here's a story that's REALLY scarifying… (ch. 1/5)

title: here's a story that's REALLY scarifying…
chapter: 1/5
fandom: Stardew Valley
character(s)/pairing(s): Mayor Lewis and the ASS Trio (Abigail, Sebastian, and Sam); no pairings.
summary: Lewis stops. Listens. What is that? There's definitely something—murmuring, soft scuffling. Maybe there's a raccoon digging through his trash can again? Or the wind is moving in and rustling the leaves. Might be—

Oh. No, that's a loud laugh. A familiar laugh. And shushing. Familiar shushing.

He hangs his head and sighs. It sounds like Sebastian, Abigail, and Sam, and if all thee of them are together this late at night? They're probably up to no good.

And the sounds are coming from…the graveyard? Definitely up to no good, then.

[Lewis happens on the town's resident troublemaking trio telling each other scary stories in the graveyard late on Spirit's Eve. an homage to The Simpsons' iconic first Treehouse of Horror episode, written for the Stardew Valley Fic Writers Guild's Spirit's Eve Week event.]
crossposted: AO3 (when it's back up!) / Tumblr

each chapter corresponds to one of the prompts for the Spirit's Eve Week event! this chapter is for the prompt "graveyard." there'll be five chapters in total for this fic!

if you haven't already, i highly recommend watching the first Treehouse of Horror episode of The Simpsons (season 2 episode 3, 10/25/90)—not just for the context around the framing of this story, but because it's a really good episode! probably my favorite of the series.

also, the story referenced here is actually from a very old Mr. Nightmare video. i personally do find it creepy, at least creepy enough that it's stuck with me all these years, so maybe it is just Sam dropping the ball here.

This year, Spirit's Eve lands on a day that's more suited to winter than autumn. There's a chill to the air that lasts all day and drops straight into teeth-chattering cold once the sun goes down. At the festival, anyone who isn't running through the maze is huddled around the torches, Gus runs out of his hot chocolate and mulled cider in record time, and any costume that didn't already have a jacket as part of it has one thrown on by the end of the night.

As far as Lewis can figure, it's the weather that left him without most of his regular break-down volunteer crew, which made what was usually a half hour task drag out to over an hour. His back's aching by the end of it, and the cold is gnawing at his fingers by the time he sees Marlon and Emily off and does his final walkthrough.

"What a night," Lewis groans to himself, cupping his hands and blowing into them to try and get a little feeling back in them as he walks through the plaza. Where a few hours ago there was the hustle and bustle of the festival, the tables full of desserts and drinks, all the talking, laughing, some screams from the maze…it's silent now. Just the knock of his footsteps on the cobblestones ringing across the empty, dim plaza. Dimmer than usual, actually—he hadn't noticed it earlier, with the torches for the festival, but tonight there's a nearly new moon, and so the light from the lamps is getting eaten up by the shadows around them.

It would be unnerving if he hadn't spent more time in the plaza than his own home. As it is, he's mostly busy thinking about if it would be worth fixing up that old Community Center to at least use for festival decoration storage, and if Marnie managed to sneak away one of Caroline's blackberry cobblers for him like last year.

Then, halfway through the plaza, he hears…voices?

Lewis stops. Listens. What is that? There's definitely something—murmuring, soft scuffling. Maybe there's a raccoon digging through his trash can again? Or the wind is moving in and rustling the leaves. Might be—

Oh. No, that's a loud laugh. A familiar laugh. And shushing. Familiar shushing.

He hangs his head and sighs. It sounds like Sebastian, Abigail, and Sam, and if all thee of them are together this late at night? They're probably up to no good.

And the sounds are coming from…the graveyard? Definitely up to no good, then.

Lewis quiets his steps and cuts left around the benches just outside the saloon, which is when the harsh, pungent smell of cheap pot chops him in the throat. It's all he can do not to start coughing as he shuffles towards the tree off to the side that's deep in shadow; the stench is strong enough that he's trying to breathe shallowly enough to avoid getting a headache. From here, he can see three figures all standing around a small lantern sitting on the ground—a flame-lit one, by the way the light jumps and skips off of their fronts and the gravestones around them. (So not only trespassing, but out here with a fire hazard, too. Doesn't this just get better and better?) The light is weak and flickering, but it's enough to see that, sure enough, it's the trio.

Part of him—a small part—wants to sneak closer and then run into the graveyard with a holler. Scare a little sense into them. They don't seem to realize he's here, either, and their lantern's barely illuminating the area they're standing in, let alone anything beyond the graveyard. The bigger part wants to just march in and ask them what exactly they think they're doing at this hour, hanging around here, of all places. Though they'd all probably scatter like roaches if he does either of those things, and he wants them to stay long enough so that he can make it clear they're absolutely never to do this again.

Why on earth would these three think it was a good idea to be hanging around smoking pot so late at night? Right outside of his house, on a night they should know he'd be out late and would probably run right into them? Well, Sebastian and Abigail usually have some measure of foresight, but not when Sam's involved. And besides, they never pitch in to help out with festivals unless it was for community service. The fact that he has to be out this late to take care of these things probably never even occurred to them.

Before Lewis can decide on what to do, though, he notices that things have gone quieter, except for the one of them that's talking. He listens closer and it seems to be….

"—and when they get back to shore, he asks his grandfather what it was that he saw in the lake," Sam says, "and the grandfather says, 'all I know is, it wasn't no fish!'"

There's silence for a moment, then Abigail starts laughing while Sebastian groans.

"Sam, what the hell?" Abigail chuckles.

"What?" Sam says, holding his hands out.

Abigail just laughs harder while Sam just keeps repeating his question. For once, Lewis agrees with her, despite her language; he can't make heads or tails of what Sam said, and he doubts that hearing the rest of the story would've helped much.

"'It wasn't no fish'?" Sebastian says. It's hard to tell in the low light, but he seems to be somewhere between smiling and grimacing. "And the way you said it…."

"It was the 'wrestling with a lake monster,' for me," Abigail says, shaking her head while Sam scoffs.

"That actually might have been the best part." Sebastian takes a drag from a joint and holds it for a second until Abigail blows a somewhat-quiet raspberry and he starts laugh-choking.

Now, at least, it makes sense to Lewis what exactly they're all doing here. Which means there's no reason to draw this out any further. Still breathing shallowly, he considers for a moment, and decides that if they want to be scared this badly, why not help?

"Hey, look, it was scary as hell when I first heard it!" Sam loudly protests, immediately followed by some shushing that doesn't seem to do much to quiet him. Lewis takes the opportunity to creep a bit closer. "Maybe I didn't tell it right. Let me go again, I got a better one—"

"No way you get two back-to-back! Especially after that one," Abigail says. "My turn next."

"C'mon Abby—"

"Nope."

"But—"

"Nope," she repeats, popping the "p." "Now who's ready for an actually scary story? I call it—"

And before Lewis can step out of the shadows, she begins.