even give me a fucking raise... Fuck them. Fuck her," he mumbled like it was the chorus, "I've worked here for years... Since I was seventeen. Never got a raise and then they hire fucking two. Fucking two! Fucking two!" The chorus came again. "Spoiled fucking brats and their dick-headed cunting schools that fuck the common working man!"

Alan disappeared into the elevator, never noticing he was being observed, and Godric almost doubled over with laughter.

He jogged then to the fourth floor and slipped into the staff area with a handful of minutes reaming before punch-in. A floor buffer was sitting, unmanned, in the hallway by the elevator. Near it, voices spilled from the security room, and Godric paused, listening.

"When he found out that bitch Gussie was in the area he started looking round himself," it was Steve speaking, already in pub-mode. "He hadn't come for a job—but there had to be something to lure a swinging dick like Gussie out of the city."

"Beat him to it, right?" said Alan.

"You know it," Steve said with a chuckle.

It was another of Steve's wannabe treasure hunter tall tales. Alan ate the things up. Godric was vaguely worried that he seemed to think them completely true.

"Brant did some asking around," continued Steve, "And a little book-snooping. That's how he found out about the mound and beat Gussie to it with minutes to spare. Scooped it and the Tabby-Take right out from under his nose."

"Wait, how'd they get into a fight then-?"

"I'm getting there!" Steve growled.

Alan mumbled, "Sorry."

"Gussie heard Nate Brant hacking at the dirt blocking the entrance and snuck right up on him—shit was hard as cement apparently. Started taking tries at him with his shottie from the bushes but must've been too far off and didn't even wing him."

"Dumb-ass," mumbled Alan.

"That's what Nate wasn't."

"What?"

"Dumb-ass! When he heard the shots, he just let himself collapse down to cover like he'd been hit. Fucking Gussie crept up the far side of the mound, 'cause he had a vague notion that Brant was exaggerating things—though apparently it never crossed his mind he could've missed the blighter entire."

"Yeah?" breathed Alan, hanging on every word.

"Yeah. Soon as he peaked that mound and gazed down at Nate... Well you remember what he had?"

"What? What did he have?"

"You fucking forgot?" demanded Steve with a chuckle.

"Yeah-" started Alan, but Steve cut him off like a shot, and said, "That fucking snub-nosed he got off Willie. A police-special."

"Oh shit..."

"Damn right. Nate was waiting for him with it in his hand and fired just one shot."

"That's all?"

There came a pause in which Steve must've nodded, before saying, in almost a whisper, "All he needed. Aimed for the heart but hit Gussie's leg instead. Bastard still dropped the shottie and tumbled down the side of the mound like it had been the old ticker after all. Nate suspected he was trying to play the exact same trick as he did at first, but found Gussie in a ditch on the other side crying about his femoral artery and arm and shit but he was really just being a pussy. He wasn't bleeding much at all really and it turned out later his arm was only hair-line cracked in a couple spots. Not even broken for real."

"Didn't Nate just leave him there too?" said the younger man.

"Not quite," said Steve with a chuckle. "Worked him over some first—gave his bones a few extra cracks in novel spots—and then patted him down to make sure he didn't have any surprises. Got his wallet and wad of ready-cash in the process. Was ready to use his commando-killing dagger on him, even. But by the end 'ol Brant figured out Gussie was done for real. Legit routed. Cried and begged the whole time. Made a real mess and shame of himself, and Brant tuned him up a little more just to be sure. Then Brant emptied the mound of its King's treasure with Gussie bawling in the background the whole time. Left him in that ditch."

"Cold," said Alan, though there was admiration in his voice. "Fucking cold. A real man."

"Yeah. Gussie was fine though. Eventually realized he wasn't gonna die and got up on his feet. Stumbled out of there long after Brant had left the place. Could've cried to the bobbies but he was too scared of Nate and that commando dagger of his. Got back to London somehow and saw an underground doc instead. Quit the game."

Silence reigned in which Godric took a step forward, but stopped when Alan began to speak again, trying to counter with a story of his own. "Did I ever tell you about the glowing spider...?"

"Not that bullshit again," groaned Steve, "You told me twice already! It's a shit story—not believable."

Godric entered then, and Alan looked at him, somewhat red in the face. Glanced at Steve but said nothing before leaving the room.

"Anything in the basement?" said Godric, as though it didn't really matter.

"Janitors," said Steve. He hit a key and one of the monitors flashed to the first-floor basement. Three janitors were waiting around. One already had a cigarette tucked behind his ear—the other two stared at their phones and scrolled listlessly.

"Seen anything by the East stairs?" said Godric. "By the basement door I mean? On the basement side?"

"You mean in the blind spot?" said Steve as though it were a bad joke. "No."

"Nothing at all?"

"It's a blind spot," he said, and after a pause he glanced back at the screen, "George's been down in the basement the last two hour's doing... Something... I'm sure." He chuckled then and bobbed his head, "Not our job to see if he's working or not? Right? Only to make sure he's not filling his pockets out of the displays?"

"Of course," said Godric, and when he failed to chuckle a hint of something passed over Steve's eyes like a film but soon faded.

"Why do you care?"

"It's my job," muttered Godric. "I heard something."

"For example?"

"A noise by the East basement door."

"Well, George was in the vicinity," the tone of the words bit.

"Yeah. I see that." Godric stared at the man on the monitor, and then glanced back at Steve.

"Almost forgot," said Steve, "New instructions regarding the records room."

Godric cocked his head, and Steve went on, "It's to be kept locked most of the time now—especially during the night. A detailed procedure guide is forth-coming regarding it, but for now all you need to know is that at night it should never be left unlocked. Not even for a second."

"Right," said Godric, "Anything else?"

"Nothing," said Steve with a smile. "It'll just be you and the ghosts tonight."

A prickle of some creeping dread of a lower sort than the basement door danced across Godric's back like a slap. "Yeah," he mumbled with something like a chuckle.

The three janitors on the screen began pressing their thumbs against a little pad on the wall. Steve smiled, and said, "Punch out time. That's me too. Got a beer waiting for me at the pub. You better be at the pub... Wait! Working... Have to come on Saturday. Bring a date."

"Probably not," said Godric with a false smile, and Steve's face souredbefore saying, "Well, don't say I didn't ask you."

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